THE POOR FARM
Rosemary thought a great deal about the Gays in the days that followed.
Louisa had asked her to promise that she would tell no one the
precarious state of their finances--"no one can help and I won't be
discussed like the 'cases' they bring up at the sewing circle," said
Louisa passionately.
"They'd be 'running up' clothes for June and Kitty," she said another
time, "and fitting us out to go to the poor farm looking respectable.
I'd rather stay here and look any old way."
Sarah was extremely observant for her years and she surprised Rosemary
and Louisa with a shrewd comment or two, until the latter deemed it
expedient to take her into the inner circle of confidence. Sarah could
be loyal and she could be silent. From that day she and Rosemary were
leagued with Louisa and Alec to circumvent the town authorities.
Not that authority, in any guise, was ever manifested. At least it had
not been so far. Rosemary, on the beautiful moonlight nights when "Old
Fiddlestrings" wandered again up and down the road, playing the
"Serenade" with his soul in his fingers, found it hard to believe that
there could be such ugly things in the world as poverty and fear. She
was sure that Louisa and Alec must be mistaken--or else the money would
come from somewhere--it must. There could not be such music and such
moonlight and such heavenly scented breezes on an earth that was
anything but wholly lovely, wholly kind.
"My dear child, you must go to bed," Mrs. Willis remonstrated on the
third night when she came in to find Rosemary's room flooded with
moonlight and Rosemary herself kneeling at the window. "You can hear
the music just as well in bed and I don't like to have you lose so much
sleep."
And then she brought a light comfortable from the bed and, wrapped in
that, knelt with Rosemary at the window till the player and his violin
walked wearily away out of sight. After all, what was the loss of a
little sleep as compared with such playing?
"Heard Old Fiddlestrings again last night," said Mr. Hildreth, drawing
up before the kitchen door the next morning while Richard carried in
the piece of ice they had brought from the creamery for Winnie. "I
declare it's a mercy we don't have full moon more than once a month; no
one would get a fair night's sleep. Does he bother you?"
"_Bother_ us?" echoed Rosemary in astonishment. "Bother us? Why, it
is the loveliest playing we have ever heard!"
Richard judged this an excellent time to ask a question.
"How would you like to go over to the poor farm?" he suggested, pulling
Shirley back from the dusty wheel and taking a firm grip on Sarah with
the other hand to prevent her from crawling under the horse--for what
reason she alone knew.
"The poor farm?" Rosemary's mind immediately leaped to the Gays.
"Oh, Richard, do let's go!" she cried, her enthusiasm kindling. "I've
always wanted to see the poor farm."
"Well, your brother goes there often enough," said Mr. Hildreth drily.
"It's thanks to him that the new Board of Freeholders put in decent
plumbing all through the place."
Richard climbed back into his seat and took the reins.
"Well, be ready in about fifteen minutes," he directed. "It's thanks
to Mr. Hildreth that the poor-farm folks are going to get some early
tomatoes."
"I've a good mind to cuff you," said the exasperated Mr. Hildreth who
had never been known to raise his hand against anyone. (Warren had
once remarked that when he raised his voice he needed no further
reinforcements.) "It's a pity when we have the first tomatoes and more
than we can use, not to send those poor creatures a few."
The "few" tomatoes proved to be six peach baskets full and they made a
crimson splash in the back of the light spring wagon Warren presently
drove around harnessed to the useful Solomon.
"Mother says do you want to take us all?" cried Shirley, balancing
herself on the lowest step and eyeing Richard anxiously. "I hope you
want all of us, Richard, because no one wants to stay home."
Her mother, coming out in time to hear this speech, laughed.
"Have you room for three, Richard?" she asked. "The girls have had a
great many rides lately and I'm sure one or two will stay home without
grumbling, if necessary."
"Room for everybody," Richard assured her. "Don't you want to go, Mrs.
Willis? I'll tip the girls over with the tomatoes and you may have the
whole front seat, if you'll come."
"Thank you no," she answered him smiling. "Winnie and I have a busy
day ahead of us. You know the doctor and Jack Welles are coming up
next week to stay two weeks and Winnie and I want to have as much done
ahead as we can. Have a good time and bring me home some wild flowers
if you pass any growing along the road."
It was a warm morning, but no one minds that in July. Besides, as
Sarah pointed out, there was now and then a breeze. Sarah and Shirley
were seated in the middle of the single long seat with Richard at one
end and Rosemary the other.
As usual Sarah and Shirley both wanted to drive and, also as usual,
Richard settled the argument diplomatically by allowing each to hold
the reins in turn, stipulating fixed distances for each, using the
trees which could be seen ahead as boundary marks.
Rosemary was less interested in the driving than in their destination.
She plied Richard with questions about the poor farm. Who lived there?
How many people? How poor did one have to be before he was compelled
to live on the poor farm? Did one, once sent there, ever save enough
money to go somewhere else? Were there any children and what did they
do?
"Good grief!" ejaculated the harassed Richard, at last rebelling. "I
never lived on a poor farm, Rosemary. I don't know a great deal more
about it than you do."
