“HAVE YE E’ER HEARD OF GALLANT LIKE YOUNG LOCHINVAR?”
The longer days and greater cold had come. But with the cold was
interspersed here and there a day on which there was a vague far-off
hint of spring in the air, and the lover of nature who went up on the
short Northern road or over into New Jersey to get the full flavor of
his Sunday rest came back with reports of swelling twigs and the first
note of the bluebird; for it was late February.
Although the doctors would not give better reasons for hope than
their more cheerful manner, there was a growing feeling in the Graham
household that Gwen was going to escape her hard doom, and it was on
one of those illusive days when the atmosphere seems full of light that
Doctor Amberton definitely authorized rejoicing by telling them, when
he came down from Gwen’s room, that the bandages could be removed from
her eyes in a week, and that they would be restored to enjoy the spring
sunshine.
Mr. Graham shook the doctor’s hand hard, speechless with the joy of
this tidings, while his wife fell sobbing on Jan’s neck, and Viva
tumbled down in a burst of emotion such as silent children sometimes
give way to, and hugged the andirons, kissing their polished tops and
clinging to them hysterically.
Gladys, Sydney, and Jack were not there to hear the good news, but
Viva ran to call them, and they were not less stirred by the blessed
certainty of Gwen’s escape than were the others; indeed Jack turned
so white on being told that his angry hand had not blinded his sister
after all that his mother sprang to put her arm around him, thinking
that he was fainting.
Who was to take the good news to Gwen, and how was she to be told?
Gladys wanted the entire family to go up in a body and rejoice with
her, but Mrs. Graham would not permit this, and Mr. Graham suggested
that he and her mother went up together to bring comfort to the girl in
whom they had always felt so much pride, but who had become very dear
in these hard six weeks of courageously borne suffering.
Jan whispered something in her aunt’s ear, and Mrs. Graham hesitated.
After a moment she said: “I believe it would be the very thing!” and
turning to the others added: “Jan suggests that we let Jack go up,
quite alone, and tell Gwen that he and she have escaped the awful
consequences of his fit of rage. She says he can tell her that he took
her eyes from her, and now he has come to give them back again. It is a
pretty idea. Shall we carry it out?”
“Yes,” said Sydney decidedly, and “Ye--es,” voted Gladys doubtfully.
But Mr. Graham settled the question by saying: “Go up-stairs to your
sister, Ivan, my man, and tell her that you are bringing her back her
sight--that Doctor Amberton has said that she is safe, and we are
coming up in half an hour to try to tell her how thankful we are.”
[Illustration: “You’re not going to be blind, not one bit!” said Jack.]
Jack turned pale, then red; he was not sure whether he liked the errand
or not. He was afraid, and it seemed to him very solemn and difficult
to go to Gwen on such an embassy. He sat down to think it over on the
stairs, and as he thought it rushed over him how Gwen was lying
there, not knowing that she was not to be blind; how all this time she
had patiently awaited this day, knowing it might never come, and worst
of all how his hand had been the one to smite her. A sob rose in his
throat and he scrambled to his feet. Yes, it was good that they had let
him tell her that she was safe, and he must not lose another moment
in doing it. He fell up the stairs, and as he opened Gwen’s door she
sprang up in bed, feeling instantly the excitement with which he was
quivering as his hand touched the knob.
“What is it, Jack!” she said quickly.
“Oh, Gwen, ain’t it just great?” gasped Jack. “The doctor’s gone and
they sent me up to bring you your eyes, they said, because I took them
away. My, but we’re glad!”
Gwen clutched the arm impetuously thrown around her. “Jack, is it
true?” she whispered.
“True! Doctor Amberton said so! You’re to have the bandages off in a
week--you’re not going to be blind, not one bit!” said Jack, choking.
Gwen fell back, burying her face in the pillows. If ever there was a
sincere “Thank God!” it was the one that filled the poor child’s heart,
but could not pass beyond the happy sobs rising in her throat.
Jack was frightened. “Have I killed you this time, Gwen?” he asked
faintly.
