JANE’S IDEA
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty were very silent at first as they drove
along. Letty was quite overcome with shyness and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was
considering what it was best to say first. She was very anxious to have
a long talk with Letty, which was the reason why she had not wished Jane
and Christopher to come too. For Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s plan was nothing
more nor less than to take Letty herself, to act as little errand girl
and companion during the summer; then in the autumn when she returned to
the city, to put the child in school and enable her to grow up
well-taught and fitted to take her place in the working world. But there
were a great many things to be thought about and talked over first.
“My dear, tell me something about yourself, will you?” she asked gently,
after the gate had been passed and the ponies were trotting sedately
over the smooth country road toward the village.
“About myself!” exclaimed Letty in astonishment. “Why, there isn’t
anything to tell. I’m just Letty Grey.”
“How long have you been with Mr. and Mrs. Drake?”
“Three years this fall. My brother——” She stopped a moment to swallow
hard and then went bravely on: “My brother was with the circus. He
performed on the tight rope. Then after he fell and—and died, Mrs. Drake
said I might stay on and help round. I had nowhere else to go. I am fond
of Punch and Judy, and Mrs. Drake was always kind to me, but——”
“But what, dear child?”
“I hate a circus!”
“You poor child! Tell me how you happened to join a circus in the first
place. Tell me more about it all. When did your parents die and where
was your home when they were living?”
“In Philadelphia. But my father died when I was a tiny baby. I don’t
remember him at all. We were very poor and my mother was not strong. My
brother Ben was only sixteen years old when father died—he was fourteen
years older than I. He ran errands at a theatre, ‘call boy’ I think it
was called, and mother took in sewing. After a while Ben learned how to
do tumbling from a man who had an act at the theatre and taught me how
to spring up and balance on his head. Mr. Goldberg engaged us for his
little theatre at Willow Grove. He was a very kind manager and used to
give me big boxes of candy. But mother never liked my doing it. She was
glad when, about the middle of the summer, a trained bear that had
performed in the theatre went mad or something from the heat and they
had to take him away; then Mr. Drake brought Punch and Judy and offered
to teach me how to put them through their tricks instead of the trained
bear. Mother was much happier because I did not have to jump with Ben
any more.
“It was a very happy summer!” And Letty sighed. “It was the last my
mother ever lived,” she added in a low, choked voice.
“When did it happen, dear little child, and how old were you?” asked
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones softly.
“It was that next fall. I—I was hardly ten years old. Mrs. Drake was
with us. She lived in the neighborhood and—and afterward she took me
with her. I have been with her ever since,” and Letty sighed again.
“You poor, forlorn child!” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones tenderly. “What
a melancholy life you have had!”
“Only since—since I lost my mother,” replied Letty quickly. “I was very
happy before that.”
“Have you ever been to school?”
“Not very much. My mother taught me until she was not strong enough and
then I went to school.”
“Did you like it?”
“No, ma’am. Not a bit. The other girls were horrid to me and wouldn’t
make friends. At least the girls my own age wouldn’t. They said I was
only a little circus girl. I wasn’t as far along in my lessons as they
were, either, and had to go into a class with real little girls who
thought I was stupid and made fun of me until I read aloud to them. Then
they liked me better.
“But that was before mother died. After that I couldn’t bear to go to
school any more that winter.”
“You poor, motherless little girl!” cried Mrs. Hartwell-Jones again,
with a catch in her own voice. “And was there no joy—no spot of color in
all that dull, dreary time?”
“Ben was always good to me. He was very busy at the theatre all winter,
but whenever he could spare the time he took me for walks. Once he took
me to a concert. A lady sang, oh, so beautifully!
“And there was the church music, too. I loved it there; it was a very
big church with beautiful stained glass windows. The organ hummed so
grandly and little boys in white gowns and voices like angels sang. Oh,
it was wonderful!”
“I see you are fond of music,” observed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, glancing
with pleased surprise at the little girl’s flushed cheeks and shining
eyes.
“Oh, so fond!” replied Letty eagerly.
