THE GAY FAMILY
As Richard had foreseen, the Willis girls formed the habit of wandering
over to the Gay farm nearly every day. Rosemary liked Louisa and the
taciturn Alec, and the younger children were companionable in age and
tastes for Sarah and Shirley.
It was Warren who explained something of the conditions under which the
Gay children worked and lived, one evening when the girls were in bed
and Winnie was busy setting bread in the kitchen. Warren treasured
these rare half hours on the porch with Mrs. Willis and he had once
declared to Richard that ten minutes' uninterrupted conversation with
"Rosemary's mother" could make him forget the hardest and longest day.
"The way I figure it out," said Warren, his lean, brown face showing
earnest lines even in the shaded light from the porch lamp, "the way I
figure it, Mrs. Willis, the Gays will help Rosemary and Sarah and
Shirley and they will certainly help them. Alec is fifteen and Louisa
is just Rosemary's age--and yet they have the burden of supporting and
bringing up four younger children."
"And my girls have such a happy, sheltered life," struck in Mrs.
Willis. "Yes, Warren, I can see what you mean; it won't hurt them to
learn of the existence of poverty and hard work. But what happened to
the parents of these children?"
"They died a couple of years ago--within three months of each other, I
believe," said Warren. "All they left was these few acres--sixty, I
think Alec told me. There's a mortgage and most of the stock has been
sold off--Alec does wonders for his age, but he can't get the work done
alone. I helped him some last year and I'd help him more, but he is
too proud to take much."
"But they can't go on like this," Mrs. Willis protested. "It is
unthinkable--to allow six children to struggle alone for a living on a
barren little farm. Doesn't anyone take an interest in them--the
Hildreths or any of the people who live near and who knew their father
and mother?"
Warren settled deeper into his comfortable chair.
"If the house burned down, I suppose they'd be taken in by some of the
neighbors," he said a trifle bitterly. "Or if they all came down with
the plague, someone might drop in to offer advice. But either of these
calamities would have to happen in winter at that, to attract
attention; the farmers of this community can't be disturbed in summer
when they're up to their elbows in work."
"You don't mean that, Warren," the little lady opposite him smiled
confidently.
"I mean at least half of it," asserted Warren doggedly. "Of course
when Mr. and Mrs. Gay died, everyone pitched in and helped the
children; I suppose they did, though I wasn't here to see. But I do
know that now when they need advice and practical help, they're
apparently forgotten. Their attendance at school last winter was a
farce and yet the authorities let an investigation slide; Mr. Hildreth
promises vaguely to 'look after them' in the fall--and there they are,
six fine American children left to bring themselves up."
"Someone must be responsible," said Mrs. Willis firmly. "I'll speak to
Hugh--he will know what to do."
Warren shook his head.
"I wouldn't--that is not yet," he declared. "It is rather difficult to
explain and--well, I suppose I haven't been quite fair in my
statements, either. Alec and Louisa do not invite friendship--they are
extremely proud and shy and so reserved as to be almost repellant to
strangers. I think every allowance should be made, under the
circumstances, for them, but the neighbors who tried to do for them at
first were miffed, I suppose, and take the attitude that if they want
to keep to themselves, they may.
"Alec is close-mouthed, too, and I fancy he has resented attempts to
publicly discuss their financial affairs. There is a mortgage on the
farm, of course--what would a farm be without a mortgage?" Warren
digressed for a moment but was instantly serious--"and I suppose the
interest keeps Alec awake nights figuring. Both he and Louisa have
given up going anywhere--they send one of the children to the Center
for the few things they have to buy. It's simmered right down to
this--they're avoiding everyone and if they don't look out they'll be
as queer as--as the dickens!"
"Like some of those mountaineers I saw when Hugh took me over the back
road to that little settlement at the foot of the hills," said Mrs.
Willis. "The women peep out of the windows furtively and the children
run if they see a stranger--all because they have lost the habit of
meeting folk."
"That's it," agreed Warren eagerly. "That's what I mean. And I think
it is a shame, for the Gays are nice kids--clean and honest and
wholesome. You know I would never have taken the girls over there if
there was the slightest possibility of the Gays setting them a bad
example in any way. I have a cousin who is a teacher and she is always
preaching that children pick up the bad traits they see in others
quicker than they do the good ones."
"I'm not so sure of that," smiled Mrs. Willis. "But I am glad you are
so thoughtful, Warren. They are very precious to me--my three
daughters."
"If I had three sisters like them--" Warren's voice faltered.
He began again, hurriedly.
