CHAPTER V
MISS LILY AND DOODLES
The long line of choir boys issued decorously from the side door of St. Bartholomew's. The running, pushing, scuffling, and laughter were reserved for the next street. Sly nudges and subdued chuckles were all that the most reckless indulged in under the shadows of the church.
At the foot of the steps stood a slender, whitehaired woman with stooping shoulders. She scanned each face as it emerged from the dim passageway, and her own grew a bit anxious as the boys passed. Then it suddenly brightened with recognition. Doodles had appeared.
The woman stepped forward to meet him. "Excuse me," she hesitated, "but are you the one who sang that solo, 'Take heart, ye weary'?"
The boy smiled his modest answer.
"Oh, I want to thank you for it! I've been waiting till you came, and I was so afraid I'd missed you after all, for I probably shan't have another chance. I wanted you to know how much good it has done me."
"Has it?" Doodles looked his pleasure.
"Oh, it was beautiful!" she said tremulously. "I never heard anything like it! I always enjoy your singing, and am so disappointed when you don't sing alone; but seems to me this piece was sweetest of all!"
"I guess you'll like the one for next Sunday," Doodles told her,—"'And God shall wipe away all tears.'"
"Oh!" It was mingled longing and regret. "That must be beautiful! I wish I could hear it—seems as if I must!" Her voice broke a little. "But I'm afraid I can't. I shan't be here next Sunday."
"That's too bad! I'm sorry!"
"It can't be helped. I am glad I could come to-day and hear you—it does me more good than sermons!" Tears made the blue eyes shine.
"Perhaps I shall sing it some other time when you are here,"
Doodles suggested hopefully.
The woman shook her head. Her reply was soft and broken. "I shan't ever be here again."
"Oh!" Doodles was instantly sympathetic. Then a gleam lighted his sorrowing face. "I'll tell you what," he began hurriedly, "I'll come to your house and sing for you this afternoon—that is, if you'd like me to," he added.
Such joy flooded the tearful eyes! "Oh, you dear boy! if you would!
I don't know how to thank you!"
"That's all right! I'd love to do it. Shall I come early, right after dinner, or—"
"Oh, come early! It is so good of you!" The tears threatened to overflow their bounds.
Doodles glanced down the street. "What is your address, please? I have to take the next car."
"Why, yes! I forgot! I live at 304 North Charles Street."
"Thank you." He lifted his cap with a bright smile. "I'll be there!" he promised and was off.
The woman watched him as he hailed the passing car. He saw her from a window and waved his hand. She returned the salute, and then walked slowly away.
"I hope he won't forget the number," she said to herself, "he didn't take it down. And I never thought to give him my name!"
Doodles easily found the place the woman had designated. The house was small and dingy, and two grimy babies were playing on the doorstep.
"Miss Lily's upstairs, in back," answered the girl to whom the inquiry had been referred. "I guess it's her you want. Ther' ain't nobody else, 'cept Miss Goby, an' she's a big un."
The top of the dim flight was nearly reached when a door opened and threw a stream of light on the stairway. The boy saw his new friend waiting for him.
"Walk right in!" she said cordially. "It's awfully good of you to come!"
The room was in noticeable contrast with the rest of the house. Here everything was neat and homelike, although there was little attempt at ornament. Doodles was soon seated in a cushioned rocker and listening to the little old lady's grateful talk.
"When you spoke of that new song, 'God shall wipe away all tears,' it did seem as if I just couldn't miss hearing you sing it! But I never dreamed that you could do such a thing as to come and sing it to me here. I wish I had a better place for you to sing in, but I've had to take up with 'most anything these days."
The lad hastened to assure her that he was accustomed to sing in a small room, and that it made no difference to him where he was.
"Then you don't mind not having an organ or piano or anything?"
The tone was anxious.
"Not a bit," he smiled. "I never used to have accompaniment—I can sing anywhere."
After the first note Miss Lily sat motionless, bending forward a
little, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes on the singer.
Whether she saw him was doubtful, for her tears fell fast as
Doodles sang the comforting words.
"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;…and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying,…neither shall there be any more pain:…for the former things are passed away."
With silence the listener suddenly dropped her face in her hands and began to sob.
In a moment Doodles was singing again, and soon she grew calmer.
When he stopped she was ready to talk.
"I don't see what makes me cry so!" she broke out, with a great effort fighting back the tears. "I'm all upset anyway. It is so lovely having you sing—right here! You don't know! I'm afraid I shan't ever want you to stop." She laughed quiveringly.
"More now?" he asked.
"If you aren't tired," she hesitated.
"Never!"
He sang again.
In the doorways upstairs and down people were listening. The little house on North Charles Street had never heard such music within its walls. As the song ceased, applause came,—uncertainly at first, then louder and steady.
The two in the back room looked at each other and smiled.
"I guess they like it as well as I do," Miss Lily said.
In response Doodles sang "Only an armor-bearer," still one of his favorites, and at its close the approval of those outside was prompt and long.
Many other songs followed; apparently the audience grew.
"They'll tire you out," the little lady fretted.
The boy shook his head decidedly, beginning for the second time,
"And God shall wipe away all tears."
"Oh, it is like heaven itself!" Miss Lily breathed. Then she sighed softly. "What if I had missed it!"
"I think I shall have to go now," at last Doodles said; "but I will come and sing for you again any time, if you like,—any time when you are here." He rose and picked up his cap.
"Oh, my dear boy, I'm not ever coming back! I'm"—she began to sob, and Doodles could scarcely make out the words—"I'm going—to the—poorhouse!" She broke down, and her slight shoulders shook pitifully.
The boy stood as if stunned. Then he stepped near. "Don't cry!" he said softly, "don't cry!"
