he proclaimed lustily.
Even Marion must smile a little at this.
"It is beautiful," said Norah, "though I don't quite understand it. I
seem to feel a sort of connection between the doctor and the cherry
tree, too."
"There's a heap more of verses," James Mandeville assured her. "Do you
feel better?" This to Marion.
Who could resist? She laughed as she drew him to her and kissed him.
"I am cross this morning, and you are a nice boy to sing for me. I
make life very hard for Miss Norah. Suppose you go tell her I am
sorry."
James Mandeville trotted off obediently to find Norah, who had left
the room a moment before. Marion, having finished with the plants, was
absently looking out of the window when the door opened with a jerk
and some one bounced into the shop. Turning with a start, she
recognized the personage Norah called Giant Despair.
"What do you mean?--" he began, then paused and stared about in
bewilderment. "Where am I?" he demanded; and as Marion advanced he
removed his hat, displaying a massive head covered with shaggy gray
hair.
"We call this the Pleasant Street Shop," she answered.
"See here--I thought it was the plumber's. I am getting so blind I
shall soon have to be led around. So you call this a shop? Does it
belong to you? For I can tell you now you have made a mistake in
coming here." His voice was gruff, and as he spoke he peered this way
and that, as if to get some idea of his surroundings.
"If we can't make a success here, we will go elsewhere, but we are
doing very well," Marion said, "The plumber is on the next block."
"I know that now. I am not losing my mind as well as my sight."
Something impelled Marion to say, "I am sorry about your eyes. Can't
something be done?"
"Sorry? How can you be sorry? Nobody knows anything about it who
hasn't tried it."
"I have lived in constant fear of blindness for a year." Marion seldom
spoke of her eyes, but the sight of trouble like her own broke down
her usual reticence.
The old man softened. "You have? A young thing like you?" He peered at
her in his intent way. "I guess you have grit," he said.
"Not much," she answered. "But my eyes are better, they tell me. Time
will show. Can't something be done for yours?"
"Oh, yes, they are going to operate on the right one in the spring,
but it is not likely to do any good; and then I shall have just half
an eye left."
Norah and James Mandeville now entered unobserved.
"I have got to row up that plumber," Giant Despair continued, looking
at his hat. "As I told you, I don't approve of a shop in this
neighborhood, but I don't see anything that looks like one. Good day,"
and with a grim smile he went out more quietly than he had entered.
"Who would ever have expected a visit from Giant Despair?" cried
Norah, "and he seems to have a bit of humor about him, too."
"I am sorry for him. He looks as if he had no one to take care of him,
and he is nearly blind, as you can tell," said Marion.
When Mammy Belle came for her charge at noon, Marion asked her if she
knew anything about old Mr. Goodman.
"Yes'm," answered Belle, "I knows him, Miss Marion," smoothing her
apron.
"Does he live alone in that big house on the Terrace?"
"Yes'm, and he's mighty rich and crusty. He don't waste no pleasant
words, and he don't waste no money. Law, Miss Marion, he's got rusty
dollars layin' up in bank."
"Rusty dollars?" repeated Norah.
"Yes, honey, been layin' thar so long they's rusty. Get up offen the
floor, James Mandeville. You won't have no skin on your knees, fust
you knows."
"Then will I have to be born again to get some?" inquired the small
boy, sitting back on his heels to consider the matter.
"Law, chile, what you talkin' 'bout? You mus' think you's
Nickorydemus! Miss Norah's settin' there laughin' at you. Come 'long
home with mammy."
"Isn't there a delightful variousness about our neighborhood?" said
Norah. "Do you see that sun? Tell me I am not a prophet!"
"You are an angel to put up with me," sighed Marion, but her face was
no longer gloomy.
"I have been constructing a grab-bag, and you shall have the first
grab;" and Norah brought out a bag made of rainbow ribbons. "This is
outwardly symbolic of the cheer within. The principle on which it
works is simple. Whenever I find a consoling sentiment, I write it on
a card and drop it in, then when I am low in my mind, I take one out.
Help yourself."
"What an absurd person you are!" said Marion, obediently putting her
hand in and drawing out a card. She read:--
"Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt,
And cling to faith."
Norah looked over her shoulder. "That is good, isn't it?"
