TRULY A SACRIFICE
"Did you buy the farm?" asked Sarah bluntly.
Richard and Warren and Jack and the circus agent sat on the top step
and below them were ranged Rosemary, Shirley and Sarah. Mr. Hildreth
had considerately gone into the kitchen to read.
"No," answered Mr. Robinson, "I didn't buy the place."
Three faces fell.
"But I've rented it," he went on, "and paid a quarter's rent in
advance."
"Is that just as good?" inquired Rosemary respectfully.
Mr. Robinson laughed and Warren nodded.
"Alec was over at milking time and he was feeling as gay as his name,"
said Warren. "I guess their troubles are over for a time."
Then Mr. Robinson explained what he had done and why and never did a
speaker have a more attentive audience.
"I won't bother you with the legal end of it," he said good-naturedly,
"but these children are under twenty-one and when their parents died a
guardian should have been appointed for them. If I tried to buy the
farm there would have to be a guardian appointed and even then I doubt
if he could give me a clear title.
"So, for many reasons, it is much simpler to rent the farm from them
and better, I am firmly convinced, for the children. They are to stay
on in the house and this winter I and my wife will come out and make
our headquarters there. Alec can lend me a hand with the animals and
Mother will see that that plucky girl gets her schooling. I'll stable
most of the circus horses out here and as nearly as I can tell it's
just the kind of a place we need."
He told them a great deal more about Alec's surprise and Louisa's
delight and something of the plans for the winter which should include
the attendance at school of the five Gays old enough to go.
The boys walked back with Rosemary and Shirley and Sarah, and Warren
told them further details.
"Mr. Robinson is a brick!" he declared heartily. "He's renting the
farm because he discovered in what desperate straits the Gays are; if
he tried to buy it, it would take months to get their affairs
untangled--there would be miles of red tape and court hearings and dear
knows what all. Instead he has paid them cash down for a quarter and I
understand from Alec he is paying a generous rental, besides offering
Alec employment this winter. He's put out because the town hasn't done
anything--and now, he says, he and his wife will look after them and
Bennington can save its legal snail tracks."
"But Alec and Louisa didn't want the town to know anything about them,"
protested Rosemary.
"Well, they're too young to manage their own affairs," said Warren
curtly. "Somebody should have been responsible long before this."
It was odd, but Jack, Warren and Richard separately, each took Sarah
aside and asked her if she had wanted to sell her pig. Each offered to
return the money to the circus agent for her and get Bony back.
"I wanted to sell him," said Sarah stolidly, three times.
In the morning she kissed Bony good by and watched him drive away with
Richard and Mr. Robinson. Then she went out to the barn, refusing
Rosemary's invitation to go over to the Gays'. Shirley went in her
stead and they were greeted by a radiant Louisa who declared that her
troubles were at an end and that now she had hopes of being able to
keep the family together and even educate them.
"Of course we have to be careful," she said, smiling as though that
would be comparatively easy. "The quarter's rent Mr. Robinson paid
won't quite meet the interest, but Alec thinks he can scrape the rest
together somehow. And of course we will have to pay for the potato
fertilizer and the store bill is overdue; but we'll manage."
It was on the tip of Rosemary's tongue to tell her about the money
Sarah had, but she stopped in time and sent Shirley a warning glance.
That pleasure belonged to Sarah and no one should take it from her.
"Will you come upstairs a moment, Rosemary?" asked Louisa, "I want to
show you something. Let Shirley play with Kitty in the yard."
The two girls went up the steep, straight stairs and Louisa took her
guest into one of the front rooms.
"Mr. Robinson said his wife would be out to get acquainted with us
soon," Louisa explained, "and of course she'll have to stay all night.
And where, I ask you, Rosemary, is she to sleep?"
"Why I don't know, dear," replied Rosemary, smiling. "What is the
matter with this room?"
She looked about it as she spoke. It was a large, square room, very
clean and, it must be confessed, very bare. There was a bureau, one
leg missing and the lack supplied by a brick; one chair, the bed and a
little table (not large enough to be useful and not small enough to be
dainty) completed the furnishings.
