JANE'S BIRTHDAY
For the next two days the boys searched high and low, far and near,
without finding the box. On the morning of the third, which was Saturday,
Jane announced at breakfast that, as it was her birthday, she wished to
go down to the inn and get the mail. The stage would not come up that way
until the following Monday. Instantly there was an uproar. Julie, whose
foot was nearly well again, hopped around the table and threw her arms
about her big sister's neck without fear of being rebuked because the
fresh muslin collar might be crushed. The older girl slipped an arm
lovingly about the child, who stood with her cheek pressed against the
soft dark hair.
Dan reached a hand across the table. "Jane, so it is! This is the
wonderful day on which you are eighteen. I congratulate you!"
Gerry, with a whoop, had pounced upon her, even as Julie had done,
without fear of rebuke. The older girl had been so consistently loving
during the past few days that, childlike, they had accepted the change as
being natural and permanent. Dan smiled happily at the group and in his
eyes there was a tenderness that his sister rejoiced to see. But the lad
who had been her chum since little childhood also knew that Jane's heart
held a sorrow which she was not sharing with him. That it had something
to do with Jean Sawyer he surmised, but believed that it was because Jane
still thought Mr. Packard's overseer liked Merry especially well.
"Let's have a party!" Gerald shouted as he capered about the room unable,
it would seem, to otherwise express his enthusiasm. "That would be
sport!" Dan agreed. Julie slipped from Jane's encircling arm. Clapping
her hands, she sang out: "Goodie! We're going to have a party and maybe
there'll be ice-cream."
"There probably isn't any to be had nearer than Scarsburg," Dan remarked.
Then he grew thoughtful, wondering how long the girl he loved would be
detained at the county seat, "along of school-work."
As though voicing his thought, Gerald ceased his antics to say earnestly:
"It won't be a party unless Meg is at it."
"And Jean Sawyer, too!" Julie put in. "Let's ask Meg and Jean to our
party. You want them, don't you, Janey?"
The other girl smiled as she arose to clear the breakfast table; then
turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the sudden tears from Dan.
The boy's heart was sad. He also believed that Jean Sawyer especially
liked Merry, and, if this were true, there was nothing for Jane to do but
to try _not_ to care.
Bob suggested that he and Dan go up to the Heger place to get the horse.
"Then the girls can take turns walking and riding," he ended. Merry
seemed to be very eager to go to the village, far down in the valley. "I,
also, am expecting some mail," was all that she would tell the others.
"I'm glad it's such a shiny day," Julie chirped. "Birthdays ought to be
all gold and blue, hadn't they ought to be, Janey?"
"What a tangled up sentence that is, dearie!" The older girl tried to
hide her own sorrow that she need not depress the others who were all in
a holiday mood. "But I _do_ believe that birthdays _ought_ to be sunny,
for they are a chance to start life all over." Merry looked up brightly.
"I love beginnings!" she said, as she rolled her sleeves preparing to
wash the dishes. "Whatever the mistakes or faults of the past have been,
I feel that on New Years and birthdays, and even on Mondays, I can clean
off the slate, so to speak, and start all over." When the two girls were
alone in the kitchen, Merry slipped an arm about her companion as she
said, "Dear Jane, I wish you would act more friendly toward poor Jean
Willoughby. I know that your seeming to avoid him the other day, hurt him
deeply." But Jane shook her head and in her eyes there was an expression
of suffering. "I can't! Oh, I can't!" she said miserably. "Some day he
might find out how I had acted about father's renouncing his fortune, and
then he would scorn me! I couldn't endure it, Merry. Oh, indeed, I
couldn't! I'm going back East with you next week, and then I shall never
see Jean Sawyer."
An hour later the young people started down the mountain road, Julie
riding on the horse as the other two girls, dressed in their natty hiking
costumes, declared that they would rather walk. They had decided to have
lunch at the inn, for Mrs. Bently was an excellent cook.
Jane covered her aching heart so well that Dan believed after all he had
been mistaken in thinking that she was sorrowing for Jean. Her loving
devotion to her best friend plainly proved to him that she was not at all
jealous of Merry. Deciding that he must have been wrong, he entered
wholeheartedly into the joyousness of the occasion and a jolly procession
it was that wended its way down the circling road toward the hamlet of
Redfords. At every turn Dan glanced down to see if, by any chance, Meg
Heger might be returning to her home cabin. Her foster-father had not
known how long she would have to stay at the Normal, where Teacher
Bellows had sent her for a time of intensive preparatory work, but the
lad hoped and believed that, even if Meg would have to return to
Scarsburg on the following Monday, she would visit her home over the
week-end. Nor was he wrong, for, at the bend, just above the village,
Gerald, who had been racing ahead, turned to shout through hands held
trumpet-wise: "Say kids, Meg Heger's coming. Gee-golly! Now she can come
to the party!"