"Oh—I can't help it!" she mourned. "I've kept up—I thought maybe I shouldn't have to go; but my eyes have given out, and I can't earn anything only by sewing—and I can't sew now! To think of me in the poorhouse!"
"I'll come and sing for you there!" cried the boy impulsively.
"Oh! you wouldn't—would you?" She clutched at the only straw of hope.
"Of course, I will! I'd be glad to!"
"You're awfully good!" She wiped her eyes.
"I didn't mean to entertain you with tears," she smiled. "Seems as if I might stop, but I can't." Her eyes were wet again.
A sudden light illumined the lad's face. He opened his lips, then shut them.
"How soon do you expect to go?" he asked.
"Some time the last of the week, the man thought." She swallowed hard. "He said he'd give me time to pick up my things—he was real good."
"I'll see you again before the last of the week," promised Doodles, putting out his hand.
She clasped it in both of hers.
"You are just a dear—that's what you are!" she said tremulously. "And you don't know how I thank you! I can't tell you what it has been to me!"
As the singer passed down the stairs curious eyes peered out at him; but he did not know it. His heart was full of Miss Lily's grief, although overspreading it was the beautiful thought that had come to him so suddenly a moment ago.
CHAPTER VI
"BETTER THAN THE POORHOUSE"
Polly was on the veranda when Doodles came.
"Why, Doodles Stickney! I was just thinking of you! How did you know I wanted to see you this morning?"
"I didn't," he laughed; "but I wanted to see you'"
"I'm so glad—oh, I forgot! I'm due at the dentist's at ten o'clock! Maybe I can get off."
"No, no! I couldn't stay till that time anyway. I came down on business—"
"Dear me!" laughed Polly, "how grand we are this morning!"
"I don't know whether it is 'grand' or not—it depends a good deal on the president of June Holiday Home. I'll tell you all about it," dropping into a chair beside Polly.
He related the incidents of the day before, of Miss Lily's meeting him at the church door, of his singing to her in the afternoon, and finally of her distress at going to the poorhouse.
"And I happened to think if she could only come to the June Holiday
Home—"
"Lovely!" cried Polly. "I don't see why she can't!"
"Nor I, but somebody may. I thought I'd see you first and maybe you'd give me a little note of introduction—you know Mr. Randolph so well, and I never spoke to him."
"Certainly I will! I'll go right and do it now! Chris will want to see you—I'll send him out."
The note that Doodles carried away with him was in Polly's best style.
Dear Mr. Randolph:—
This is to introduce my friend Doodles Stickney,
or to be perfectly proper, Julius Stickney. He will tell
you about Miss Lily, and I do hope you will make a
place for her at the Home. I have never seen her, but
I know she is nice, or Doodles wouldn't like her or
take so much trouble to get her in. I feel awfully sorry
for her. It must be dreadful to have your eyes give out
so you have to go to the poorhouse.
Miss Sniffen made a terrible fuss because you stayed at the picnic with us—or because we stayed with you. Anyway, she scolded Miss Nita like everything. I'm afraid we can't ever have a picnic again. She began on me when I went to report our arrival—she happened to be at the desk. You know you have to report as soon as you get in, and I said I'd do it for the crowd. Miss Nita couldn't because her ankle ached so. It turned black and blue—just awful! She wouldn't say a word to anybody, and father sent some liniment by me. The first smelt so strong Miss Nita didn't dare use it for fear they'd suspect, so father sent her another kind. He said it wasn't quite so good as the smelly sort, but her ankle is a whole lot better. Don't you think she is brave? I don't know what Miss Sniffen would say if she knew about that. We've all kept whist.
This is a pretty long letter, but I knew you'd want
to hear about Miss Nita's ankle. You will let Miss
Lily in, won't you?
Yours with hope,
POLLY MAY DUDLEY.
Thank you ever so much for that beautiful ride! I
shall never forget it.
Doodles walked into the great office of the Fair Harbor Paper
Company and asked to see Mr. Randolph.
"We hired a boy last week. We don't want any more." The clerk was turning away.
"Oh, I'm not applying for a place!" cried Doodles, his voice full of laughter. "I wish to see the president on business."
The young man scowled, irritated by his blunder, and surveyed the boy with a disagreeable sneer.
"Well, he's too busy to attend to kids. What do you want anyhow?"
Doodles hesitated. He did not wish to tell his errand to this pompous young person.
"Please say to Mr. Randolph that I would like to see him on important business about the June Holiday Home."
"Who sent you?"
"No one; but I have a letter of introduction."
"Oh, you have! Hand it out!"
Doodles made no move toward his pocket.
"I wish to give it to Mr. Randolph himself," he said gently.
"Well, you can't see him. He's busy now."
"I will wait," replied the boy, and took a chair.
The clerk went behind the railing and sat down at a desk.
Doodles looked out on the street and watched the passers. Occasionally his eyes would wander back to the office and over the array of men and women bent to their work, then they would return to the wide doorway. He felt that he had small chance to speak with Mr. Randolph until he should go to luncheon, and that, he argued to himself, would not be a very good time to present his business. He wished that the unpleasant young clerk would go first—he would like to try some other.
Men and women came and went, some of them disappearing in the rear, where, undoubtedly, was the man he sought. If only he dared follow! Finally the offensive youth came out through the gate and over to where he sat.
"Here, you kid," he began in an insolent tone, "you've hung round here long enough! Now beat it!"
Into the soft brown eyes of Doodles shot an angry light.
The other saw it and smiled sneeringly. He did not count on the lad's strength.
In a moment the indignation had passed. There was none of it in the quiet voice. "Good-day, sir!"
Doodles was gone.
A plan had instantly formed in his mind. He would get himself a lunch, and then wait outside the office until Mr. Randolph appeared. That was the only way. It never occurred to him to give the matter up.