Then she stopped, seized with a new fit of shyness. How had it come
about that she should be chattering so freely all this time to the great
lady of whom she had felt in such awe an hour before; the writer of
books! Somehow she had forgotten all about her greatness and riches; she
had felt only the loving kindness and sympathy of her manner.
Ever since her mother’s death Letty had had an odd, tight feeling around
her heart; as if it had been tucked into a case that was too small for
it. When Ben died the case had grown smaller and tighter until it cut
like a metal band. She had never been able to talk to any one of her
grief until something in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s manner had appealed to
the trustfulness of the sensitive, lonely child. And her heart felt less
swollen and sore after she had spoken.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones asked no more questions for a time, and Letty went
over in her mind her day’s experience; the gay, happy children, the big,
sunny farmhouse with its green lawns and orchard and last, but not
least, the good dinner and general homey feeling.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s thoughts were busy too, and all that Letty had
told her made her the more decided to take the girl from her present
surroundings. But she said nothing to Letty. She would wait until she
had had her talk, as she had determined, with Mrs. Drake.
In the meantime the twins, left at home at Sunnycrest, felt a bit flat.
“I’m glad Mrs. Hartwell-Jones has bought the ponies,” said Jane, idly
swinging on the gate. “’Cause she’ll take us driving with them lots of
times, I think.”
“It’s lucky Josh found ’em all right,” responded Christopher. “He knows
a lot about horses, Josh does, and he might have found something wrong.”
“Oh, he couldn’t have been so mean as to say anything was wrong about
’em. He just couldn’t help loving the cunning little things.”
“It isn’t a question of loving,” retorted Christopher grandly. “It’s a
question of spavins or—or heaves, or heart disease. Those are horse’s
diseases, you know.”
“They aren’t all horse’s diseases. People can have some of ’em.
Leastways, nurse said Norah Flannigan had heart disease and that was
what made her eyes stick out, like a frog’s.”
“What did her eyes sticking out have to do with it?”
“Why, greeny, don’t you know that when people have heart disease their
eyes always bulge? It’s a symptom. I asked mother and she said so. But
who I’m sorry for is Letty,” she went on hastily. She saw that
Christopher was about to question further about this most interesting
symptom of heart trouble and she did not wish to betray the fact that
she had come to the end of her knowledge.
“What are you sorry for Letty for? Has she got heart disease?”
“No, but she hasn’t any home.”
“Well, but she’s got a circus to belong to and that’s lots more
exciting.”
“But she doesn’t like a circus. She said so. She doesn’t like traveling
around and living in a tent. And now that Punch and Judy are gone from
the circus she won’t have anything to do. I wish grandmother had let her
stay here to help Huldah.”
“So do I,” replied Christopher cruelly. “’Cause then she’d be around to
play dolls with you and I could get off more to go with the boys.”
“If you want to play with the boys, why don’t you go?” said Jane
loftily. “I’m sure I don’t want your company if you don’t want to stay.”
Just then she spied something enveloped in a cloud of dust coming up the
road, and her tone changed.
“Kit Baker, who’s that?”
“Huh?” asked Christopher, glancing at the approaching dust cloud with
pretended surprise. “Oh, that’s just Bill Carpenter coming out to see
the pups. Grandfather said I might give him one. And we’re going to talk
baseball too a bit. The fellows want me on the nine. You needn’t go
away, though; there’s no secret,” he added politely, as Jane climbed
down off the gate.
The dust cloud had by this time revolved upon them and disclosed a
small, freckled boy on a big bicycle. Jane gave her brother one hurt,
angry look, turned her back and without a word ran into the house.
“What’s the matter?” called grandmother, catching sight of the red,
scowling face as Jane passed the sitting-room door.
“Oh, nothing,” answered Jane carelessly, turning and entering the room.
“Kit’s got a boy out there, so I thought I’d come in and see if Huldah
wanted me to help her.”
Grandmother peered out the window at the backs of two boys disappearing
around the corner of the house in the direction of the stable.
“I don’t believe Huldah is in the kitchen, dear,” she said, “but perhaps
you would like to sit with me for a little while? I have some pretty
bits of silk put away that I have been saving up for you to make a
doll’s quilt. I thought they might come in useful when you and I were
sitting together over a bit of sewing.”