Luckily no one glanced at Dan, for his sudden brightening expression
would have revealed the secret he wished to share with none but Meg. In
another few moments the girl, riding slowly up the mountain road on her
spotted pony, heard a chorus of shouts, and glancing up, saw the young
people on the bend above waving caps and kerchiefs. What a warmth there
was in the heart of the girl who, through all the years, had been without
a companion of her own age. And when at last they met, Jane was the first
to hurry forward with outstretched hands. "We've missed our nearest
neighbor and we're so glad you came home today," she said in her
friendliest manner.
The beautiful girl looked from one to another of the group and seeing in
each face a joyful expression, she asked: "What is it? Some special
occasion?" Gerald shouted, "Yo' bet it is! It's ol' Jane's birthday!"
Instantly he remembered the time in the orchard at home when he had
called his sister "Ol' Jane" and how scathingly he had been rebuked, and
he looked quickly, anxiously at the girl, but she was laughingly saying,
"You're right, Gerald! Eighteen _is_ old! I feel as ancient as the
hills." Then taking Meg's free hand, for Julie was clinging to the other,
Jane said, "Won't you turn about and take lunch with us at the inn? It's
the first of the birthday celebrations." But the mountain girl shook her
head, smiling happily into her friend's eyes as she replied: "Ma Heger is
expecting me this noon and will have the things baked up that I like
best. I couldn't disappoint her nor dear old Pap, either."
"But you'll come later. We'll be home by two o'clock and then the real
celebration is to begin," Jane begged, while Gerald said informingly,
"We're going to do stunts. I mean something extra-different. We don't
know what yet, but it'll be something awful jolly."
Meg beamed down at the eager freckled face. "I wouldn't miss it for
worlds. Of course I will be there." Dan, who had been standing silently
at her side said: "I will come up to your cabin for you. Then you will
know when we are back and ready to begin the frolic, whatever it is to
be."
"Is Jean Sawyer coming?" Meg glanced at Jane to inquire. The mountain
girl noted the sudden clouding of her new friend's eyes and although the
reply was lightly given in the negative, Meg knew that something was
wrong. She had been so sure that Jane and Jean liked each other
especially well.
Glancing at the sun, which was nearing the zenith, she exclaimed: "I must
go now; my pony has had a long walk today and I do not want him to climb
too rapidly." Then with a direct glance out of her dusky, long-lashed
eyes at Dan, she said: "I'll be ready and waiting for you when you come."
Mrs. Bently was indeed pleased when she heard that she was to have so
many hungry guests for lunch and asked if she might have one hour for
preparation.
The young people were disappointed when they learned that the mail had
not arrived, but they had not long to wait before the stage drew up in
front of the inn. Mr. Bently went out to get the leather bag which both
Jane and Merry hoped might contain something of especial interest to
them.
They all crowded around the tiny window in the corner which served as
postoffice and waited eagerly while the innkeeper sorted out the papers,
letters and packages.
"Wall, now," he beamed at them over his spectacles, "if here ain't that
parcel ol' Granny Peters been waitin' fer so long. Yarn's in it," he
informed his amused listeners. "Red, black and yellar. Granny sends to
the city for a fresh batch every summer and knits things for Christmas
presents. I've had one o' Granny Peters' mufflers every year for longer
than I kin recollect." He reached again into the bag. "An' here's
magazines enough to start a shop. Them's for the Packard ranch. They must
have a powerful lot o' time for settin' around readin', them two must."
Merry was watching eagerly, for, on the very next package she was sure
that she saw her name. The postmaster looked at it closely. Then he held
it far off to get a different angle, evidently hoping for enlightenment.
Finally he shook his head and tossed it to one side. "Reckon thar's been
a mistake as to that parcel," he said. "Thar ain't no Miss Marion Starr
in these here parts."
"I'm Marion Starr," that maiden informed him, laughingly holding out her
hand. But before the postmaster would give up the parcel he presented the
girl with a paper to sign. "Reckon thar's suthin' powerful valuable in
that thar box," he said, "bein' as it's sent registered."
Then he leaned on his elbows as though planning to wait until Merry had
opened her package before he finished distributing the mail, but to his
quite evident disappointment, the girl slipped it into her sweater coat
pocket. "I know what's in it," she said brightly. Jane, noting the
radiant happiness in her friend's face, believed that she also knew, but
her attention was attracted again to the small window near which she
stood, for the postmaster was touching her arm with a long letter. "Miss
Jane Abbott," he said, adding, "Wall, golly be, you're sort o' popular, I
reckon. Here are three letters an' thar's another that come in
yesterday."