Gwen turned back again and caught him in her arms. “Killed me! My
darling old Jack, you have made me feel as though I should never die! I
believe I have been dead all these horrible weeks since New Year’s.”
“They’re all coming up in a little while to tell you how glad they
are--they’re all down in the back parlor nearly out of their minds,
they’re so glad,” said Jack, much relieved to find Gwen unharmed.
“Call Hummie, Jack, and then go tell them to come on--I can’t wait,”
said Gwen.
Before Hummie had recovered from the joy of Gwen’s reprieve
sufficiently to make her fine, as Gwen had intended to be made, the
trooping of the entire family up the stairs fell on her happy ears. She
knelt in the bed in her long crimson wrapper, and held out her arms
speechlessly for a universal embrace.
Sydney, Gladys, and Jan held back, feeling that Gwen’s father and
mother had the first right to her, but Viva and Jerry threw themselves
into the outstretched arms, as Mr. Graham and his wife clasped Gwen at
the same moment. There was a confused scrimmage of hugging and kissing,
and Mr. Graham recognized Gwen’s linen bandage and Jerry’s lace collar,
mixed with Viva’s hair, while Mrs. Graham rained tears and kisses on
her husband’s cuff. But it did not matter. In a moment Gladys and
Jan were added to the joyous confusion, and there was such an utter
abandonment of happiness, and such oblivion to anything but the blessed
fact that Gwen’s precious eyes were safe that Gwen realized for the
first time how dear she was to all these throbbing hearts, and how hard
must have been the past six weeks to them as well as to her, in which
they were bravely trying to keep their own grief out of sight while
they helped her bear her burden.
“When can I really have my eyes?” asked Gwen, when some of the
excitement had spent itself.
“You may take off the bandages in a week, but your eyes must be used
with the greatest care, and very little, all summer. Then by fall
Doctor Amberton thinks they will be perfectly strong,” said Mrs.
Graham. “And now, children, go your ways, for Gwen and I are going to
rest quite by ourselves for a little while.”
Gladys and Jan left the room, arms around each other’s waists, in the
most loving girl fashion, and Mr. Graham followed behind them, smiling,
well pleased at the sight, and remembering how positively Gladys had
declared that she “would not go about with a Wild West Show” when he
had announced Jan’s coming. “Little Miss Lochinvar has won us all,” he
thought, realizing what a happy thing her coming had been for his own
children.
“I wonder, Jan,” Gladys was saying as they went toward Jan’s room,
“I wonder if mamma wouldn’t let us ask some of our friends for a
celebration on the day Gwen tries her eyes for the first time? She
needn’t see them long enough to get tired, but it would be rather nice
to get together everybody she likes to look at when she looks for the
first time for so long.”
“It would be ever so nice,” said Jan heartily. “If Aunt Tina will let
us--if she doesn’t think it would hurt Gwen.”
At the self-same moment Gwen was saying: “Mamma, it is Miss Lochinvar’s
birthday on the 1st of March. Don’t you think I might use my eyes for
the first time on that day, and have a little surprise party for her? I
wouldn’t have to stay in the room longer than was safe, but I’d like to
get the girls together to keep Jan’s birthday properly. She’s done more
for me than you can guess; I couldn’t repay her if I tried forever.
And look at Gladys and Sydney! And how much sweeter Jerry is! And she
hasn’t any more notion of how nice she is than--than----”
“Than a bright little wild rose along the roadside knows how sweet
and cheering it is,” finished her mother for her, as Gwen hesitated
for a simile. “It is only that she is good, really good, unselfish,
unaffected, sincere. She has done a great deal for us all, Gwen. It is
a curious thing to see how one little girl can diffuse happiness, and
make her sweetness contagious only by unconsciously showing how lovely
such a true little woman can be. I mean to write your Aunt Jennie and
beg her to let Jan go with us to the seashore this summer and stay on
for another winter in New York; I have a hope of getting her gradually
to make this her home, and her visits to Crescendo.”
“You won’t succeed, mamma,” said Gwen, shaking her head dolefully.
