contrite by turns. At last it came out. He owed one hundred and fifty
dollars.
"I am sorry." Miss Sarah sank back in her chair. "I fear you have been
very foolish. To go in debt seems to me not quite honest. But I am
glad you told me. I'll try to help you; and you'll promise, won't you,
not to do this again?"
Somehow his aunt's low, controlled tone exasperated Wayland far more
than if she had shown anger. "I guess if you knew what other fellows
spend, you wouldn't think I was so awful. Of course I am sorry, and of
course I don't mean to do it again," and he flung out of the room.
Two days later Miss Sarah alarmed the household at the breakfast table
by fainting, something she had never been known to do before. Simple
restoratives proved of no avail, and Wayland rushed off to the nearest
telephone to call a physician, almost running over Miss Pennington,
who was starting for a morning walk.
"Could I be of any help?" she asked as he hurriedly explained.
"If you would," Wayland cried gratefully.
Norah entered upon a scene of confusion. Old Mrs. Leigh was frightened
out of her senses, and no one seemed able to think what to do. Knowing
something of illness and possessing a cool head and steady hand, Norah
took command; and when the doctor arrived, Miss Sarah was beginning to
recover consciousness.
She was ordered to bed at once; and when she ventured to expostulate
feebly, Norah said: "Now, Miss Sarah, we can manage things for to-day.
For once trust to your friends and don't worry. You will get well just
so much sooner."
Miss Sarah looked up in to the bright face that bent over her. "You
are very good. Perhaps I will,--just for to-day."
"She is threatened with pneumonia; she must have a nurse," the doctor
said, outside her door.
It was the beginning for Miss Sarah of a serious illness which in one
way and another involved a number of her neighbors. Owing to the
prevailing epidemic, it was at first impossible to get a satisfactory
nurse, and Norah and Miss Virginia Wilbur offered their services. Miss
Wilbur also lent her cook until Anne should be able to return, saying
she and Charlotte could do very well with Martha.
In the shop Alex took Norah's place. Norah herself suggested it with
some hesitation, thinking Mrs. Russell might object; but this lady,
like many others, had somewhat modified her opinion of the shop. "You
know," she explained on more than one occasion, "those young women are
most interesting. Miss Carpenter, indeed, has a great deal of
elegance. Alex, with her eccentric ideas, is delighted with them, and
was so anxious to go I could not refuse."
Without the shop these would have been lonely days for Charlotte, with
Aunt Virginia absent so much of the time, and her friend Helen one of
the grip victims. Miss Carpenter had exerted a peculiar fascination
over Charlotte since the evening when she had come to her rescue.
Others might prefer Miss Pennington; Charlotte never wavered in her
admiration for the more quiet member of the firm. On her way to school
each morning she invariably crossed the street that she might pass the
shop, and perhaps receive a smile from Marion.
This new enthusiasm overshadowed all former ones, and Miss Carpenter
seemed by no means indifferent to the little girl's adoration, making
her welcome to run in and out at all times. After hours, or when
business was dull, Charlotte would often talk to her about the
Landors, and their Philadelphia home, and Miss Carpenter seemed quite
ready to listen; but Charlotte's curiosity about her cousin who lived
across the street, was never satisfied.
Miss Sarah, to whom indirectly this cementing of the ties between the
shop and its neighbors was due, called Norah to her bedside on the
first day of her illness, and confided to her a certain railroad bond.
"I am afraid it will be some time before I am able to attend to this
myself," she said, "so I am going to ask you to see if you can sell
it for me. I went yesterday to see about it, but they told me to hold
on to it for a while, if possible, and I thought I could perhaps wait;
but now I want the money. It will have to go at whatever price it will
bring. It is too bad to ask you,--you are so good."
Norah assured her she would not mind in the least, and leaving the
patient in Miss Virginia's hands she walked thoughtfully toward home.
She happened to know that there was considerable interest felt at
present in the fluctuation of these bonds, for she sometimes read the
market news to Mr. Goodman, and he had a few days before spoken of
buying some. Was there any possible way by which she could sell Miss
Sarah's bond without sacrificing it?
At the corner she met Mr. Goodman, and at sight of him a sudden idea
took possession of her.
"Mr. Goodman, can you tell me how G. W. & S. bonds are selling
to-day?" she asked.