"It looks so awful," said poor Louisa. "And of course I can't buy
material for curtains; Mother used to say that curtains softened a room
and helped to furnish it. But I certainly am thankful for one thing."
"What?" Rosemary asked.
"That I've always saved one pair of Mother's good sheets and her best
light blankets and two pillow cases, real linen ones," said Louisa.
"When the linen began to wear out, I patched it and darned it as well
as I could, but our sheets last winter were made of flour sacks,
stitched together. They're white as snow for I bleached them, but I
wouldn't want to have Mr. Robinson's wife sleep on flour sack sheets."
"Oh, my, of course not," said the sympathetic Rosemary.
"She won't have to," declared Louisa with satisfaction. "Much as I
have wanted to use these sheets and the blankets, I've kept them put
away. They are linen Mother had when she was married and I never could
afford to buy any like it now."
"That's fine," said Rosemary, a trifle absently.
She was studying the windows, three placed close together on one side
of the room.
"Do you know, Louisa," she said slowly, "I believe we could make
curtains for those windows--just straight side-drapes, you understand,
with a plain valance across the top."
"I've seen pictures," Louisa admitted, "but I haven't any material."
"I could get it," Rosemary began, but Louisa shook her head.
"It's a silly idea, anyway," she declared resolutely. "I haven't any
business to be thinking about curtains when the whole house is as
shabby as my old winter coat. If Mrs. Robinson does come and see new
curtains she'd know right away that I'd spent money I couldn't afford
on them. She might even get the idea that I was trying to make an
impression."
"You have a perfect right to try and make a pleasant impression!"
flared Rosemary hotly. "Of course you have. And I'll tell you how to
make new curtains and they won't cost a cent--except money you have
already paid. Use the blue and white gingham!"
Louisa stared. She had bought, almost as soon as Alec had told her the
good news of the farm's rental, a dozen yards of neat blue and white
checked gingham to make Kitty and June some much-needed frocks and
herself an apron or two.
"But I never heard of gingham curtains!" Louisa protested.
"They're very fashionable for bedrooms," Rosemary assured her. "We
have some at Rainbow Hill--I can show you those. And Mother has a
magazine with heaps of pictures in that show checked casement curtains.
You'll love them when you see them made and hung, Louisa."
"Well--the children can wait for the dresses, I suppose," said Louisa.
And, with Rosemary's help, the curtains were made and hung before the
circus agent's wife paid her promised visit. They were a great success
and Louisa was inordinately proud of them.
Now they went back to the kitchen to look again at the gingham.
"I wish there was some way I could earn a little money," said Louisa
wistfully.
The knitted face cloth on the back of the kitchen chair was responsible
for Rosemary's idea.
"You could knit a bedspread, Louisa!" she said with enthusiasm. "I'll
show you how; Miss Clinton told me they sell for lots of money and
Warren has a cousin who is a domestic science teacher in a large city;
he said she was out here last summer and offered to get orders for Miss
Clinton, but she wouldn't agree to sell her spreads. She doesn't need
the money, but you do."
Louisa was as excited as Rosemary and before an hour had passed the two
girls had, in imagination, knit four elaborate spreads and disposed of
them for eighty dollars apiece.
Then Louisa came down to earth and spoke more practically.
"It will take a long time to do a full-sized spread," she said, "but I
will have plenty of time to knit this winter. You show me how and Miss
Clinton will help me, if I get stuck in the middle of a pattern. You
are too lovely, Rosemary, to think of something I can do!"
"I wish I could earn some money for the Gays," sighed Shirley, trotting
home beside Rosemary when they had left the cheerful Louisa.
"Well, you're a pretty little girl to earn money, darling," Rosemary
told her, "but I'll try to think of something you can do. We'll ask
the boys; they know more about money than we do, Warren and Rich
especially."
Her intuition proved to be right, for Warren, consulted, suggested that
Shirley might pick herbs, wild ones, and get the Gay children to help
her.
"Old Fiddlestrings buys wild herbs and sells them, along with those he
raises in his garden, to city druggists," explained Warren. "I'll see
him to-night and find out what he wants right now. Then I'll help you
till you learn to know the different leaves and after that it will be
easy."