One restaurant was passed; it did not look inviting. The next was better, but flies were crawling over the bottles and jars in the window. He went on.
"It will cost more, I suppose," he muttered regretfully to himself, as he entered a neat cafe where the door was opened to him by a boy in livery.
"Bread and milk," he ordered of the trim maid, and he smiled to himself contentedly at the daintiness with which it was served.
The milk was cool and sweet, and Doodles was hungry. The whistles and clocks announced that it was noon, and soon afterward people began to stream in. Women with shopping-bags and bundles, men with newspapers, hatless working-girls; but everywhere were courtesy and low voices. Doodles was glad of his choice.
He sat eating slowly, wishing he knew at what time he would be most likely to meet Mr. Randolph, when he stared at a man coming toward him—it was the president of the Paper Company! The boy drew in a delighted breath—what great good luck!
Mr. Randolph sat down at a little table not far away. He looked tired, the lad thought, and he decided to wait until the close of the meal, if he could manage to make his own small supply of milk last long enough.
"Nothing more, thank you," Doodles told the maid who came to ask. "This milk is very nice," he added, which brought out an answering smile.
At last the president had reached his fruit.
The boy's last crumb had vanished long ago, and he thought he might venture across to the other table.
"May I speak with you a moment, sir?" he asked softly, taking the letter from his pocket.
"Certainly." The man bowed with his accustomed courtesy.
"Polly Dudley gave me this for you."
At mention of the name a pleasant light over-spread the grave face.
The lad watched him as he read. The light deepened, then the brows drew together in a scowl. Doodles wondered what Polly had written.
"This lady is a friend of yours, I take it."
The keen gray eyes looked straight at the boy.
"Yes, sir," Doodles smiled, "though a very new one. I never saw her till yesterday."
The eyes bent upon him widened a little.
The lad told his story as simply as possible, touching lightly upon his own part in it. "And so," he ended artlessly, his appealing brown eyes looking straight into the steady gray ones, "I thought, even if there were rules and patches and things she didn't like, it would be better than the poorhouse."
A little amused smile replaced the hint of surprise on the man's face.
"Where do you sing?" he asked abruptly.
"At St. Bartholomew's Church, Foxford."
"Did you come down expressly to see me about this?"
"Yes, sir," answered Doodles.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I didn't." A smile overspread the small face. "I waited at your office until"—he hesitated an instant—"I thought I would find you after I had had a lunch."
"Get hungry?"
"Oh, no, sir!"
Mr. Randolph eyed him questioningly.
"The young man thought I'd waited long enough," was the gentle explanation.
"So he told you to go!"
"I guess he got tired of seeing me there," smiled Doodles.
"Did you wait long?"
"'Most two hours."
"Tall, light-haired fellow, was it?"
The boy assented.
The president mused a moment and then resumed:—
"In any case your friend will have to make an application. I think I will let her take a blank. Have her fill it out, and you can send it down to me. I will attend to the rest."
Doodles rose from his chair, feeling that it was time to go, yet he could not forbear one question.
"Do you think she can come to the Home?" His tone betrayed his solicitude.
"I will do the best I can for her, Master Stickney." Mr. Randolph had also risen, and he smiled down into the upturned face. "It will have to be referred to the Committee on Applications, but I will see that it is put through as quickly as possible."
Doodles decided to see Miss Lily before going home, so it was still early afternoon when he entered the little house on North Charles Street.
"Why, you dear boy!" The little lady had him in her arms. "How good of you to come! I was thinking this morning, what if I shouldn't ever hear you sing again—and now here you are!"
"I told you I'd come," laughed Doodles.
"Yes," smiled Miss Lily; "but people forget. I guess you aren't the forgetting kind."
"I didn't come to-day to sing," the boy began slowly. Now that the moment was at hand he felt suddenly shy at disclosing his errand. "I happened to think yesterday of the June Holiday Home down in Fair Harbor, and I wondered if you wouldn't rather go there and live than to go—anywhere else."
For an instant Miss Lily stared. "That beautiful place up on Edgewood Hill?—me?—go there?" Her mobile face showed a strange mingling of astonishment, fear, and joy.
"Certainly! Shouldn't you like to?"
"'Like to'! All the rest of my life?—Oh, I can't believe it!"
"I don't know that you can get in," Doodles hastened to explain; "but I went to Fair Harbor this morning to see Mr. Randolph—he's the president of the Home. He doesn't know yet for certain, but he has sent you a blank to make out, and then it's got to go to a committee. He said he'd do the best he could for you,—he is a very nice man!"
"And you have taken all this trouble for me?" Miss Lily's hands went up to her face. The tears trickled down and fell on her dress.
"It wasn't any trouble," asserted Doodles. "I thought maybe there was no chance, and so I wouldn't tell you till I found out." The lad took the paper from his pocket.
Miss Lily wiped her eyes. "I can't see to write," she said tremulously; "that is, not well, and the doctor said I mustn't try." She looked mournfully at the boy.
"I'll do it for you," he proposed cheerily. "Then if there's anything to sign you can do it with your eyes shut. I love to write with my eyes shut and see how near I come to it!"
"I never tried," she admitted, "but perhaps I could."
"It says first, 'Your name in full.'" Doodles looked up inquiringly.
"Faith Lily." repeated its owner mechanically. Then she started across the room. "I'll get you a pen and ink," she said.
Doodles wrote with careful hand. "That's a pretty name," he commented.
"I always liked it," she smiled. "But I'm afraid my faith has been going back on me lately. I did have a good deal. I thought the Lord wouldn't let me go to the poorhouse, then it seemed as if He was going to. Only a little while ago I thought He must have forgotten me—and now this!" Her dim eyes grew big with wonder and thankfulness. "Even if I can't go, I shall be glad you tried to get me in; it will tell me I have one friend."