This suggestion made Jane feel very grown up—almost like a lady come in
to spend the afternoon. The sulky frown smoothed itself out at once.
Grandmother directed her where to find the box of silks, threaded her
needle and advised in a most interested way about the choice of colors.
Jane seated herself in a low rocking-chair beside an open window and
felt very important indeed as she snipped squares of silk and sewed them
together. She forgave her brother his preference for boys, she forgot to
be curious as to which puppy Billy Carpenter might choose. She even
forgot, in the general grown-upness of the occasion, that she did not
like sewing. And crowning joy, when Huldah brought a tea tray in at five
o’clock, grandmother poured her out a cup of tea—with plenty of hot
water, to be sure—from her own teapot. Jane pretended that there were
other guests present, taking tea, too. This game added to her dignity
and it also accounted, most conveniently, for the rapid disappearance of
the cakes and cookies.
“Grandmother,” said Jane, feeling quite grown up enough to discuss any
subject, “I was so sorry for Letty.”
“Yes, poor little child. It is hard to be motherless.”
“She asked me if I thought there was any chance of her getting a place
around here. I thought perhaps you might like to take her to help
Huldah.”
Mrs. Baker did not answer for a few moments, but bent silently over her
knitting. Then she said:
“Janey, dear, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones did not wish anything said about it
until the question was settled, one way or the other, but I am going to
see if you can keep a secret.”
“Oh, grandmother, dear, of course I can! Oh, what is it?” cried Jane
eagerly, jumping up and spilling the whole box of silk scraps out upon
the floor.
“She thinks of taking Letty—that is, if Mrs. Drake can answer
satisfactorily all the questions that must be asked—to wait on her this
summer; and then in the fall to put her at some good school where she
will be taught how to earn her own living when she grows up.”
“Oh, grandmother, how perfectly perfect! And can’t Mrs. Hartwell-Jones
stay here with us all summer, instead of going back to Mr. Parsons’
house in the village?”
“I shall keep her, certainly, as long as she will stay, Janey dear. But
do you see how wonderful all this is going to be for Letty? Now, she is
a homeless little girl, with nowhere to go in the wide, wide world; but
if Mrs. Hartwell-Jones takes her she will be housed and cared for and
protected. It is a fearful thing to be a little girl alone in the world,
Janey.”
“Yes, grandmother,” replied Jane solemnly. “And wouldn’t it be a
surprise if Letty should turn out to be a relation of Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones’s? It would be like one of her own stories, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it certainly would be wonderful. But there is not much likelihood
of that, dear. There are a great many Joneses in the world.”
“Yes, it seems to be a very popular name. But, grandmother, when shall
we know surely, if Letty is coming back?”
“I think it is pretty certain,” replied grandmother with a smile. “Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones had about made up her mind before she started, and Mrs.
Drake will not have very much to say against Letty, if we are to believe
Mr. Drake’s account. The child will be a great help to Mrs.
Hartwell-Jones, with her lame ankle.”
Jane was gathering up the scattered scraps of bright colored silk.
“I think I won’t sew any more just now, grandmother, if you will ’scuse
me. I want to go out to the gate and watch for them to come back.”
Outside the sitting-room door she met the boys. Her superiority in
having been confided a secret made her very amiable, and when she saw
that Billy Carpenter carried a puppy, she forgot her injury in examining
the ball of fur to decide which puppy it was. But she kept one eye on
the gate and presently tumbled the puppy back in to Billy’s arms and ran
off toward the driveway with a shout.
Bill was not expecting the burden at that moment and the fat puppy fell
yelping to the ground. But Jane did not turn round.
“What in the world!” ejaculated Christopher, who had never before seen
Jane deaf to cries of distress.
“Perhaps she feels bad about your giving away the pup,” suggested Billy,
picking up the whining little beast.
The two boys bent over the puppy to see if its fall had injured it and
neither of them noticed the approach of the pony carriage, again being
driven, to Jane’s unspeakable joy, by Letty.