Warren was as good as his word and in a few days Shirley and Jim,
Kenneth and Kitty Gay were earnestly hunting herbs. They made a few
mistakes at first, but soon learned and as it was wholesome work and
did not take them off the farm, they were encouraged to go herb picking
every day. Warren acted as selling agent and the little heap of
pennies and dimes and nickels in the pink china bank grew steadily.
That, however, was after Sarah had presented her offering to Louisa.
For one anxious half day it seemed that there might be no presentation,
for Sarah disappeared completely after saying good by to Bony; and
diligent search on the part of her sisters failed to produce her.
"Sarah didn't come to lunch, and Mother is worried," announced
Rosemary, meeting the wagon as it returned from the cannery with Warren
driving and Jack sitting on the empty crates in the back.
Warren reined in the horses and looked anxious.
"She hasn't taken Belle again, has she?" he asked.
"No, I looked and Belle is in the pasture," replied Rosemary. "I've
looked everywhere and Winnie came and helped me and Shirley, too. And
Hugh telephoned he would be out for dinner--where can she have gone?"
Jack spoke suddenly.
"I'll tell you what I think," he said. "I think she is crying
somewhere about Bony. You know Sarah--she would run a mile before she
would let anyone see her cry. And I'll bet seeing Bony go just about
broke her heart. She was crazy about that pig."
"Yes, she was," agreed Rosemary. "Poor little Sarah! She was
determined to sell him and give the money to Alec and Louisa--and all
the time she must have cared so much!"
"You go help Rosemary find her, Jack," said Warren. "Rich and I will
get up the next load. Think where she would be likely to run and hide
and then look for her there."
Jack jumped down from the wagon and faced Rosemary anxiously.
"Where shall we look?" he asked.
"In the woods," answered Rosemary, after a moment's thought. "There's
a place there we call the cave--four rocks around in a ring. You can
climb over them and drop down on the moss and it feels as though you
really were in a cave. Let's go look there."
The woods were some distance away and the sun was hot, but Rosemary and
Jack ran nearly all the way. Rosemary was almost crying, for the more
she thought about Sarah, the more plausible it seemed that she must be
heart-broken over the loss of her beloved pet.
"You go look," whispered Jack, when they reached the four large rocks
Rosemary had described. "Peek over and see if she is there."
Cautiously Rosemary crawled over the rocks--long afterwards she
remembered how cool and damp they felt to her fevered hands and
knees--and peered down into the green hollow they formed. A little
figure in a crumpled tan frock was huddled against one of the stones.
"Sarah!" called Rosemary softly. "Sarah dearest! You must be starved!"
"Go away!" said Sarah crossly.
That was all she would say, though Rosemary told her how worried they
had all been, urged that Doctor Hugh was coming to dinner and pleaded
with her to come home at once and have something to eat.
"Come on, Sarah--that's a good girl," begged Rosemary. "Jack is here,
too, and he wants to get back to work."
"Tell him to go, then," muttered Sarah. Jack climbed over one of the
boulders and gazed down at the obdurate little person whose unhappy
brown face lacked its usual life and color. Sarah did not look like
herself.
"Look here, Sarah," said Jack with directness, but not unkindly. "Your
mother is worried stiff about you and you're coming back with us and
coming now. If you don't want me to climb down there and pull you out,
you'd better scramble up this minute."
Suddenly Sarah climbed up the rock furthest from Jack and dropped to
the ground. She refused to take Rosemary's hand and scuffed on before
them silently, like a small Indian in a very bad temper.
"She does care," whispered Rosemary to Jack. "She always acts like
this when she wants to cry and is too proud."
With Rosemary to the left of her and Jack on her right and no possible
avenue of escape open, Sarah mounted the porch steps. Someone all in
white, fragrant and dainty and sweet, gathered her, dirt-stained and
disheveled as she was, into loving arms. Sarah began to cry.
"There, my precious," said Mrs. Willis softly, "tell Mother all about
it--she wants to hear."
Rosemary and Jack slipped away.