Marion caught her hand. "You preacher," she said, adding, "I accept
it, dear, and I'll try." The visit of Giant Despair seemed the
culmination of Marion's depression. It was Saturday afternoon, and
leaving Susanna in charge, they set out on an exploring expedition in
the mood of two light-hearted children.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH
CHARLOTTE
With the departure of Mrs. Millard a season of repose came to the
Terrace. Charlotte and Miss Virginia actually found life a little tame
after the excitement, for their neighbors were just then absorbed in
their own affairs.
Miss Sarah and her aunt had some new boarders on which to expend time
and thought, and Alexina was living a life of rigid usefulness,
studying shorthand in secret and helping with the house work, for the
Russell mansion was large and servants not numerous. She also made
dainty things for that radiant butterfly Madelaine. Alex was a born
milliner, but she rather despised her gift, even while acknowledging
its usefulness.
The fame of the corner shop was spreading abroad till it was in a fair
way to become fashionable. Charlotte, from her window where she
studied, could see people passing in and out, and not infrequently a
carriage stood before the door. Sometimes she would forget her lesson
in the interest of recalling her evening visit there. How cheery and
cosey it had looked in the lamplight! Should she ever see it again?
Miss Pennington bowed and smiled in a friendly way when they
occasionally met, Miss Carpenter she had not seen again.
It occurred to Charlotte quite suddenly one day that it was something
of a coincidence that there should be a Miss Carpenter across the
street here, and while she was thinking about it she was called down
to see--of all persons!--her guardian. Having business in the South,
Mr. Landor had made it convenient to stop over a day or two.
She was so glad to see him she came near crying, a most unusual thing
for Charlotte, and her guardian eyed her closely as she drew him into
the library and seated herself on an ottoman beside his chair. Miss
Wilbur was out, and there was nothing to interrupt them.
With her elbow on the arm of his chair, and her chin in her hand as
she looked up at him, Charlotte at first had a dozen questions to ask
concerning Cousin Frank and Mrs. Wellington, and Spruce Street affairs
generally. But after a little, Uncle Landor began to ask the
questions, and then came the confession.
She unfolded the whole story, trying not to spare herself, though
unable to conceal some resentment against Aunt Caroline. Mr. Landor
listened in grave silence, and continued to look at her thoughtfully
after she had finished. Charlotte's eyes fell under his scrutiny, but
she quickly lifted them again.
"Was I deceitful? I did not mean to be."
"What do you think yourself?"
"I--but I tried to tell."
"Things were rather against you, Charlotte. I like to see you loyal.
Do you still think this girl the sort of friend you care to have?"
Charlotte hung her head. "I don't know," she faltered. The truth was,
Lucile's excess of devotion was beginning to grow tiresome. There were
other of her schoolmates who, she could not help seeing, were more
desirable as friends, but they now held aloof. It was hard to
acknowledge that Aunt Caroline had been at least partly right.
Mr. Landor lifted the downcast face, and his gaze was kindly. "I
believe you are learning your lesson, little girl, but it has been a
sharp one. It is always a mistake not to be straightforward. In all
your life I fear you have never truly learned to obey. You are fast
growing up now, and the responsibility will rest more and more upon
yourself. Are you going to listen to the voice that speaks in your
heart, and obey when the conflict comes?" He laid his hand on the
brown head. "In spite of it all, you have improved, Charlotte."
"Do you mean my hair?"
"Have you done anything to your hair? I didn't know; it is very pretty
hair. No, you have grown more gentle and womanly."
"I am happy with Aunt Virginia. She is a dear, and I feel so ashamed
and sorry when I think how she would have felt if I had run away.
Uncle Landor, is it that voice you spoke of--in our hearts--that makes
us feel so dreadfully ashamed sometimes?"
"I suppose we may say it is in this instance. It is the judgment of
the higher self upon the lower self."
Mr. Landor was a reserved and somewhat silent man, and never before
had he talked to Charlotte just as he did this afternoon. Till now
she had been only a child to be petted or reproved. To-day he gently
pointed out her faults, showed her how from now on it rested largely
with herself what she would make of her life; he spoke of the guiding
voice that all may hear who listen and who keep their hearts pure and
loving, and last of all he put into her hand a little pocket
Testament, in which he said he had marked certain things which had
served him as guide-posts on the way, and might help her.
Charlotte was touched and pleased, and took the book with a very
earnest promise to read it and follow its guidance.
After this they went on to talk of other matters. Charlotte pointed
out the shop over the way, and gave an account of the neighborhood
which showed such a keen appreciation of individual foibles, that her
guardian found himself laughing heartily.