"It's Jane's birthday," Julie piped up informingly. A month before the
older girl would have rebuked the younger for having been so familiar
with one of a class far beneath her. As it was, she accepted smilingly
the well meant remark. "Wall, do tell! How old be yo', Miss Jane? Not a
day over sixteen, jedgin' by yer looks."
As soon as the two girls could slip away from the others, Jane led Merry
into the deserted parlor of the inn, where hair-cloth chairs and sofa, a
marble-topped table, and bright-colored prints on the wall were revealed
in the subdued light from windows hung with heavy draperies.
When they were alone, Merry whirled and caught Jane's hands as she asked
glowingly: "Can you guess what's in the box? I told mother to forward
it."
For answer Jane stooped and kissed the flushed cheek of her friend. "Of
course, I can guess," she replied. "It's the ring Jean's brother was to
send you from Paris."
Merry soon had the small box unwrapped and a dew-drop clear diamond was
revealed in a setting of quaint design. "Oh, Merry, how wonderfully
beautiful it is!" Jane said with sincere admiration. Her shining-eyed
friend slipped it on the finger for which it was intended, then, smiling
up at her companion, she prophesied, "Some day another ring, as lovely as
this one, will make you my sister."
There was a wistful expression in the dark eyes, but Jane's quiet reply
was, "You are wrong, Merry. Even if Jean thinks he cares for me, he would
not, if he knew, and what is more, I have no reason to believe that he
even likes me better than he does his other girl friends."
Merry, knowing that time alone could tell whether or not she was a
prophet, changed the subject by asking: "From whom are your letters,
dear? How selfish I have been, opening my box first when it is _your_
birthday." Jane glanced at the top envelope, then tore it open with
breathless eagerness.
Merry surmised, and correctly, that the letter was from Jean Sawyer. It
was the one Mr. Bently had taken from a pigeon-hole where it had been
since the day before. It did not take long for Jane to read it, and when
she looked up there was an expression of happiness shining through the
tears that had come. Then suddenly and most unexpectedly, the girl sank
down in the stiff chair by the marble-topped table and bending her head
on her arms, she sobbed bitterly. Merry went to her and putting an arm
about her, she implored: "Don't, don't cry, dearie. It will make your
eyes red and the others will wonder. Tell me what is in the letter and
let us try to think what it is best to do. Is it from Jean?"
Jane lifted her head and wiped her eyes. Then she held the letter out for
her friend to read. There were few words in it, but they told how
sincerely unhappy the lad was because Jane seemed not to wish for his
friendship. Jean had written: "All I can think of is that in some way I
have hurt you, and that I do so want to be forgiven. At least, be frank
and tell me just why you do not wish my friendship."
"Why don't you tell him, dearie? If it would be hard to talk it over with
him, write a little letter now and leave it until someone comes for the
Packard ranch mail. Will you do that if I get the materials?"
Jane nodded miserably. "Yes, I would rather write it. Then I will go back
with you next week and I shall never again see Jean Sawyer."
Merry procured from Mr. Bently the paper and envelope, while Bob
willingly loaned his fountain pen. A glance at the big, loud-ticking
clock on the wall showed that there was still twenty minutes before Mrs.
Bently would be ready for them.
Merry thoughtfully left Jane alone, nor did she ask what her friend had
written when, at last, she joined the others, who were seated in the
cane-bottomed chairs on the front veranda of the inn.
The letter Jane had given to Mr. Bently, asking him to place it with the
rest of the mail for the Packard ranch.
The boys sprang up when Jane appeared, and Bob, being nearest, offered
his chair with a flourish. Merry glanced anxiously at her friend, but the
beautiful face betrayed nothing. "Thank you," Jane replied with a smile
at Bob, who had perched upon the rail near. Then, to Dan, she said:
"Brother, I have such a nice letter from Dad and one from grandmother,
but best of all is the check in Aunt Jane's letter, because now I can
repay the debt that I owe our dear, wonderful Meg."
Before she could say more, Mrs. Bently appeared in the doorway, her face
rosy, her spotless blue apron wound about her hands. "The birthday lunch
is ready to be dished up," she announced. Instantly Bob was on his feet,
making a deep bow before Jane and holding out his arm as he inquired,
"May I have the great pleasure of escorting the guest of honor?"
Gerald, taking the cue, bowed before Merry and Julie, laughing up at Dan,
said ungrammatically but happily: "Me'n you are all that's left." The
tall boy caught the little girl by one hand as he joyfully replied: "Mrs.