"Seventy-two they are asking to-day. A good thing if you want to buy.
They are bound to go up," was the old gentleman's reply.
"Could you come in and let me ask you a few questions?" said Norah.
Mr. Goodman never objected to talking stocks and bonds, and therefore
assented affably.
To the very evident amusement of Alex and Marion, Norah conducted her
companion through the shop into the next room, flashing a mischievous
glance over her shoulder as she pushed the door to. Giving the old man
a chair, she seated herself opposite him; and leaning forward with her
folded arms on the table, she told him of Miss Sarah's illness and her
need of money. "Now," she concluded, "she has one of those bonds, and
I want to sell it for a thousand dollars."
"My dear young lady, you can't do the impossible. Keep it six months
and it may be at par."
"But she can't wait. She must have the money,--at least she thinks so;
and she is too ill to be argued with. I want to make her mind easy.
Why couldn't--somebody--give a thousand dollars for it?" Norah's heart
beat quickly at her own daring. "What would be lost?"
"Why doesn't somebody give her three hundred dollars, you mean?"
"No, that is not at all what I mean," urged Norah. "I think you said
you were buying to sell? Now, if that bond is worth a thousand dollars
six months from now, what would--anybody lose who gave that for it
now? Only the interest on not quite three hundred dollars. That is, of
course, taking for granted he expected to sell."
"Upon my word!" exclaimed Mr. Goodman. "What is she talking about? I
didn't say they would be at par in six months."
"Well, say a year, then. If you'll buy the bond, I'll pay the
interest. I'll give you my note," Norah said, laughing.
"It is the most astonishing proposition I ever heard," growled the old
man.
"It is to help a neighbor out, and that is the best thing in life,
particularly any one so brave and bright as Miss Sarah. She would
never let us do it if she guessed, but I can tell her they are going
up steadily. I think I can manage it." Norah beamed across the table.
Whether she had won or not was difficult to tell, for Mr. Goodman rose
suddenly, buttoned up his coat, and saying he would see her the next
day, strode off without so much as good evening.
"Norah, what made you do it?" Marion exclaimed when she heard the
story. "Surely, it could have been arranged."
"I don't know. It popped into my head when I saw him. It won't do any
harm to get some of his rusty dollars into circulation. I almost
believe he will do it."
And she was right. Mr. Goodman gave her a check for a thousand
dollars, and, moreover, suggested that if Miss Sarah did not need the
whole amount at present, he could invest several hundred of it
advantageously. And this was the kindest thing Giant Despair had done
for many a year. As for Norah's scheme for paying him interest, he
only laughed at that.
Poor Miss Sarah was too ill to understand more than that the bond was
sold. She was feverishly anxious till she could put the money for his
debts into Wayland's hands. After this she grew rapidly worse, and the
outcome began to seem doubtful.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH
WAYLAND
Wayland blamed himself bitterly. He could not forget the touch of
those burning fingers pressing the money into his hand. He tried to
refuse it, but his aunt whispered: "Take it, dear. It is all right. I
shall not be happy till you do." After this he had been sent from the
room and not allowed to see her again.
Old Mrs. Leigh, bemoaning Sarah's hard lot and accusing herself of
selfishness, unconsciously enlightened him as to the true state of
affairs. Wayland sincerely loved his aunt,--the only mother he had
ever known,--and he realized with shame how unworthy had been his
attitude toward her of late. While she had been struggling to make a
home for him and her old aunt, thinking and spending for him till
there was nothing left for herself, he, absorbed in his own affairs,
had been disdainful and critical, fretted by her habit of laughing at
things, annoyed by her style of dress.
And this money. He guessed where it came from. She must have sold a
bond left to her by a friend some years ago, which she called her
rainy-day legacy. He fiercely promised himself he would pay it back.
But in the terrible fear that she would not recover, this thought
ceased to console him. What if he should never have the opportunity to
tell her how sorry he was, how ashamed? The doctor looked very grave,
the nurse and Miss Virginia shook their heads and said, "No better."
Norah was the only one who gave him any encouragement. She bade him
not give up yet, and devised errands to distract him from his misery,
and make him feel that he was of some use. He hung upon her words with
such an appealing face her heart was touched, for she guessed that
remorse mingled with his sorrow.