"Is it a nice place?" persisted Rosemary.
"Depends on what you call nice," answered Richard. "It is a large farm
and the house looks comfortable. I'll tell you one thing--if I had to
be a county charge, I'd rather be sent to a country poor farm than to a
city almshouse; in the country you at least have something green to
look at."
"Would you like to live at this poor farm?" said Rosemary.
Louisa and Alec, Kitty, Ken, Jim and June--they were in her mind. She
would, perhaps, have some comforting news to take them about the poor
farm. She was totally unprepared for the violence of Richard's reply.
"Like to live at the poor farm?" thundered he. "Not if it was the most
magnificent place on earth! Do you think for one moment that I'd have
charity handed out to me? I'd rather wash dishes for a living--what do
you take me for, anyway?"
Three pairs of astonished eyes stared at him. Then Rosemary laughed
and, after a moment, Richard laughed with her.
"Guess I got too eloquent," he admitted a little shamefacedly. "But
honestly, Rosemary, I pity those poor souls who have to live at the
poor farm, more than I pity any other people of whom I've ever heard.
There is nothing worse, to my mind, than to be deprived of your
independence and ability to work."
"How do you come to live in the poor house?" inquired Rosemary. "Sit
still, Sarah; no, it isn't your turn to drive yet."
"Oh, sometimes you're old and haven't saved any money," said Richard
absently. "Sometimes you're old and sick and have to stop earning.
Lots of people lose those who would have supported them--say their
children. And now and then parents die and leave a family of kids who
must be brought up as wards of charity."
Rosemary hardly noticed when he took the reins from Shirley and turned
Solomon into a beautiful tree-lined road in perfect condition. She was
thinking that "wards of charity" did not sound half as happy as when
one said "the Gay children."
"Here we are!" announced Richard, stopping before a handsome red brick
building with a great white front porch and a fine stretch of lawn
before it. "How do you do, Mrs. Carson? Mr. Hildreth thought you
might like some early tomatoes for supper."
A stout gray-haired woman had come out from the beautifully paneled
door and Richard performed the introductions. Mrs. Carson was voluble
in her thanks and suggested that the "young ladies" might like to go
through the buildings.
"If you'll come, too," whispered Rosemary to Richard, pressing closer
to him.
Mrs. Carson was a rather handsome woman and there was efficiency and
competency in every crisp fold of her immaculate gingham dress and
every neat coil of her iron-gray hair. No doubt the Board of
Freeholders was to be congratulated on its choice of a matron for the
poor farm--but it was awe she inspired in the minds of the three girls
before her. Not for worlds would they have left the safe companionship
of sunny, kind-hearted Richard and gone on a tour alone with this
formidable personage.
"Where are the people who live here?" whispered Sarah, when they had
been led through spotless corridors, glistening with varnish and
covered with bright linoleum, into orderly rooms stiffly furnished and
showing no signs of use and out again on to the porch tiled in red and
supported with white columns.
It was a question Rosemary had been debating, too.
"Oh, they're out back--there's a porch there they can use," said Mrs.
Carson carelessly. "Some of 'em spend the time in their
dormitories--just puttering around. The old ones are so messy I can't
have them out here or it would never be clean; and the young ones work
in the kitchen, mornings. Now if you'll come upstairs, I'll show you
the bathrooms your brother had installed for us."
Richard had explained that they were Doctor Hugh's sisters and Mrs.
Carson was determined to show them every courtesy. They saw the large
kitchen at last, with three young girls, in blue dresses made exactly
alike, scraping carrots, and four old women peeling potatoes, and then
went out to the back lawn where half a dozen old people dozed in the
glare of the hot sun.
"You needn't bother to speak to them," said Mrs. Carson. "Most of them
are deaf."
But Rosemary, catching several indignant glances darted at the speaker,
doubted this.
"I hope you'll come over again," Mrs. Carson said, walking with them to
the wagon after they had, as she expressed it, "seen everything."
"Tell Mr. Hildreth he'll be a popular man tonight when we have those
tomatoes for supper," she added. "The old folks would rather have
something they like to eat than any other kind of gift; and our
tomatoes are late this year."
Yes, she meant to be kind--one could see that, thought Rosemary,
mechanically holding on to Shirley as Solomon speeded up in his haste
to reach the home barn.
She was very silent during the return drive and busied with her own
thoughts. Richard's quizzical announcement, "This car doesn't go any
further--end of the line, lady," woke her from her dreaming to find
that they were home.
As she lightly jumped to the ground, she put the gist of her
meditations into words:
"No," said Rosemary with conviction. "No, I wouldn't want to live at
the poor farm!"
Sarah remained untroubled by any idea of living at the poor farm, but
at the supper table that night she had an individual announcement to
make.
"All those people weren't deaf," she said placidly.
"How do you know?" Rosemary asked in astonishment.
"I found out," Sarah answered, buttering her mashed potato lavishly.
"But how?" insisted Rosemary, not without anxiety. One never knew what
Sarah would do next.
That small girl grinned impishly.
"I asked one old lady," she replied. "She said she wasn't. And that's
how I know."