"The next is, 'Time and place of birth.'"
"I was born August 3, 1847, in Cloverfield, Massachusetts."
"'Name of father,'" read Doodles.
"Jonathan Seymour Lily."
There were many questions, and the boy was a slow writer. It took no little time to place all the answers. But the end of the list was finally reached without blot or smudge. Doodles surveyed his work with gratification.
"I guess I haven't made any mistake," he said, reading it over.
"Now if you can just put your name there, it will be done."
Her hand trembled and the letters were wavering, but when Doodles declared it was "splendidly written," she smiled her relief.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday went by, and Doodles heard nothing from Mr. Randolph. He began to be afraid that the committee had decided against his friend, and although his mother told him that such procedures always take considerable time, he grew more nervous with every mail-coming. When Saturday morning brought him no word, he decided to go over to Miss Lily's.
"I don't know that she could read the letter if she had one," he said in dismay. "Why didn't I think of that before!"
His first glimpse of the little woman corroborated his worst fears. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, and her face was haggard and despairing.
"Can't you go?" he ejaculated.
"I haven't heard a word!" she answered mournfully. "I didn't know but you had."
"No, I haven't. That's why I came over."
She shut the door and made him sit down.
"I guess I'll have to go to the poorhouse after all," she began in a hushed voice, as if fearful of being overheard.
"Oh, I wouldn't give up! Mr. Randolph said it would take time."
"But I can't wait! The woman thought I was going, and she's rented my room, and she won't let me stay another night! I haven't quite enough money to pay up, and she says she shall keep my trunk and furniture—oh, to think I have come to this!"
The little woman's distress was agonizing to Doodles.
"Now, don't you worry!" he pleaded. "You are coming straight home with me to stay at our house over Sunday, and next week we shall probably hear."
"No, no!—your mother—your mother won't want me!" she sobbed. "I can't go to make her all that trouble!"
"'T won't be a bit of trouble!" he insisted. "She will like to have you come! We all will! We'd better go right away, too. Is your trunk packed?"
"Pretty much; there are a few little things to put in." She found herself yielding to the stronger will of the boy. Going to the closet, she brought out some articles of clothing which she began to fold.
"Is all the furniture yours?" Doodles asked, looking around on the meager array.
She shook her head. "Only the rocking-chair and the couch and that little chair you're in and the oil heater and the pictures—" She ran her troubled eyes over the things enumerated, as if fearing to forget some of her few remaining possessions. "Oh, yes! there's my bookshelf! I mustn't leave that."
"Suppose I make a list of them," suggested Doodles. "I think maybe we'd better have them taken over to our house—Blue can come this afternoon and see about it. Blue's my brother, you know."
"But Mrs. Gugerty won't let me have them!"
"She will if you pay up."
"Yes, but I can't! I gave her the last cent I had!" Her voice quivered.
Doodles took out his purse and counted over his change.
"No, you're not going to pay it!" she cried. "I shan't let you!"
"I'm afraid I haven't enough," smiled the lad ruefully—"only sixty-seven cents."
"I owe a dollar and a quarter," she admitted.
"Blue can pay it when he comes for the things," returned the boy, dismissing with a careless "That's nothing!" the little woman's protest.
Miss Lily looked around for the last time with a cheerful smile.
"Somehow I can't feel as bad to go home with you as I know I ought to," she said, "only I hate to have you and your folks do so much for me—and I such a stranger, too!"
"No, you're a friend," Doodles corrected.
"Yes, I am—forever and ever!" She laughed tremulously. "I don't see why you're so good to me."
"You'll like my mother!" Doodles responded with some irrelevance.
"She's the best mother in the whole world!"
"I know I shall love her if she's any like her boy!" She gave him a caressing pat.
True to the word of Doodles, Miss Lily was welcomed to the little bungalow with such heartfelt hospitality that her sad, starving soul was filled with joy, and when Blue returned with her small stock of goods and put Mrs. Gugerty's receipt into her hand, her eyes overflowed with happy tears. With cheery Mrs. Stickney and merry Doodles and Blue for companions, she had little time to worry over the possible outcome of her application to the June Holiday Home, and Sunday was passed in an utterly different way from that she had imagined a week before.
It was not until the next Wednesday that any news came from Mr. Randolph. Then the letter-carrier brought a long, thin envelope addressed to "Miss Faith Lily," and the recipient turned so white when Doodles handed it to her that he feared she was going to faint.
"Shall I open it?" he asked.
She bowed her head. Words were far away.
He drew out the paper and gave it one hurried glance. Then he swung it over his head with a glad whoop.
"You're going! You're going! You're going!" he shouted.
"Doodles!" remonstrated his mother, for Miss Lily was weeping.
In a moment, however, tears had given way to joy, and Doodles must read to her every word of Mr. Randolph's friendly note as well as the wonderful document that was to admit her to the palatial June Holiday Home.
CHAPTER VII
ROSES—AND THORNS
Polly was in Miss Sterling's room when the box was brought up.
"Flowers!" she squealed as soon as the door had shut upon the matron's stout figure.
"Bosh!" retorted Miss Sterling. "More likely Cousin Sibyl has sent me some of her children's stockings to darn. She does that occasionally. I suppose she thinks—"
"0-o-h!" breathed Polly, for the speaker had disclosed a mass of pink—exquisite roses with long stems and big, cool green leaves.
"Now what do you think?" Polly exulted.
Miss Sterling stood regarding the roses, her face all pink and white, the color fluttering here and there like a shy bird.
"It's a mistake!" she said at last. "They can't be for me."
"Of course they're for you!" Polly pointed to the address on the cover. "Isn't there any card?" searching gently among the flowers. "I guess Mr. Randolph forgot to put in his card!" Polly's eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Polly Dudley, don't be silly'" The tone was almost impatient.