There came a dreadful day when even she had no hopeful word to say;
when, hurrying home at the earliest moment, he found the house hushed
in a terrible suspense.
Miss Virginia sat with Mrs. Leigh, and they talked of Miss Sarah, and
wiped the tears from their eyes as if she were already dead. Wayland
could not endure it.
In his longing for comfort he thought of Madelaine. Surely, she would
be kind to him now. She was tender-hearted and sympathetic; just the
touch of her pretty hand would help him. He had not seen her for more
than a week.
Miss Madelaine was dressing to go out, but would see him for a moment
if he cared to wait, the servant said; and presently as he strode back
and forth, too restless to sit down, she floated in, lovely and
gracious as ever.
"I am going to dinner at the Mays'. I am sorry I can't see you for
more than a minute. How is Miss Sarah to-night?"
"No better--worse," Wayland answered brokenly, holding fast the hand
she offered him. Gently Madelaine drew it away, and began to put on
her glove.
"I am _so_ sorry," she said, "but you mustn't despair. I am sure she
is going to get well."
Upon Wayland's sensitive ear the words fell with a hollowness almost
unbearable. "She does not care at all," he told himself.
This was perhaps a little unjust to Madelaine. She was very full at
that moment of the joy of living; she knew nothing by experience, of
illness and death. She was sorry for Wayland, but the thought of the
evening's pleasure was not for an instant dimmed by it.
Wayland went blindly home again, conscious of nothing but the pain in
his heart. At the door Norah met him with a note which she asked him
to take to Miss Carpenter. "The doctor thinks there will be no change
for some hours," she told him.
He sat staring into the fire in the same blind way when Marion entered
the room.
"There is no haste about the answer. Won't you stay with me for a
while?" she said. "I am alone, and I know you must be feeling the
strain of suspense."
Norah's note had said: "Do keep the poor boy and comfort him if you
can. He does nothing but wander in and out."
"Thank you, I think I must go back," he answered, lingering aimlessly
however.
Marion brought him a cup of after-dinner coffee, and he submitted and
drank it, although he felt it must choke him; and when he had
swallowed it, he was the better for it.
Marion did not make the mistake of trying to cheer him in the face of
this terrible anxiety, but in every possible way she showed her
sympathy. She spoke of his aunt, of her brightness and kindness, of
her evident attachment for him; and poor Wayland, longing to pour out
his unhappiness to some one, forgot she was almost a stranger and came
out with his confession. His foolishness and extravagance, his
carelessness of his aunt's comfort. It was very boyish and perfectly
sincere. Madelaine was not mentioned by name, but the wound showed
plainly, and Marion guessed what he did not tell.
"And now I shall never have a chance to show her how sorry I am," he
groaned, hiding his face.
"Don't say that. There is still some room for hope that you may have
another opportunity; and even if you do not, you can yet make of
yourself what she would wish," Marion said; adding, "If you will let
me speak to you as if you were my younger brother, I should say that
all the trouble has come from a natural but selfish determination to
have what, after all, was not meant for you. I think I understand;
and although you may not believe me, I am sure it could never have
made you happy if you had been able to obtain it."
"If you mean Madelaine," Wayland said, lifting his head, "that is all
over."
Afterward he could look back on that evening and feel that out of his
grief he had won a friend who might never have been his under other
circumstances. At the moment he was conscious only of the new courage
and determination that inspired him, when after the long talk he said
good night.
With the morning new hope came. There was a chance for recovery; and
this grew, until at length Miss Sarah began slowly to climb the hill
toward health again.
It was some time before Wayland could pour out to her his repentance,
and then his aunt would not let him say half he wanted to say.
"Why, child," she exclaimed, patting the head bowed on the arm of her
chair, "you have done nothing to call forth all this. You have been
thoughtless, as most young persons are; but I suspect it is my fault.
I spoiled you. I did so want you to have what you wanted, always. I
suppose it is foolish, but it is the way we feel about the children we
bring up."
"You shall have that bond back, or one just as good, Aunt Sarah," he
assured her; and there was something in his face which showed he meant
it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH
THE PRICE OF A BOND
"Mr. Goodman, I want to understand about that bond Miss Pennington
sold for me. I have been reading the papers, and I don't see how it
could have brought a thousand dollars when they are only quoted at
eighty-something." Miss Sarah was still white and weak, but she spoke
with a touch of her old energy.