"Uncle Landor, I wish you would ask Aunt Virginia to let me go to the
shop," she said. "I liked Miss Carpenter and Miss Pennington so much,
and they were very good to me."
Mr. Landor spent several days in town, and before he left, Miss
Virginia herself asked his opinion as to the proper attitude toward
the shopkeepers.
"They did me a great service, and in the excitement of that evening I
cannot recall thanking Miss Pennington. I went into the shop the day
after Caroline left, meaning to give some expression to my gratitude,
but both the young women were out. I feel uncomfortable about it. I
can't think as Caroline does, that they are trying to force themselves
upon our notice. They really seem to be ladies. What would you
advise?"
A smile illumined Mr. Landor's usually grave countenance at Miss
Wilbur's earnestness.
"It is a thrifty-looking little shop," he said; "Charlotte pointed it
out to me. And I should say, Miss Virginia, that you are perfectly
safe in following your own instincts in the matter. To suppose their
motives in helping Charlotte other than kindly seems to me both
ungracious and absurd. You say they appear to be ladies. They probably
are, but however that may be, you and Charlotte and I owe them our
thanks."
Miss Virginia told Charlotte afterward that she was greatly relieved.
"For Philadelphia people are not likely to go too far in a matter of
this kind. Then, too, Mr. Landor is a man, and able to judge whether
they could possibly be dangerous persons."
Charlotte opened her eyes. "How could they be dangerous?"
"Well, my dear, they might be burglars, come to spy out the
neighborhood, with the shop for a blind."
"Oh, Aunt Virginia!" laughed Charlotte.
"I am sure I have read of such things," the lady insisted stoutly.
Not long after this Charlotte received a letter from Cousin Francis.
"Father tells me you have been having your own troubles, little Char,"
he wrote. "Well, keep up a good heart and work hard. This is what I am
doing just now. Things have not gone my way at all, but in spite of it
I am going to try to do something worth while this winter. I often
wish you were here to be my admiring critic."
A letter came from Mrs. Wellington also, relating chiefly to a package
Aunt Cora had commissioned her to send, but at the end she said:
"Perhaps you will be interested to know the Carpenter house is closed.
Miss May has gone away--not to be home for a year, they say--so if you
were here, you could not watch for her as you used to do."
Was it on account of Miss Carpenter that things were not going Cousin
Frank's way? Charlotte wondered, and began to think once more of the
rose that was out of reach.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH
AN EVENING CALL
"Alex, I am glad to see you. I was about to send Martha over for you;
I am alone this evening. How very nice you look!"
It was an understood thing that if Alex had no other engagement, she
was to take supper at the Wilburs' on Fridays. She stood before Miss
Virginia pulling off her long gloves, looking indeed unusually
handsome in a gown of pale gray and a plumy black hat, which she had
made herself with a sort of reluctant pleasure in its becomingness.
"I simply had to go to the Burtons'," she explained. "Madelaine was
receiving, and mother insisted if I never went anywhere, people would
begin to say she pushed me into the background and showed partiality.
There is no arguing with her when she is in that state of mind, so I
went."
"And enjoyed it, I am sure," said Miss Virginia. "I suppose I
should have gone if Caroline had been at home, but to tell the
truth, I forgot it. Charlotte was asked to a party,--one of her
schoolmates,--and I was interested in seeing her dressed. I am
glad the child is to have a little diversion; she has been as good
as gold lately."
"I am certain you will not have any more trouble with her; Charlotte
is a nice child," Alex replied with a half sigh. She felt that
Charlotte had never quite forgiven her for her severity, and that
Madelaine without any effort or care had won the place she had meant
to hold in the little girl's regard.
Madelaine occasionally joined the Friday tea-party; to fascinate was
as natural to her as to breathe, and Charlotte had been quickly won.
"You look sweet with your hair back," Madelaine had said, loosening
the waves about Charlotte's forehead with fairy touches. "It was too
extreme before. We could hardly see your eyes, and they are too pretty
to hide."
Silly flattery, Alex thought, but she knew Charlotte would never
return to the old way.
As she poured the coffee, Miss Virginia told Alex about Mr. Landor's
visit and his decision in regard to the shopkeepers. "I was so
surprised," she concluded, "for Philadelphians are so exclusive, you
know."