“I’d give anything in the world to keep Jan every minute of my life,
but she’s too fond of home for that. She truly doesn’t think there’s
anything to do in New York--she said so once, and then was afraid she’d
hurt my feelings. Nothing to do here, but lots that is interesting in
that little Crescendo of hers--only think!” And Gwen laughed.
“Well, at the worst, her father and mother must let her spend part of
each year with us, now that they have taught us to depend upon her,”
said Mrs. Graham. “However, we need not settle that now. About your
party: Yes, I think it can be done, and I should like to honor Jan by
celebrating her birthday. On the first? That is eight days off. Very
well; we’ll have the party. And now rest, my darling Gwen. You can’t
dream how glad your mother is to know you are to look upon her again so
soon!”
“I’m not precisely sorry, mamma,” said Gwen, seizing the hand put
out to her, and returning with interest the kiss given her. What a
beautiful world it was! and how soft and warm was the atmosphere
becoming of the big house which even Gwen had sometimes found chilling!
Mrs. Graham almost betrayed herself by a laugh as Jan and Gladys
unfolded to her their plan for a surprise party so nearly identical
with Gwen’s, except that they had not fixed a definite date, and had a
different end in view in holding it. But she composed her eyes and lips
to the necessary seriousness, approved their plans as she had Gwen’s,
and set about the preparations for both parties. It is not difficult to
prepare for two parties at the same time when both are practically one.
The pair of conspirators kept their secret from the one conspirator,
and Mrs. Graham conspired with both. The same guests were selected by
both camps, except that Sydney was called in to Gwen’s aid, and asked
the boys and girls with whom Jan had played the tennis match, and whom
his sisters did not know.
March 1st fell on Saturday--any one who is interested to know can
easily discover from that fact the year in which the party was
given--and that made it easy to get the guests together early, without
regard to school. It was better, for Gwen’s sake, to make it an
afternoon party, “quite like little children,” as Gladys remarked with
a slight tendency to dissatisfaction.
Viva and Jerry found this a most desirable feature of the celebration;
they were ready in spotless white long before the appointed hour. Too
long before; for Jerry was discovered sitting demurely close to the
butler’s pantry door in the dining-room, very quiet and correct, but
with a long streak of chocolate on each cheek, beyond the reach of
her tongue, which had made the lips stainless, and a great smudge of
chocolate and cream filling on the front of her dainty tucked guimpe,
the cause of which Susan correctly traced to the loss of six little
round chocolate-iced cakes from the pantry.
When the guests began arriving Jan and Gladys were much puzzled by
being called upon to welcome several whom they had not invited, and
whom they had difficulty in receiving as though they had done so.
But Jan was delighted to see again her opponent who had given her
such a hard fight for victory in the tennis contest, and when she had
sufficiently recovered from her surprise at seeing her hailed Molly Van
Buren rapturously.
Gwen sent for Jan to come to her when all the guests had arrived, and
Jan ran across the hall to her cousin’s room. She found Gwen dressed in
silvery-blue, looking paler for her long confinement, and at least a
quarter of a head taller--Gwen was decidedly up to the modern standard
of girls’ height.
“Do you know why mamma asked all these girls and boys here to-day, Miss
Lochinvar?” asked Gwen.
“I should think I did! Gladys and I planned it as a surprise to
you--it’s to celebrate your recovery!” laughed Jan.
“It’s nothing of the sort!” cried Gwen. “It’s mamma’s secret and mine,
and it’s to celebrate your birthday.”
“Were you plotting a party, too? Did you remember it was my birthday?”
cried Jan. “Well, of all things! What a memory you have, Gwen! I
haven’t mentioned my birthday but once, ever so long ago, when you
asked me when it came. And to think that Aunt Tina never said a word!”
“Nor to me either,” Gwen laughingly protested. “Mamma must have been
having rather a pleasant time all by herself, fooling all three of us.
Well, it’s all the nicer. Now, what made me send for you was that I
want to give you your first birthday present, and let you take these
linens off my eyes--I believe you’re such an unselfish old darling that
you’d rather do it than have millions left you.”
