“You’ve got him to work!” said Louise joyously, looking at her sister
with shining eyes.
“I didn’t do it,” said Cornelia, smiling. “He came of his own accord,
and seems awfully interested.”
“Well, it’s because you’re here, of course; that makes all the
difference in the world.”
“Thank you, Louie,” said her sister, stooping to kiss the warm cheek
lovingly.
“Now,” said Louise pulling off her clean middy blouse, and starting
upstairs, “what do you want me to do first?”
“Well, I thought maybe you’d like to dust these books and put them in
the bookcase, dear; then they’ll be out of our way.”
Louise was rapidly buttoning herself into her old gingham work-dress
when Cornelia came hurriedly from the kitchen and called up the
stairs, a note of dismay in her voice:
“Louie, I don’t suppose you happen to know who owns this house, do
you? It’s just occurred to me we’ll have to ask permission to build a
fireplace, and that may upset the whole thing. Maybe the owner won’t
want an amateur to build a fireplace in his house.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” shouted Louise happily, appearing at the
stair-head. “Father owns it. It was the only thing he had left after
he lost his money.”
“Father owns it?” said Cornelia incredulously. “How strange! A house
like this! When did he buy it?”
“He didn’t buy it. He signed a note for a poor man; and then the man
died, and never paid the money, and father had to take the house.”
“Oh!” said Cornelia thoughtfully, seeing more tragedy in the family
history, and feeling a sudden great tenderness for the father who had
borne so many disappointments and yet kept sweet and strong. “Well,
then, anyhow we can do as we please with it,” she added happily. “I’m
awfully glad. I guess we shan’t have to ask permission. Father ’ll
like it all right.”
“Well, I rather guess he will, especially if it keeps Carey busy a
little while,” said Louise.
They worked rapidly and happily together, and soon the books were in
orderly rows in the bookcase.
Cornelia had found a bundle of old curtains in one of the boxes; and
now she brought them out, and began to measure the windows.
“The lace curtains all wore out, and mother threw them away,”
volunteered Louise sadly.
“Never mind; I’ve found a lot of pretty good scrim ones here, and I’m
going to wash them and stencil a pattern of wild birds across them,”
said Cornelia. “They’ll do for the bedrooms, anyway. The windows are
the same size all over the house, aren’t they? I have some beautiful
patterns for stencilling up in my trunk that I made for some of the
girls’ curtains at college.”
“How perfectly dear!” said Louise. “Can’t I go up and find them?”
“Yes, they are in the green box just under the tray. I wish we had
a couple more windows in this room, it is so dark. If I were a
carpenter for a little while I would knock out that partition into
the hall, and saw out two windows, one each side of the fireplace
over there,” said Cornelia, motioning toward the blank sidewall where
already her mind had reared a lovely stone fireplace.
“There’s a carpenter lives next door,” said Louise thoughtfully. “He
goes to work every morning at seven o’clock, but I suppose he would
charge a lot.”
“I wonder,” said Cornelia. “We’ll have to think about that”; and she
stood off in the hall, and began to look around with her eyelashes
drawn down like curtains through which she was sharply watching a
thought that had appeared on her mental horizon.
On the whole it was a very exciting evening, and a happy one also.
When Harry and his father came home, there were two loads of stone
already neatly piled inside the little yard, and Carey was just
flourishing up to the door with a loud honk of the horn on his
borrowed truck, bringing a third load. Harry had of course told his
father the new plans, and the father had been rather dubious about
such a scheme.
“He’ll just begin it, and then go off and leave a mess around,” he
had told Harry with a sigh.
But, when he saw the eager light on his eldest son’s face, he took
heart of hope. Carey was so lithe and alert, worked with so much
precision, strength, and purpose and seemed so intent on what he was
doing. Perhaps, after all, something good would come of it, although
he looked with an anxious eye at the borrowed car, and wondered what
he would do if Carey should break it and be liable for its price.
Harry turned to, and helped with the unloading; and both were
persuaded to come in barely for a five minutes’ bite at the good
dinner that was already on the table. They despatched it with
eagerness and little ceremony, and were off for another load, asking
to have their pudding saved until they returned, as every minute must
count before dark, and they had no time for pudding just now.
When the boys were away again, Cornelia began to talk with her father
about Carey. She told him a little of their talk that morning, and
persuaded him not to say anything for a while to stop Carey from
working at the garage until he had earned enough to buy some new
clothes and get a little start. The father reluctantly consented,
although he declared it would not do any good, for Carey would spend
every cent he earned on his wild young friends; and, if he bought
any clothes, they would be evening clothes. He had seen before how
it worked. Nevertheless, although he spoke discouragedly, Cornelia
knew that he would stand by her in her attempt to help Carey back to
respectability; and she went about clearing off the supper table with
a lighter heart.