Tom Thumb and The Living Skeleton will end the procession."
Jane, smiling over her shoulder, said rebukingly, "Don't call yourself
that, brother. You're not nearly as thin as you were." When the
dining-room was reached, the young people were surprised and pleased.
"Say, boy!" was Bob's comment "Mrs. Bently, you've decked it out in grand
style."
The table to which they had been led was indeed resplendent with the best
of everything that the good woman possessed. On a real damask table-cloth
was glass that sparkled, while a pink rose pattern wound about plates and
cups. "They're my wedding presents," the comely woman told them as she
beamed her pleasure. "I never use them except for extra occasions like
Christmas and----"
"Birthdays," Gerald put in. Then, after the boys had moved the chairs out
for the girls and all were seated, they glanced about the room. Two
cowboys were at a table in a corner, and Jane recognized that one of them
was from the Packard ranch. "He'll take back their mail," she thought,
"and so this very day Jean Sawyer will know all. He will never, never
want to see me after he reads what I have written."
The menu for that birthday lunch was indeed an excellent one, but the
children, who sat next to each other, were eagerly anticipating the
dessert. "What do you 'spect it will be?" Gerald inquired softly, and
Julie whispered back: "I know what I wish it was. It begins with I. C."
"You might as well wish for something else," Dan, who had overheard,
replied, but when Mrs. Bently appeared, on her tray there were six dishes
heaped high with chocolate ice cream.
"Why, Mrs. Bently, are you a miracle worker?" Jane, pleased for the
children's sake, inquired. Laughingly the woman confessed that the
ice-cream had been the reason she had asked for one hour in which to
prepare. "So many folks motorin' past want ice-cream," she told them,
"and so Pa Bently fetched a new contraption from Denver last time he was
up there, an' it'll freeze ice-cream in one hour easy." Then she
disappeared to soon return with a mountain of a chocolate layer cake.
"You'll have to get along without candles, Miss Jane," the good woman
said, "an' the frostin' ain't very hard yet, but I reckon it'll pass."
The girl, who had felt scornful of these "natives," as she had called
them only a short month before, was deeply touched and she exclaimed with
real feeling: "Mrs. Bently, I do indeed appreciate all the trouble that
you have taken. I have never had a nicer party."
A moment later Jane saw the two cowboys leave the dining-room. Almost
unconsciously she pressed her hand against her heart to still its rapid
beating as her panicky thought was questioning: "Do you really want to
send that letter to Jean Sawyer? There is yet time to get it. Do you want
him to know just how dishonorable you were about the money?" She half
rose, then sank down again, for through the swinging door she had seen
Mr. Bently handing the Packard mail pouch to the cowboy. It was too late.
Then, chancing to meet Merry's troubled glance, Jane smiled as she said
with an effort at gaiety: "Gerald, if all of your wishes are to be
fulfilled as magically as this one has been, you are to be a lucky boy."
"There's two things we've wished for lately that don't happen, aren't
there, Danny?" The small boy looked up at his big brother, who smiled
down, as be replied, "I suppose you mean that we have not found Meg
Heger's box. What is the other unmaterialized wish, Gerry?"
The boy's wide eyes expressed astonishment. "Why, Dan Abbott, I do
believe you've forgotten that we wished we might find the lost gold
mine."
The older boy laughingly confessed that was true. Dan had found a gold
mine that he valued much more than the one to which Gerald referred. It
was Mrs. Bently who said, "It wasn't a lost mine, exactly, dearie. The
vein they'd been workin' petered out, although there are folks who reckon
that vein branched off somewhars, but the miners went away hot-foot when
the Bald Mountain Strike was made." Then she concluded: "There's not much
use huntin' for that lost vein, how-some-ever. Time and again there's
been wanderin' miners diggin' around in them parts, but they allays give
up and go away."
Then, as the young people rose, they each expressed some characteristic
praise for the meal and indeed Mrs. Bently was almost as pleased about it
as her guests had been. The bill, they found, was surprisingly small.
Then, after bidding the two queer characters goodbye, the six merrymakers
started up the trail with Julie again on the horse. The other girls took
turns riding with her and so, at about two, they reached the Abbott
cabin. Dan climbed to the back of the mare. Calling that he would soon
return, he rode up the mountain toward Meg's home. How very many things
had happened in the few weeks they had been in the mountains, he thought.
If only Jane could be happy, Dan assured himself, he would be supremely
so. But poor Jane found, as the moments passed, that she regretted more
and more having sent the letter, but she would not confide this to Merry,
whose suggestion it had been. Meanwhile the letter had reached its
destination and had been read by Jean Sawyer.