"I think he is sensible. I wish one could do the natural, simple thing
always," sighed Alex, "without thinking of dignity or position. It
might be much more entertaining to associate with persons whose social
position was different from one's own."
"Do you think so, Alex? If it were done generally, there would not be
any social positions, would there?" Miss Virginia spoke as one who
faced a deep problem.
"It would be heaven," answered Alex; adding, "suppose we go this
evening."
"Alex! will you go with me? I am so relieved."
Later it appeared that unsuspected difficulties lurked in the
seemingly simple matter of an evening call.
"Shall I take a card?" Miss Virginia paused on the stairway to
inquire. "It is not quite an ordinary call, you know."
"I should take one if I were you; and let me put my name on it," Alex
answered, laughing.
On the porch Miss Wilbur paused again. "Shall we ask them to come to
see us?"
"Need we mention it at all? Let them do as they see fit."
"Of course. You are very sensible, Alex." Miss Virginia sighed.
At the gate there was another delay. "I am afraid your mother will not
like it. I don't want to lead you into mischief, Alex."
"Now, Miss Virginia, I proposed going with you, and I am going whether
you go or not," and Alex linked her arm in her friend's, and drew her
toward the corner.
"I don't know what Caroline _would_ say; but then, she does not know
the circumstances." After this remark, they crossed the street in
silence, broken only by another sigh from Miss Virginia, as Alex
touched the bell.
The maid who admitted them showed some surprise, but ushered them
toward a half-open door at the end of the small hallway, Miss Wilbur's
card in her hand.
"We'll just refer the matter to the _rich_ Miss Carpenter," a
laughing voice was announcing as they entered a room, the first
impression of which was that of a pleasant library, with its shaded
lamps, open fire, and happy mingling of books and work; a second
glance showed it to be simply the shop in evening dress.
The voice belonged to Miss Pennington who now came forward with a
cordial greeting, and presented Alex and Miss Virginia to her friend,
Miss Carpenter. Miss Carpenter's manner was somewhat distant in
contrast, but seen without the disfiguring glasses she usually wore,
Alex found her unexpectedly handsome.
"I have wanted so much to have an opportunity to thank you," Miss
Virginia began, an evident victim to a terrible fit of shyness. "I
came one afternoon, but you were out. You were both so kind to my
niece," she looked at Miss Carpenter.
"I beg you not to think of it again. It was nothing at all. I happened
to be at the station, and seeing how frightened she was, went to her
rescue." Miss Carpenter spoke as one who dismissed a trivial matter.
"We were so interested in her," put in Miss Pennington. "It occurred
to Miss Carpenter that it might be possible to avoid the trying ordeal
of explanations, so she brought her here to talk it over."
"Charlotte is a dear child," said Miss Virginia, "and all the trouble
is over now." Then she added with a sudden accession of
self-possession: "It may seem a small matter to you, Miss Carpenter,
but perhaps you can understand it would have been a most serious and
unhappy thing for me if the child had carried out her plan. I can't be
thankful enough."
"I do see it, and I am very glad that, by a happy accident, I was able
to be of service." Miss Carpenter's manner changed, her tone was soft,
her smile winning. Alex, who was playing the part of spectator,
suddenly warmed to her.
"I met your grandfather several weeks ago, Miss Russell," said Miss
Pennington, turning to her. "He had an armful of books, and seemed to
think I had done him a wonderful favor in picking up two he dropped in
getting out of the car."
"He told me," Alex answered. "He was so pleased that you appreciated
the value of his find."
"And he was so disappointed when he found I kept a shop," laughed
Norah.
Alex smiled and flushed. "Grandfather has old-fashioned ideas about
women supporting themselves, and then, too, the neighborhood was
rather opposed to having a shop built here."
"I know," answered Miss Pennington, "but as it is here we flatter
ourselves nothing could be less objectionable than _our_ shop."
"You are undoubtedly winning us over. It seems to me a delightful
occupation, but I suppose it is not so easy and pleasant as it looks."
"Of course it is work, but we find it pleasant. For several years I
taught, but to keep a store has always been my ambition since I was
three years old, and I at last persuaded my friend to join me in an
experiment."
"You don't make all your lovely baskets, surely?" Alex asked, her eyes
on the strings of raphia and an unfinished basket that lay on the
table.
