KIT GIVES HER BLESSING
Probably the next three days were the longest Kit had ever spent in her
life. Under Dr. Gallup's orders, she remained in bed to get over the shock
of her immersion.
"When I don't feel shocked a bit," she expostulated. "I don't see why I
can't sit in a chair down on the veranda."
"Yes, you just want to pose as an interesting invalid," Jean laughed. She
laid a rose-pink negligée jacket on the foot of the bed, with a little
white lace boudoir cap, caught here and there with pink satin rosebuds.
"Mother just took these out of the treasures of the past for you to dress
up in, and Cousin Roxy sent down a stack of books for you to read. Stanley
and Billie call about six times a day to inquire after you, and Madame
Ormond has offered to come and sing for you. Ralph told us he heard she
gets a thousand dollars a night in New York, so you can see how honored
you are, Kit."
"Jean, look at me," said Kit suddenly. "Will you tell me something, honest
and true?"
"I think mother's calling." Jean's voice was rather hurried, as she
started for the door.
"No, she isn't any such thing. I want to know if you and Ralph are
engaged. I don't see why you should try to keep it a secret when everybody
thinks you are anyway. And a wedding in the family would be so exciting."
But Jean shook her head, coloring quickly, and hurried down-stairs, with
only a laugh for an answer. Kit stared out of the window, rather
resentfully. She would be sixteen in November, and Jean was past eighteen.
Eighteen loomed ahead of her as a year of discretion, a time when you
naturally came into your heritage of mature reason and common sense. She
remembered once the Dean remarking that the human brain did not reach its
full development until eighteen, and how at the time she resented it,
feeling absolutely sure at fifteen there was nothing under the sun she
could not understand fully.
But the tumble in the river and peril to her life had left her completely
stranded, as it were, upon an unknown shore of indecision. Evidently it
was just what Billie had called it, a fool stunt for her to try and row up
that river alone. Kit had always gone rather jauntily on her way doing as
she thought best with an unshakable confidence that nothing could happen
to her. Now she suddenly faced life with a new respect for the unexpected.
Snags and sunken trees in the way of intrepid voyagers were evidently
facts which one had to guard against.
Another thing, there was a very uncomfortable sensation around Kit's crown
of glory, for her enemy had heaped coals of fire on her head, and returned
good for evil in such an overwhelming measure, she never could repay him.
Surely twenty-four hours had made an enormous difference in Kit's outlook
on life, for she considered these things instead of the pink negligée on
the foot of the bed.
The afternoon of the third day she was allowed to sit down on the veranda
in a large willow armchair. Helen and Doris hovered over her quite as if
she had been the heroine of some romantic adventure, and nearly all the
tent colonists visited her in relays. Billie came up last of all, and
brought her a live walking-stick on a spray of sassafras, as a special
token, but Stanley did not appear.
"He's gone off up in the hills," Billie told her, "chasing some kind of a
new moth. You'd be awfully dead by now, Kit, if he hadn't happened to see
you go down, because I was in the tent and didn't know anything about it.
But it was just like him to dash after you, and pull you out. He did that
one day in Washington last winter, and saved a little darky from being run
down by a fire engine. I told him he was a regular emergency doctor. I
wish I could be like he is; I mean right on the job when there's any real
danger."
Kit leaned her chin reflectively on her hand.
"Heroes are such uncomfortable people in everyday life, Billie," she
said. "Everybody, even Dad and mother, keep telling me how everlastingly
grateful I must be to him for saving my life. I don't see what I can do
except thank him, and I have done that."
"Treat him decently," Billie suggested, encouragingly. "Even if you don't
like him, hide it."
"Oh, I like him well enough," Kit answered, "only he's never seemed like
Ralph, and Honey, and you. I guess I've always resented every one thinking
he was so wonderful. It was as though he had had a sort of sweet revenge
on me for taking him for a berry hooker."
She stopped as Ralph and Jean came slowly up the drive together. Jean's
arms were filled with early goldenrod, and she had some woodbine leaves
fastened in a close fillet crown about her smooth dark hair. Ralph came up
the veranda steps and seated himself on a pile of straw mats beside the
willow chair.
"We've just decided," he announced, "and Jean says I may tell you all.
It's going to happen in September, so she can go west with me. How do you
like your new brother, Kit?"
"I approve," answered Kit, solemnly. "You know I've always liked you,
Ralph, and I hereby bestow the hand of Jean upon you with all my
blessings. Are you going to let her keep on painting?"
"She can do anything she likes," Ralph promised. "And if she can find any
more beautiful scenery than we have in Saskatchewan and throughout
Northwest Canada, then I'll live and die right here in Gilead."
If it had been any one but Ralph MacRae, Mrs. Robbins said, the family
would never have given its united consent to Jean's marriage, but ever
since that first summer when he had arrived at Greenacres as their unknown
landlord, Ralph had been accepted as one of the family circle.
Piney and Honey were delighted over this new bond between the two
families.
"We will be all cousins by marriage now," Piney said, "and if you girls
don't let me be a bridesmaid, too, I'll never pass your portals again."