"It would be lovely for him to send them anyway!" defended Polly.
"And I almost know he did!" she insisted.
"You don't know any such thing!" Miss Sterling was taking the roses out. She brought them to her face and drew in their fragrance. Then she held them at arm's length, gazing at them admiringly.
"Aren't they beautiful!" she said softly. "I wish I knew whom to thank."
"It looks like a man's handwriting," observed Polly.
"It might be Mrs. Lake," mused Miss Sterling, quite ignoring Polly's remark. "Mrs. Lake has always been nice to me. Only she would never omit her card. No, it must be somebody else."
Polly tried the roses on the small table, on the desk, on the dresser—where their reflection added to their magnificence. Finally they were left on the broad window-sill, while the two discussed possible givers. It was Miss Sterling, however, who suggested names. Polly clung to her first thought.
"I told him you had had an awful time with your ankle, and how Miss Sniffen scolded you,"—Polly lowered her voice,—"and I suppose he felt sorry—"
"How Miss Sniffen scolded me? Not about his being there?" The tone was dismayed. "Why, yes! What harm was there?" "Polly! Polly! You didn't say—what did you say?"
"I can't remember exactly," was the plaintive answer. "I don't see why you care, anyway. I think I said it was because he stayed with us and took us to ride."
"Well, it can't be helped," laughed Miss Sterling, "but—how could you, Polly?"
"I should think you'd be glad to have him know how Miss Sniffen acts."
"Sh! Somebody's coming!"
"I must go," Polly whispered.
She let in Mrs. Albright and Miss Crilly.
"Oh, what dandy roses!" Miss Crilly dashed over to the window. "Your best feller must sure 'a' sent 'em! Ain't they sweet? But why don't you have 'em over on that little table? They'd show off fine there! May I?" She carried them across the room.
"Polly tried them in various places," responded Miss Sterling.
"Well, 't don't make a whole lot o' difference where you put such roses! My, but they're immense!" She stood off, the better to admire them. "Wouldn't I rave if they belonged to yours truly! How can you folks take them so coolly?"
Juanita Sterling laughed. "I had my time when they first came!"
"You say it all, so we don't need to," laughed Mrs. Albright.
"They are beauties, that's a fact!"
Miss Crilly sat down, her eyes still on the flowers. "I don't see a card anywhere," she nodded. "Ain't that proof positive?" winking toward Mrs. Albright.
"There was none," smiled Miss Sterling.
"You don't mean you don't know who sent 'em?" Miss Crilly queried.
"Just that. Either the sender forgot to put in her card or she didn't wish me to know."
"I bet 't isn't a 'her'!" giggled Miss Crilly. "Don't you, Mis'
Albright?"
That lady twinkled her answer. "I shouldn't wonder."
A soft knock sent Miss Sterling to the door, and Miss Castlevaine came in.
Miss Crilly showed off the roses with all the pride of a possessor.
"I guess I saw them down in the lower hall," smiled Miss
Castlevaine knowingly. "There was a long box on the desk."
"You did? And ain't it funny?" Miss Crilly ran on,—"she don't know who sent 'em!"
"Perhaps Miss Sniffen could tell you."
Miss Sterling looked up quickly.
"What do you mean?" asked Miss Crilly.
Miss Castlevaine moved her chair nearer, listened intently, and then began in a low voice: "I was coming up with a pitcher of hot water, and you know there's a little place where you can see down on the desk. Well, Miss S. was there fussing over a box, and I said to myself, 'I guess somebody's got some flowers.' Then I saw her lift the cover and slip out something white. I didn't see it distinctly, for just as she took hold of it she looked up, and I dodged out of sight. When I peeked down again she was dropping something into a little drawer, and I came on as still as I could. I thought then that whoever had those flowers wouldn't find out who sent 'em!"
"It isn't right!" Mrs. Albright's comfortable face took on stern, troubled lines.
"I'd go to the florist and find out," declared Miss Crilly.
"There's no name on the box." Miss Sterling drew a deep breath, and indignation flushed her pale cheeks.
"I did suppose we could have what belonged to us, even here!
Things grow worse every day. Boiled tripe for dinner—ugh!" Miss
Castlevaine's face wrinkled with repugnance.
"And only potatoes to go with it," sighed Mrs. Albright. "It's too bad we can't have green vegetables and fruit—now, in the season."
"I heard something yesterday," resumed Miss Castlevaine, "that I guess you won't like—I don't know what we're coming to! Miss Major got it in a roundabout way through one of the managers, and it may not be true; but they say they're going to cut out our Wednesday pudding and our Sunday pie!" Her little blue eyes glared at her listeners.
Juanita Sterling dropped back in her chair. "What next!" she ejaculated.
"They'll be keeping us on mackerel and corned beef yet!" snapped Miss Castlevaine. "As if we didn't pay enough when we came here to insure us first-class board for the rest of our lives' I gave them three thousand dollars—I was a fool to do it!—and I have been here only two years! If they keep that woman much longer—!" The flashing eyes and set lips finished the sentence.
"Well, ain't that great!" cried Miss Crilly. "I didn't bring any such pile as you did, Miss Castlevaine, but that isn't to the point! They've got more money 'n they know what to do with! What they saving their old barrelful for, anyway? Not a scrap o' dessert from one week's end to another—goodness gracious me!"