Jan’s color went and came; no one had ever known--hardly she
herself--what a grief the prospect of Gwen’s great sorrow had been to
her. And now this little ceremony moved her proportionately. Her hands
trembled as she unfastened the strings holding Gwen’s long eclipse of
her eyes, and the linen bandages slipped down, and were gone--gone,
thank Heaven, forever! “I’m truly glad to see you, blessed Miss
Lochinvar,” said Gwen as she gazed lovingly at the tearful face of her
cousin, the first she had seen for seven dreary weeks. “Come, now; let
me go with you. Steady me, Jan--the light and walking by sight seems
queer to me.”
Jan steadied Gwen with her arm around her waist, and felt her tremble,
but she knew that it was with joy. Then, with Gwen’s hand resting on
her shoulder, Jan led her triumphantly down to the parlor. All her
school friends clustered around her, and for a few moments Gwen held
court. Then Sydney came into the middle of the room, and said: “Ladies
and gentlemen, this is a surprise party. Gwen is surprised that Gladys
and Jan have a party, and they are surprised that Gwen has one. So you
are the party and they are the surprise--which isn’t the usual way
of having surprise parties. Gladys and Jan’s party is to celebrate
Gwen’s recovery. Gwen’s party is because it is Jan’s birthday. So
you can consider yourself celebrating which you prefer--for myself
I’m celebrating both with all my might. When our cousin came on we
called her ‘Miss Lochinvar,’ because she ‘came out of the West,’ and
now we think we were sort of prophets, because the name fits her in
lots of ways--chiefly because no one ‘e’er heard of gallant like young
Lochinvar.’ There never was such an all-round trump of a girl as our
cousin Janet Howe, alias Miss Lochinvar. We couldn’t find a picture of
that hero, Jan,” he added, turning to poor Jan, who looked ready to
sink through the floor from embarrassment. “But we wanted to give you a
picture, because you like them so much, and so you could have something
to remember this day by at home if ever you go back--and don’t you dare
to try going! So we got you this copy of Rembrandt’s Polish Rider; it
was the nearest we could come to young Lochinvar.” Sydney then gave
place to Jack, who proudly bore the picture to Jan, remarking briefly:
“Here, Jan. I made the verse.”
Jan received the large picture timidly, but suddenly she laughed, for
on its wrapping she read this verse of Jack’s:
Jan:
From Ivan
And the Clan.
Gwen’s gift was a small, but exquisite, old Italian lamp. “Because you
were my light in darkness,” she whispered, and Jan choked.
Gladys had characteristically chosen a ring, a slender circle of
turquoise, for her gift. “I want you to wear something to remind you of
me every minute,” she said.
Viva and Jerry had been included with Jack in the gift of the picture,
but Mrs. Graham gave Jan all the Waverley novels, bound in soft
morocco, and her uncle’s gift was a check for fifty dollars, to do with
as she pleased, and which Jan looked at with wildly joyous visions of
what it would purchase for the young folk in Crescendo.
Gwen tired soon, and went away for a while to rest before supper while
the others had games and dancing. She reappeared for a short time to
take her place beside Jan at the head of the table, and be waited on
like one of a pair of queen bees, plied with honey, instead of waiting
on her guests, as she would have done at any ordinary party.
But, as the guests agreed when they departed early, it was not an
ordinary party in any sense, and Jan convulsed her hearers by declaring
that it was nicer--more like a Crescendo party--than any she had seen
in New York. “But,” she added, gloating over her treasures, “it would
be queer if I hadn’t thought it nice.”
Mrs. Graham, remembering the magnitude of her orders at expensive
caterers, smiled to herself at the notion of Jan’s birthday party
and Gwen’s “thanksgiving party,” as Sydney called it, resembling the
gaieties of Crescendo. But she understood that Jan had meant that it
was more simple and childish than the early-old functions which she had
seen since her arrival, and was well pleased.
“You’re all so good to me!” sighed Jan, as she kissed her uncle and
aunt good night, with an extra hug for gratitude. “I can’t ever thank
you!”
“Pshaw! It’s all because we never saw ‘gallant like young Lochinvar,’”
said Sydney, who was standing by.