Ever since she had been able to think connectedly, the matter had
puzzled her. Norah, when appealed to, was innocence itself.
"I am sure he did not lose anything, Miss Sarah," she said. "I offered
it to him because I happened to know he had already bought some."
So now she had summoned Giant Despair himself, happening to see from
her window his clumsy figure coming up the street.
"I am glad to see you better, Miss Sarah," he said, appearing rather
ill at ease as he seated himself ponderously in a wicker chair.
"Goodness! I hope it won't give way with him," thought Miss Sarah;
then aloud she repeated her question, adding, "I have no confidence
whatever in Miss Pennington."
Giant Despair squinted at her with his best eye, as if to see just
what she meant.
"My own opinion," Miss Sarah continued, "has always been that she is a
witch; but even then I don't understand it."
Mr. Goodman smiled grimly and slapped his gloves across his knee.
"Probably you don't know much about the ways of witches," he remarked.
"I ought to know something. I can't imagine what I should have done
without Norah. Everybody was kind,--more than kind,--but she knew how
to take hold and manage things. I--" she hesitated a moment before she
added, "and we didn't want them in the neighborhood!"
"I guess you are right about the witch business," agreed the old man.
"But the bond," urged Miss Sarah.
"Well, there is nothing to be said about the bond, so far as I know.
As a general thing women don't know much about business, but Miss
Norah has taught me a thing or two. I haven't lost anything on your
bond, Miss Sarah, and I expect to make before I get through."
"And you are sure that she--"
"She didn't lose anything, either,--if that is what you mean. That
bond was worth to me what I paid for it, and that is all I can say on
the subject, unless--" Giant Despair hesitated. "Years ago your
brother saved me a good deal of money at one time and another. He was
a good man. I have sometimes wished I had taken his advice. If you
aren't satisfied, just remember that."
There had been a time when Miss Sarah's brother, Wayland's father, had
managed Mr. Goodman's law business; but the relations had come to a
sudden end. The only explanation Mr. Leigh had ever made to his sister
was that he did not care for certain of the drug company's methods.
"Then all I can do is to thank you most warmly," she said as he rose.
"If I have helped you, Miss Sarah, I am glad. As I say, I have not
lost anything, and I am a useless old codger, anyhow."
Miss Sarah wiped some tears away; she was far from strong yet. "I
think it was a conspiracy between you and Miss Pennington, but I'll
have to let it go."
"I am in good company, at any rate," said Giant Despair.
James Mandeville waited for Mr. Goodman at the gate, and the two
walked away together, hand in hand, the little boy taking great pains
to point out all obstacles in the path, chattering ceaselessly, his
radiant face lifted constantly to the rugged one so far above him.
Miss Sarah watched them and smiled.
As for Mr. Goodman, he felt a strange sense of exhilaration,--so much
so, that when they met an organ-grinder and a monkey (spring being now
at hand) he contributed a dime instead of the usual five-cent piece.
A week later he went to a hospital to have his eye operated on, and
during the weeks of helplessness that followed he was the recipient of
an amount of attention that greatly surprised him.
The hospital was only a few blocks away from the Terrace, and hardly a
day passed without a visit from some of his neighbors. Marion, Norah,
and Alexina took turns in reading to him; and James Mandeville came
whenever he could induce any one to bring him.
In the same corridor was a man recovering from a stroke of paralysis,
who, rolling himself back and forth in his chair, occasionally
encountered Mr. Goodman and exchanged a few words.
"I notice you have a great many friends," the stranger remarked one
day.
"I?" exclaimed Giant Despair, who looked fiercer than ever with one
eye bandaged. "Well, I suppose I have," he admitted, and became lost
in thought. Eight months ago probably not a soul would have done more
than leave a card, unless it had been a member of the firm. How had it
come about? Undoubtedly the shopkeepers had something to do with it.
They had showed themselves friendly. Then he thought of that bond.
Suppose he had refused Norah? Ah, he had told Miss Sarah the strict
truth when he said he had not lost anything in that transaction. He
really felt the impulse to do another kindness to somebody, but not
being in practice, nothing suggested itself.
An opportunity came, however. One Sunday afternoon James Mandeville
brought his father with him to see Mr. Goodman. The child's joyous air
of proprietorship was pretty to see.