CHAPTER VIII
WAITING TO BE THANKED
Juanita Stirling sat alone with her roses, trying to think it all out. The other ladies were down in the parlor, where Mrs. Nobbs was reading aloud; but to-night Egyptian archaeology had no charm for the possessor of the pink roses. How could she wander through prehistoric scenes while somebody was waiting to be thanked! Somebody—but who? The roses knew! Yet they would not tell! Little quivers of light fluttered in and out of their alluring hearts, almost as if they said, "We are telling! We are telling! Only you will not understand!" The woman gazed wistfully at them—and sighed. The secret of the roses held her through the long, still hours of the evening. What possible reason could the superintendent have had for withholding the name, unless—! She shook her head and sternly chided her cheeks for rivaling the roses. If only Polly hadn't—but was it Polly? Had not that name appeared before Polly spoke? She clinched her teeth in scorn for herself. "'There's no fool like an old fool,'" she muttered contemptuously. No doubt it was Georgiana Lake. To-morrow she would write Mrs. Lake a note of thanks. There would be no risk in that. Yes, she would do it! She would be a fool no longer! And if the roses chuckled over her decision she never knew it.
The note went by the morning's mail. Its answer came in two days.
My dear Nita
You are a witch fit for the hanging! How did you
know—how could you guess!—I was going to send
you some of our Pink Ramblers? Only they are not
quite blossomed out enough yet. When they are you
shall have more than you can hold in your two small
hands! But to thank me for them ahead of time! It
is just like you! You always were a witch! Why don't
you come to see me? I should have been up last visiting
day only that the house was full of workmen, and
Isabel had engagements, and somebody must stay—I
was the somebody!—A visitor! Too bad! Love—
GEORGIANA.
Before the pink roses had lost a petal another box was brought to Miss Sterling's door. Her fingers quivered with hope as she untied the ribbon. The address was in the same firm, open hand. A shimmer of gold met her first glance, but the scrap of white she had longed for was missing. Without doubt the pilferer had thwarted her again. She put the yellow beauties into water with half-hearted pleasure. Why couldn't Miss Sniffen let her have her own! She pounded the air with her little impotent fists. She did not go down to tea. Unhappiness and worry are not appetizers.
The next morning it was whispered from room to room that the second card had been filched from Miss Sterling's box of roses. Miss Castlevaine loved so well the transmitting of newsy tidbits, that they were not apt to remain long in one quarter.
"I'd do something about it!" she declared to Miss Major. "It has come to a pretty pass if our belongings have to be tampered with before we even are allowed to see them! I think somebody ought to tell the president."
The incident, however, passed with talk, nobody being willing to risk her residence in behalf of Juanita Sterling.
When Polly Dudley heard of it she waxed wrathful.
"I never liked Miss Sniffen," she declared, "and now I just hate her!"
"Polly!" remonstrated Miss Sterling.
"I don't care, I do! I wish mother was on the Board, then I 'd try to make her say something! What business has Miss Sniffen to open your boxes, anyhow? I almost know they came from Mr. Randolph, and that's why she's mad about it!"
"Polly, I hope you won't say that to anybody else. You've no more reason to think he sent them than you have to think King George sent them."
Polly chuckled.
"You haven't—intimated such a thing, have you?—to anybody else, I mean?" The question held an anxious tone.
"Why, no, I guess not," was the slow answer, "except mother. I think I said to mother that probably he was the one."
Miss Sterling shook her head with a tiny scowl. "Your mother must think me an intensely silly woman," she sighed.
"Oh, I didn't say you thought so!" Polly hastened to explain. "I only said I did."
"Please don't even suggest it again," she laughed. "I wish the mystery could be cleared up."
The sender's name was discovered earlier than they had thought possible.
Two days afterwards, Polly rushed in, her face alight, her eyes shining. "Oh, Miss Nita!" she began, and then stopped, suddenly realizing that Mrs. Winslow Teed and Miss Crilly were in the room.
"I didn't know—I thought maybe—you'd go with me to call on Miss Lily—Doodles said—Doodles is in a hurry for me to go," she ended lamely.
Juanita Sterling, amused at the sudden transition, had caught a flash of triumph in Polly's eye and wondered with a fluttering heart what she had come to announce.
"Why can't we go, too?" cried Miss Crilly.
"Miss Lily looks like a refined, cultured person," remarked Mrs.
Winslow Teed.
"Oh, Doodles says she is lovely!" Polly had recovered her equilibrium.
The latest comer at the June Holiday Home received her visitors with shy courtesy. Miss Crilly and Polly soon relieved her of any embarrassment she may have felt, and talk went on blithely.
Several smiling glances thrown across the room by Polly put Miss Sterling's mind in confusion. They might signify much or nothing, yet she found herself missing what was being said around her in wild conjecture as to their meaning. She wanted to carry Polly upstairs with her. Finally she rose to go, and Polly said good-bye, too, in accordance with Miss Sterling's hope.
They went along the corridor together. Polly squeezing her companion's arm with little chuckles of delight.
"You can't guess what I've got to tell you!" she broke out, as soon as they were at a safe distance from Miss Lily's room.
"Sh!" cautioned the other. Talk above a whisper was forbidden in the halls.
"Oh, I'm always forgetting!" breathed Polly.
Once inside the third-floor room the little woman was seized by a pair of eager arms and whirled round and round.
"He did send them! He did! He did! Now what do you think!"
Miss Sterling went suddenly limp and dropped into a chair.
"You don't know—for certain?" she cried. "I do! Mr. Randolph sent you those roses—both boxes!"
The woman felt the flame in her face and turned quickly on pretense of searching for something in her sewing-basket. She was so long about it that Polly began to complain.
"You don't care very much, seems to me! I thought you'd be just as glad as I am!"
"Why, I am glad to find out who sent them, dear, as glad as can be!
But I may as well be sewing on these buttons while you are talking.
Now, tell me how you found out—I'm dying to know!" she laughed.