"Oh, no. It is work Miss Carpenter can do at times,--her eyes allow
very little of any sort,--but most of our stock comes from a Mothers'
Club in a settlement in which we are both interested. I lived there
for a time. You can't think how much it has meant to those women. They
bring their babies with them, and they sing while they work, and the
babies sleep or are entertained by their surroundings. Many of the
patterns are original, and they have developed a wonderful sense for
color and form in some instances."
"How interesting!" exclaimed Alex. "I don't see how you ever happened
to come to a stupid town like this."
"Our pottery has a history, too. It is designed and decorated by two
young women, and it has taken very well wherever it has been
exhibited. But I do not mean to go on talking shop all the evening,"
and Norah paused with a smile.
"I like to hear about it. It has been such a puzzle to me to know what
I could do to support myself. There seemed to be nothing but teaching
or stenography, and I should hate both, I am afraid."
"If possible, do the thing you like to do, is my theory. There are a
good many fields in these days, and still in almost any paper you can
find a young lady who wishes to be a companion and is willing to
travel."
Alex laughed. Miss Virginia was rising, and she reluctantly followed
her example. "May I come again sometime?" she asked.
While Miss Wilbur and Alex were talking over their call, Charlotte
came in in a flutter of gayety, her checks matching her rose-colored
ribbons.
"I wish I could have gone with you," she said when she had heard of
the visit. "Did they say anything about me?"
"You were mentioned," her aunt replied, pinching her cheek; and
adding, "they are certainly very pleasant young women."
"They are charming," said Alex.
"I wonder if this Miss Carpenter could be any relation to the one who
lives across the street from Uncle Landor?" said Charlotte.
"Did you hear what Miss Pennington was saying when we went in, Miss
Virginia?" asked Alex.
"It was something about the rich Miss Carpenter, wasn't it?"
"_My_ Miss Carpenter is rich," said Charlotte, and she related the
romance, almost forgotten of late, which she had built upon Aunt
Cora's remarks about the little portrait and upon Mrs. Wellington's
stories.
"She is the granddaughter of Peter Carpenter," Miss Virginia said. "I
have often heard my father speak of him. They were college mates. He
was very rich and rather peculiar. He had a half-sister much younger
than himself who once visited here on her way South. She and my oldest
sister, Georgiana, were friends and used to correspond, but that was
years and years ago. Mr. Carpenter--for some reason he was always
called Peter--had only one child, a son, who was killed in a railroad
disaster, probably twenty years ago. Your Miss Carpenter, Charlotte,
must be his daughter."
"Carpenter is a common name; there may be a number of rich Miss
Carpenters," said Alex, "but it would be a little odd if they should
turn out to be connected in any way."
"I don't think they cared to talk about themselves," continued Miss
Virginia, referring to the shopkeepers. "I am sure Caroline was wrong
when she called them pushing."
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH
THE ADVENTURES OF A BIRTHDAY CAKE
In a great, handsome, dreary room sat Giant Despair. The December day
was damp and cheerless, and the coal fire in the ugly old-fashioned
grate beneath the elaborate marble mantel burned in a grudging,
spiritless way. Above the uncurtained windows, with their shutters
thrown wide upon a view of moist, bare garden, the heavy gilt cornices
seemed to frown. Giant Despair was frowning as he searched in a
massive black walnut secretary for a missing paper.
Things had gone wrong to-day. His housekeeper who knew his ways was
absent on her annual vacation, and for the carelessness and stupidity
of the servants he could find no adequate words. In truth he had
exhausted his vocabulary early in the day, and now was reduced to
inarticulate growls.
Against one of the maids in particular his anger burned. He had
mislaid a paper brought to him the evening before by his business
agent; and now that it could not be found, the luckless maid was
accused of making way with it.
She was a Swiss girl with a meek manner and eyes that belied it. Giant
Despair could not see the eyes, and the manner annoyed him.
"If you please,--did you this day order a birthday cake?"
"What? Order what?" cried Giant Despair, turning in great rage to face
the unfortunate maid.
She stood her ground. "A cake,--white, with candles of pink."
"Did I order a pink cake? What do you mean by asking such a question?
You know I didn't." His frown was terrible.
"Candles of pink," corrected the girl, and holding up her hand she
counted, "One, two, three, four, five."
"What is the woman talking about?" demanded Giant Despair.
"De con-fectionaire man bring it. He say it vas for here. He comes not
back."
"Then telephone him to send for it at once. Why do you come bothering
me about it?"
"We know not who sends it."