"Here's my father," he announced. "Isn't you glad he's come home?"
Then, as the two men shook hands, he asked, leaning confidingly
against his old friend, "Does your eye hurt, still yet?"
The conversation turned naturally to business, and after a time Mr.
Goodman suddenly said, "Norton, it has just occurred to me-- We are
making some changes this spring, and we need an experienced man to
look after the city trade. How would you like the place?"
Mr. Norton's careworn, boyish face flushed and brightened. "It would
mean a great deal to me now, Mr. Goodman. My wife will be at home
soon; I was dreading the thought of having to leave. Thank you very
much."
"You needn't thank me. I am considering my own interest," the old man
replied, with an affability that astounded himself.
"I rather think Jenks is expecting the place, but he isn't married;
he can wait," he added.
* * * * *
"Miss Norah, does you reckon old Marse Goodman's gittin' religion?"
asked Mammy Belle one day. "Looks like he's mighty soft-hearted."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH
NORAH'S ARK
Alexina said the shop, like a little leaven, was leavening the whole
neighborhood, and truly it seemed so. To her those two weeks of
association with Marion had been a joy. In the congenial surroundings
of the shop she found it easy to live in to-day, leaving the future to
unfold as it would. Her shorthand book lay unopened; she began to feel
the truth of Marion's assurance, "Your forte is dainty, feminine
things, Alex, in spite of your disdain for them."
In their leisure moments they had built many castles concerned with
the future of the shop, one of these being a millinery department of
which Alex was to have charge.
Indeed, the two weeks of Miss Sarah's illness saw the beginning of
many things. Between Miss Virginia and Norah Pennington a strong
friendship grew up.
"Miss Virginia is such a dear!" Norah said. "I adore her stilted
little expressions, such as 'busy with my needle or pen,' instead of
sewing or writing, and with it all she is at heart a child."
"That is the point of contact between you," Marion answered, smiling.
Miss Virginia was like one who had thrown off a yoke, yet she hardly
understood her own light-heartedness. It was quite true that she had
never outgrown her girlhood. It was only overlaid by grown-up manners,
and unconsciously she was beginning to let the burden of convention
slip from her shoulders and to enjoy herself as her nature prompted.
Charlotte was an hourly pleasure. Miss Virginia enjoyed looking after
her wardrobe as in the past she had enjoyed dressing her dolls. She
listened to the schoolgirl experiences poured into her ear, with
genuine interest. They were like two children together; but Miss
Virginia's sweetness and sincerity, her delicate refinement, could not
but have their influence on her impetuous little niece.
One broadening influence came from those Friday evenings in the shop,
with their basket making and pleasant talk. Miss Virginia had been
accustomed to accept things as they were. When in her very infrequent
visits to business offices she had encountered young women acting as
bookkeepers and stenographers, she had looked upon them as a class
apart. Not that she felt consciously superior, or anything but kindly,
but simply that her life and theirs did not touch. She was actually
surprised to find Norah's friend Louise Martin so much like other
girls, and when Norah described the hall bedroom in the gloomy
boarding-house, which was her only home, Miss Virginia began to wish
and then to wonder if she could not do something to brighten a life
that seemed so dreary.
Another addition to the Friday gatherings was a Miss Jackson, a
fellow-boarder of Miss Martin's, a public school teacher and an
ambitious, high-spirited girl.
Toward these two Miss Virginia began to show a timid friendliness so
plainly sincere it was irresistible. She found them much more
interesting than many of the people who belonged to her own sphere,
and whom she was accustomed to call friends. The end of it was, she
asked them to tea with Alex and the shopkeepers,--a tremendous
departure, a step taken with fear and trembling. But when it was over,
she found herself looking back on it as one of the happiest occasions
of her life.
And now the Friday evenings at the shop began to be enlarged in their
scope. It came about quite naturally. Norah, the sunny-hearted, could
not breathe without attracting friends; and while the basket making
still went on, and Miss Sarah and Miss Virginia brought their
embroidery, others dropped in for the pleasant talk.
Alex induced her grandfather to go with her on one occasion, and the
judge was clearly both bewildered and charmed. He renewed his
acquaintance with Norah, of whom he had not ceased to speak in
admiration, and was greatly impressed by Marion's graceful bearing.