After supper she saw to it that there was plenty of hot water for
baths when the boys got through their work, and she got out an old
flannel shirt and a pair of Carey’s trousers, and set a patch, and
mended a tear, and put them in order for work. Then she had the
ironing-board and a basin and soap ready for cleaning his other
clothes when he came in. For Carey-like he had gone to haul all that
stone in the only suit he had to wear for good. She sighed as she
thought what a task was before her. For something inside Carey needed
taking out and adjusting before Carey would ever be a dependable,
practical member of the family. Nevertheless, she was proud of him as
she listened to the thud of each load and glanced out of the front
window at the ever-increasing pile of stones that now ran over the
tiny front yard and was encroaching on the path that led to the back
door.
“Gotta get ’em all, or somebody else ’ll get onto it, and take ’em,”
declared Harry when he came in for a drink, his face and hands black
and a happy, manly look around his mouth and eyes.
It was ten o’clock when the last load was dumped, by the light of all
the lamps in the house brought out into the yard, and it was more
than an hour later before the boys got back from returning the truck
to its owner. They were tired and dirty almost beyond recognition,
but happier than they had been for many a day, and glad of the bit of
a feast which their sister had set out for them, and of the hot baths.
“Well, if we don’t have a fireplace now, it won’t be my fault!”
declared Harry, mopping a warm red face with a handkerchief that
had seen better days. “Gee! We certainly did work. Carey can work,
too, when he tries, I’ll say”; and there was a note of admiration in
his voice for his elder brother, which was not missed by either the
brother or the watching sisters. Everybody slept well that night,
and they were all so weary that they came near to oversleeping next
morning.
It was after the children had gone to school and Carey was off
getting lime and sand and cement for his work that Cornelia went out
into the back yard to hang up the curtains which she had just washed,
and, turning away from the line, she encountered a pair of curious
eyes under the ruffle of a gay calico boudoir-cap whose owner was
standing on the neighboring back porch, the one to the left, where
Louise had said the carpenter lived.
“Good morning!” said the other woman briskly, as if she had a perfect
right to be intimate. “You all ain’t agoing to build, are you? I see
all them stone come last night, and I couldn’t make out what in life
you all was going to do with ’em, lessen you was goin’ to pull down
and build out.”
Cornelia had a foolish little hesitancy in responding to this lively
overture, for her instinct was to look down upon people who lived in
so mean a neighborhood; but she reflected quickly that she was living
there herself, and perhaps these people didn’t like it any better
than she did. Why should she look down upon them? So she looked up
with a pleasant smile, if a trifle belated.
“Oh, good morning. No, we’re only going to have a fireplace. I wish
we were going to build; the house isn’t arranged at all the way I
should like it, and it’s such fun to have things made the way you
want them, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” said the neighbor, eying her curiously. “I s’pose it is. I
never have tried it. My husband’s a carpenter, and of course he don’t
have time to make things for me. It’s like the shoemaker’s children
goin’ barefoot, as the sayin’ is. I was going to say that, if you all
was buildin’, my husband, being a carpenter, might be handy for you.
He takes contracts sometimes.”
“Oh, does he?” Cornelia’s color rose brightly. “I certainly wish we
could afford to have some work done. There are two windows I need
badly, and a partition I want down; but I can’t do it now. Perhaps
later, when mother gets home from the hospital, and we’re not under
such heavy expense, we can manage it.”
The neighbor eyed her thoughtfully.
“Be nice if you could have ’em done when she got back,” she
suggested. “Your mother looked to be an awful sweet woman. I saw her
when she come here first, and I said to my husband, I said: ‘Jim,
them’s nice people. It does one good to have a woman like that livin’
next door, she’s so lady-like and pretty, don’t you know, and so
kinda sweet.’ I was awful sorry when I heard she had to go to the
hospital. Say, she certainly did look white when they took her away.
My! but ain’t she fortunate she’s got a daughter old enough to fill
her place? You been to college, ain’t you? My! but that’s fine! Well,
say, I’ll tell Jim about it. Mebbe he could do your work for you
nights if you wasn’t in a hurry, and then it wouldn’t come so high,
you know. It would be nice if you could get it all fixed up for your
ma when she comes back, Jim wouldn’t mind when you paid him, you
know. I’ll tell him to come in and look it over when he gets in this
afternoon, anyhow.”
“Oh!” said Cornelia, taking a quick breath of astonishment. “Oh,
really I don’t believe you better. Of course, I might manage part of
what I want if it didn’t cost too much, but I’ve heard all building
is very high now.”
She was making a lightning calculation, and thinking of the money
she had brought back from college. Would it—could she? Ought she? It
would be so nice if she dared!
“That’s all right. You’re a neighbor and Jim wouldn’t mind doing a
good turn. He’d make it as cheap as he could. It won’t cost nothing
for him to look it over, anyhow. I’ll tell him when he comes back.
My goodness! I smell that bread burning. Excuse me, I must go in”;
and the neighbor vanished, leaving Cornelia bewildered and a trifle
upset, and immediately certain that she ought not to allow the woman
to send in her husband. Well, she would think it over, and run in
later to tell her it was impossible. That was clearly the only thing
to do.
So she hurried back to put on the irons, for her curtains would
soon be dry enough to iron, and she wanted to get them stencilled
and up as soon as possible, the windows looked so bare and staring,
especially up in Carey’s room.