"What the Gays need," he said earnestly, "is human contacts--I think
that's the phrase I want. They need to know normal, happy children
their own age. It isn't the poverty that will hurt them--Rich and I
have been as poor as church mice and are still; but we have battled our
way through school and mixed with fellows and met people. In some ways
Louisa and Alec are ten years beyond their time--they run the farm and
train and punish those four youngsters and figure out expenses like a
couple of old stagers. Give 'em one more year and they'll forget how
to laugh and be hopelessly mixed on the true values."
"I think I know what you are trying to bring about," observed Mrs.
Willis sagely. "You think they'll trust the girls and make friends
with them and, later, an older person will be able to gain their
confidence. An older head will be needed soon, if that farm is the
only source of income. Well, Warren, I believe you are right and it
will work out nicely in the end. I'm glad to have the girls see
something of lives that are different from theirs and I know they will
all three learn a great deal that will be helpful to them. I did plan
to go over and see the Gays but now I'll wait, for a time at least."
"She's a wonder!" said Warren to himself, walking back to the bungalow
a few minutes later. "She can see just what is in a fellow's mind and
sort it out for him. Funny how Rich and I puzzled over what made those
three girls so different from any girls we ever knew--they do just as
many crazy things and Winnie says they have tempers and wills of their
own, but they have something that sets them apart--Rich said it was
ideals and I called it fine standards and, in a measure, I suppose
we're both right. But just two words will explain everything--their
mother!"
It must be confessed that Bony, the pig, claimed a large share of
Sarah's time and attention. She let Rosemary and Shirley go over to
see the Gays very often without her. There were the pig's meals to be
served, his toilet to be made and his manners and training carefully
considered.
"My conscience, Sarah Willis, you're not going to wash that pig, are
you?" demanded Winnie the first morning Sarah made known her ideas on
the question of cleanliness in connection with Bony.
"I certainly am," announced Sarah with appalling firmness. "Hugh says
you can't be well, 'less you are clean. I don't suppose I can wash
Bony in the bathtub?"
"Now Sarah, if I didn't love you, you would have driven me crazy years
ago," said Winnie, who was a famous general when she minded to be.
"You know washing a pig in the bathtub is out of the question. I
wouldn't wash him in the laundry tubs, either; we have to be nice to
Mrs. Pritchard for if she deserts us like as not there'll be no more
clean clothes this summer; you can't pick and choose your washwoman in
the country."
"Where'll I wash him then?" asked Sarah.
"Take him out to the barns--there must be tubs there," directed Winnie.
"I'll give you a piece of soap and an old towel. Don't bring the towel
back, either."
"I'll hang it on a bush to dry," promised Sarah amiably. "But I have
to have some hot water, Winnie; Bony is delicate and I can't give him a
cold bath."
"Then he'll have to wait till to-morrow for his bath," said the wily
Winnie. "The tea kettle is empty and I can't be lighting the stove to
heat water just now."
"Well, I'll try the cold water," Sarah decided reluctantly, "but if
Bony catches cold, you'll be sorry--that's all."
The pig under one arm and the towel and soap under the other, Sarah
made for the barn and reached the big tub where the horses were
watered, when Warren saw her.
"What are you going to do with that pig, Sarah?" he asked suspiciously.
"Wash him," said Sarah, beginning to weary of being questioned.
"Not in that horse tub," declared Warren. "I've just filled it for the
team. That's a drinking trough, not a bathtub."
Brief experience had already taught Sarah, as it had Rosemary and
Shirley, that while Richard might be cajoled or persuaded, Warren was
firmness itself. If he said that pigs could not be washed in the
watering tub, that settled the matter.
"The brook is the best place to wash a pig, anyway, Sarah," suggested
Warren helpfully. "You take this stiff brush and put Bony in the
middle of the brook and scrub his back and he'll be the happiest little
pig you ever saw. But if that is a good dress you have on, take my
advice and stay away from water," he added.
"I won't get wet," said Sarah indifferently. "Well, I guess I'll have
to wash Bony in the brook. I never saw such a fussy bunch of people."
She scrubbed the pig thoroughly, soaking herself to the skin in the
process, and dried him neatly with the towel. Then she took him back
to his box, fed him a nursing bottle of warm milk--he had readily
learned to take the bottle--covered him up and hung the soiled wet
towel on the rose bush by the front door. Leaving the scrubbing brush
in the porch swing and the jellied remains of the soap on a gingham
pillow, Sarah retired to put on a dry frock, feeling that she had
accomplished one task successfully.
"That pig," said Winnie, when she came upon the soapy trail of his
bath, "that pig will drive us crazy yet. You mark my words!"