"Well, it's so funny!" Polly resumed. "You see, our Sunday-School is going to send a boy in India to college, and last Sunday we had to tell how we'd earned what we brought. A boy in Chris's class, Herbert Ogden, said Mr. Randolph paid him fifteen cents apiece for carrying two boxes of roses to the June Holiday Home. So after Sunday-School Chris went along with him and asked him if he remembered who the boxes were for. He said, 'Oh, yes, because it was such a queer name! They were both directed to Miss Ju-an-i-ta Sterling!' Chris said it was all he could do to keep his face straight. And the boy went on to say he remembered the last name because it made him think of sterling silver! Wasn't that the greatest?"
The exclamations and laughter satisfied even Polly.
"You'll thank him right away, shan't you?" she queried.
"I suppose I ought." sighed the possessor of the roses.
"Don't you want to?" Polly's tone showed her surprise.
"Such notes are hard to write," was the discreet answer. She bent closer over her work than there was any need. Her cheeks were pinking up again.
"I do believe you're growing near-sighted!" declared Polly irrelevantly.
"No, I guess not," she replied calmly. "This button bothered me—it's all right now," as Polly scrutinized the waist.
"I shouldn't think you'd hate to write to Mr. Randolph. I think he's lovely!"
"I presume he is," Miss Sterling said quietly. "I'm not well acquainted with him, you know."
"I'll write it for you," proposed Polly, "if you'd like me to."
The little woman bending over the blouse caught her breath—to think of missing the writing of that thank-you to Nelson Randolph!
"Oh, no, dear! I won't shirk my duty. It wouldn't look quite the thing for you to do it."
"Perhaps it wouldn't," Polly agreed, "though I'd just as lief."
CHAPTER IX
BLANCHE PUDDICOMBE
"You're a great deal better, aren't you, Miss Nita?" Polly was saying.
Miss Sterling gave a smiling nod across the bed. She and Polly were putting on the covers.
"I think you've been growing stronger since the picnic. Maybe it was the outdoors. Father says there's nothing like it for nerves. I wish we could have another, now your ankle is all well; but it is too late for to-day. Why can't we go to walk, you and Mrs. Adlerfeld and Mrs. Albright and I? I know a lovely road out Brookside Avenue way."
"Well," agreed Miss Sterling, "if it isn't too far. I feel equal to a good deal this morning."
"Oh, that's jolly! We needn't go any farther than we choose, you know. I'll bring a lunch, so it will seem like a little picnic—things taste so much better out of doors. Isn't it lovely that you are stronger! Did you tell Mr. Randolph that you're better?"
"Why, no, dear, of course not! It was just a note of thanks."
"What if it was! You could have said that! He'll want to know!"
"I think he'll be able to survive the omission." Miss Sterling patted the pillow into shape and smiled over it.
"Oh, I saw him yesterday!" Polly broke out. "I forgot to tell you!"
The other waited, an expectant smile fluttering about her pretty lips.
"Blanche Puddicombe was riding with him. He had his roadster. I don't see what he takes her around so much for. She isn't a bit pretty."
"Probably she is agreeable." Miss Sterling laid down the blanket she had folded and crossed the room.
"I don't see how she can be with such a mother," Polly went on. "She fusses herself up a good deal the same way. She hasn't a mite of taste. I saw her downtown shopping the other day with a sport skirt, very wide scarlet stripes, and a dress hat trimmed with a single pink rose—the most delicate pink—and a light blue feather! Oh, yes, and a crepe-de-chine waist of pale green!"
An amused chuckle sounded from the window, where Miss Sterling was straightening the curtains.
"You ought to have seen her! Her hair is black as—my shoe, and she wears it waved right down over her ears—you wouldn't know she had any ears! Queer, Mr. Randolph should want her riding round with him so much! You'd think he would have more sense, wouldn't you?"
"She has money—and youth!" was the emphasized reply, in a cold, hard tone. "Money and youth make everything harmonize—even sport skirts and dress hats!"
"She doesn't begin to look as young as you do. She looks more than thirty, and you don't!"
"Polly Dudley!"
"Father says so, anyway!"
"I thank your father for the nattering compliment; but I think he must be needing glasses."
"No, he doesn't need glasses!" retorted Polly. "His eyes are first-rate. Dear me! Is it eleven o'clock? I must go home! Let's start early—by two, can you?"
"Oh, I don't believe I'll go this afternoon!" The voice sounded weary.
"Why, Miss Nita! you said you would!"
"I know, but I wasn't tired then. I guess I'll have to put it off a day or two."
"You haven't done anything to tire you! You'll never get well if you don't go more!" cried Polly plaintively. "And we won't go a step farther than you like. We needn't ask anybody else, if you'd rather not—we can go all by ourselves." Polly waited anxiously.
Miss Sterling shook her head with a little sigh. "You go with the others to-day. I don't feel as if I could."
Polly finally went off, her face downcast. Coaxings had availed nothing.
CHAPTER X
"GOOD-BYE, PUDDING"
Juanita Sterling scowled a perfunctory thank-you to Mrs. Nobbs, who handed her a long box. She had come to hate those long boxes.
"I wish he'd keep his old flowers in his greenhouse!" she muttered disdainfully after the door was well shut. She gazed on the box with a sigh. Nevertheless, she untied it with hurrying fingers.
Great ruby roses sent their pent-up fragrance straight to her nostrils, and she drew it in with a breath of delight. Then she flung the box on the bed and finished putting her dresser in order, a task with which she had been occupied.
Little jerky bits of scorn were now and then directed toward the flowers, as if they were responsible for their intrusion. When their innocence suddenly suggested itself, she smiled.
"Poor things, they can't help it! How should I feel if I were carried where I was not wanted and then should be blamed for being there!"
Contritely she took the roses from their box and put them in her prettiest vase, quite as if she would make amends. She sat down by them and looked the matter in the face.
"I can't have these where they will remind me all day long of being a silly old woman!" She considered the blossoms with a dismal face. "What shall I do with them? I'd put them in a bundle under the bed, only I'd feel so sorry for them—no, I can't do that! I suppose I could give them away—oh, there's Mrs. Crump! The very thing! Maybe they'll help her to forget her pain. I'll take them in now!" She caught up the vase and bore it triumphantly along the hall.
Mrs. Crump was on the couch.
"All for me? Why, Miss Sterling! How good you are! You can't have kept many for yourself."
"I don't want any," laughed the donor. "I'll be glad enough if you can enjoy them."
Miss Crilly and Miss Major came in.
"Mis' Crump! if you're not tryin' to beat Miss Sterling! Seems like a hospital 'stead of a Home, so many roses round!—You don't say she's given you all hers? My, ain't you the limit o' generosity. Miss Sterling! You look lots better. Mis' Crump! Maybe it's the reflection o' the roses! Lovely color, ain't it! He must be a goner, sure! How many times a week d' they come? 'Nother card swooped, I s'pose? It beats me!"
Miss Major opened the door for Miss Castlevaine.
"I couldn't help hearing what you said about another card—who's lost one now?"
She shook her head while Miss Crilly explained. "We shall have to lock up our jewelry pretty soon—huh! How do you feel this morning, Mrs. Crump? Had the doctor?"
The invalid winced and caught her breath, as a sudden twinge shot through her arm. "I don't know as I'm any worse," she said. "I haven't slept a wink since two o'clock! No, the doctor didn't stop here! I thought maybe he would, he was in Mrs. Post's room, right next door; but Mrs. Nobbs said yesterday it wasn't necessary—it's 'only pain,' you know!"
"Only pain!" laughed Miss Crilly. "Isn't that enough? Then, when
I'm sick it'll be with something besides pain—I'll remember that!
And I'll have the doctor when I need him—don't you forget it!"
"What's the matter with Mrs. Post?" queried Miss Castlevaine.
"Something about her knee—she told me the doctor was going to bandage it up. It was Mrs. Post, you know!" Mrs. Crump emphasized the sentence with lowered voice and lifted eyebrows.
Miss Castlevaine nodded. "No favorites in the June Holiday Home!
How did you like the dinner yesterday noon?" She smiled knowingly.
"It's good-bye, pudding, forevermore!" laughed Miss Crilly.
"Didn't it seem queer not to have a bit of dessert?"
"Same as other days," returned Miss Major. "I suppose the Sunday pie will go next."
"So I heard!" Miss Castlevaine's lips thinned themselves together.
"But that isn't the worst thing! Do you know about Mrs. Dick?"
"No—what?" Miss Crilly stopped smelling of the roses.
"Why, Tuesday she met an old schoolmate on the street who inquired if she had been ill. Mrs. Dick said no. 'Why didn't you come to the wedding, then?' the lady asked. 'Wedding?' exclaimed Mrs. Dick; 'what wedding?' 'Why, Anita's!' (Anita is her daughter.) 'I didn't know she was going to be married, and it isn't likely I should have gone without an invitation,' she laughed. 'I invited you,' the lady said. 'It was a very informal affair, no cards, and not many guests; but I telephoned to the Home, for you to come over and spend the day. I wanted you to see Anita's pretty clothes and her beautiful presents. They said they'd give you the message right off.' 'First I've heard of it!' said Mrs. Dick, and I tell you she was mad! Isn't that awful? If anything happens to us, I don't know as our friends will hear of it till after the funeral—huh!"
"Is she going to make a fuss about it?" asked Miss Major.
"Of course not! She'd probably be turned out if she did."
"What are we coming to!" For a minute Miss Crilly actually looked doleful. "I'm going to tell all my folks that if they want me to know anything in a hurry they'd better telegraph or send me a special delivery letter—that'll fix 'em. My! To think of bein' invited to a weddin' and not knowin' it!"
"When I first came here," resumed Miss Castlevaine, "my cousin was dreadfully upset because they wouldn't call me to the telephone to talk with her. Finally she said so much they gave in, and I went down. I supposed it was the regular thing until she told me about it afterwards. She had to ask me two or three questions about something, and get my answers to know what to do."
"There should be a telephone in every room, as there is in a hotel," asserted Miss Major.
"Oh, my!" ejaculated Miss Crilly. "When you get it, send me word! Probably I shan't be here by that time, but I guess I shall be hoverin' somewhere round, and I'll know when your 'phone's in!"
"To have one in each room would be a great deal of expense," said
Mrs. Crump.
"What of it!" retorted Miss Major. "Haven't they money enough? They're always building additions—now the one that's going to spoil Miss Sterling's room and Miss Twining's down below. They'd a good deal better spend it on telephones."
"They've got a new rug down in the hall," announced Miss Castlevaine. "'Most anybody could have new rugs if they stole the money to buy them with!"
"What do you mean?" was Miss Crilly's quick query.
"You'd better not say anything about it; but I heard that Miss Twining wrote a poem for a Sunday-School paper and got eight dollars for it—"
"My!" put in Miss Crilly.
"And," went on Miss Castlevaine, "she bought a new shirt waist. When she wore it Mrs. Nobbs asked her where she got it. Like a simpleton, she told the whole story, so pleased to have earned the money, and never dreaming but that it was her own! What did they do but make her give up the seven dollars she had left! They did let her keep the waist—she needed it badly enough." Miss Castlevaine shook her head, while comments flew fast.
"I'm sorry for Miss Twining," sympathized Miss Crilly. "She's the kind that won't sputter it all out, as I should; she'll cry herself sick over it!"
"If we cried for all the hard things we have here," said Mrs.
Crump, "we shouldn't have any eyes left!"
"I wonder if the directors know how things are going," observed
Miss Major.
"I bet they ain't on to it!" Miss Crilly wagged her head decisively.
"But who'd dare tell 'em?" queried Mrs. Crump.
"Excuse me!" giggled Miss Crilly.