WEEDS
"Witch-grass and nettle and rag-weed grope,--
Paupers that eat the earth's riches out,--
Nightshade and henbane are lurking about,
Like demons that enter in
When a soul has run waste to sin."
JUNE, departing, had scattered her wealth of floral treasures wide
over the land, and Cherry Street, lowliest child of her adoption,
had not been forgotten. Under the wholesome influence of trowel,
watering-can, and good black soil Miss Billy's garden had grown
apace, and now burst into such a riotous excess of bloom as brought
the small Cherryites to the fence in groups of silent adoration. Beds
of scarlet geraniums glowed like the heart of rubies on the green
lawn. Sweet peas were opening their pretty eyes and peeping over into
Mr. Hennesy's yard. June roses, white, pink, and blood red, swung on
their stems breathing incense night and day, while on the side of the
house bloomed the pansy bed, hundreds of pretty faces of many colours
and marvellous size. Over the back fence nasturtiums were opening
their golden hearts, and a group of tall hollyhocks stood boldly
disputing right of way with the arms of the Hennesy clothes reel.
Mrs. Hennesy had been sweeping, and now she stood in the upstairs
window looking down at the floral display in her neighbour's yard.
"It do be lookin' loike a park, Mary Jane," she commented at last.
"Mrs. Casey was a good neighbour an' its mesilf that'll niver be over
missin' her,--but she niver had things lookin' loike that. An' it's
that girl--'Miss Billy,' as they call her,--that's done it all."
Marie Jean, who had condescended to the menial task of setting her
bureau drawers to rights, turned her head slightly. "Well," she
commented indifferently, "if she wants to waste her time on an old
garden I suppose it's nobody's business but her own."
Mrs. Hennesy discreetly waived the argument. "I think I'll be goin'
over there to see thim this afthernoon, Mary Jane. They're that noice
an' frindly it ain't roight for us not to be goin' near thim. Miss
Billy has axed me twice to have you come over. It ain't neighbourly,
Mary Jane,--that's what it ain't."
"Well, go on if you want to," said Marie Jean, beginning to hum a
tune to show the matter was too trifling for further consideration;
but she broke off to add, "wear your bead cape and your lace bonnet
if you do go."
Mrs. Hennesy's face took on a look of despair. "Well now, Mary Jane,"
she began, "it's just a neighbour, an' a clane apron----"
"You must wear your bead cape and your lace bonnet," reiterated Marie
Jean, with spirit. "And be sure you go to the front door. You must go
decently, or not at all."
Mrs. Hennesy departed from the room, and presently went down the
stairs in all the glory of her best dress, augmented by the bead cape
and the lace bonnet. Marie Jean secretly surveyed her through the
crack of the door, and returned to her task somewhat mollified. "I
guess they won't find anything to laugh at in that bead cape," she
said, with a toss of her head.
Mrs. Hennesy passed out through the kitchen door, but returned again.
She drew off her black silk mitts, stepped to the stairs to see if by
any chance Marie Jean was listening, and tiptoed back to the kitchen
cupboard. She looked uncertainly into the coffee can which was quite
full, then into the tea caddie which was half full, and finally shook
the sugar box, which responded roundly. "Well, I'll borry some tea,
annyway," she whispered, and taking a cup, secreted it carefully
under the bead cape. Thus fortified, she passed around to the front
gate, and, thankful that Marie Jean's point of vision could no
longer command her actions, hurried around by way of the pansy bed
to her neighbour's side entrance and rapped at the door.
Mrs. Lee responded to the summons. "Why, it is Mrs. Hennesy," she
said cordially, extending a hand to welcome her neighbour. "Do come
in. It is cooler here in the dining room than in any other place in
the house at this time of the day, so we'll sit right here. Beatrice,
won't you take Mrs. Hennesy's cape and bonnet?"
"Well, now, I can't stay a minute," protested Mrs. Hennesy, in her
soft Irish brogue. "I must be goin' back to start supper fer Mr.
Hennesy, fer he gets no dinner these days but the bite he takes wid
him in a pail. An' I only stepped over to see if I c'ud borry a
drawin' of tea fer his supper. Me an' Mary Jane has been that busy
all day we c'udn't get to the store."
The cup was filled with the desired "drawing of tea," and stood
in readiness on the table, but as the minutes sped, Mrs. Hennesy,
warm and perspiring, but loyal for Marie Jean's sake to the bead
cape, began to feel more at ease. Mrs. Lee was not like Mrs. Casey,
it was true, and could never fill her place,--but she would make a
good neighbour,--and the girls were as pretty as pictures with their
contrasting styles of beauty and pretty dresses.
Of course, they were not to be compared with Mary Jane. Mary Jane
was--well, more dressed-up like and stylish, than these Lee girls.
But they were nice and kind, and treated their mother like a queen.
Mrs. Hennesy wished Mary Jane might be there to see it.
"Sure an' Mary Jane will be in to see you wan of these days, soon,"
said Mrs. Hennesy as she rose to terminate her call. "It's bashful
she is, or else jealous, wid John Thomas soundin' Miss Billy's
praises all day long. It's 'Miss Billy says this,' an' 'Miss Billy
does that,' an' he thinks Mary Jane can't hould a candle to Miss
Billy,--an' that's the thruth of it."
"And I think John Thomas is a jewel," declared Miss Billy warmly. "I
wouldn't have a flower now if it wasn't for him. Do come out and look
at them, Mrs. Hennesy,--and carry a bouquet to your daughter from me."
"Well now,--if them ain't lovely," declared Mrs. Hennesy, as Miss
Billy began culling with a generous hand. "An' thim ould fashioned
hollyhocks, as sassy as you plaze. Another summer an' I'll be havin'
some fer mesilf."
"You may have slips and seeds from all my plants," responded Miss
Billy generously, "and John Thomas could easily bring the dirt."
Mrs. Hennesy shook her head doubtfully. "It's wades I'd be after
raisin'," she protested. "Sure an' flowers don't be growin' fer ivery
wan loike they do fer you."
"Weeds!" Miss Billy took up the words dolefully. "Mrs. Hennesy, weeds
are making my existence miserable. Look at my hands from keeping
the weeds down. But it's no use,--look there!" She pointed as she
spoke, up and down Cherry Street, and Mrs. Hennesy's following glance
took in a long vista of rank vegetation flanking every sidewalk
and dooryard, weeds great and small, broad and feathery, tall and
diminutive, flaunting their rank growth in the hot sunshine.
"Well, thim's not all yours," said Mrs. Hennesy consolingly. "There's
none in your yard, so ye needn't care."
"Oh, but I see them, and I hate them so!" said Miss Billy
despairingly. "And the seeds are beginning to blow over here. The
plantain and dandelions are killing my new grass already."
"Well, wheriver there's good, there's bad," said Mrs. Hennesy
philosophically: "An' if the good stopped tryin' an' quit what w'ud
become of the world, I'd loike to know? Hould fast to yer flowers,
Miss Billy, an' remimber whereiver wan of thim grows a weed can't,"
with which comforting advice the kind-hearted Mrs. Hennesy, holding
fast to Marie Jean's bouquet and the borrowed cup of tea, took her
departure.
The setting of the sun brought relief to Cherry Street. Every tiny
porch held its household group, and the clear moonlight and cool
breeze brought recompense for the glare and toil of the day. By
degrees the noisy laughter and outcries of children waned and ceased,
the murmured talk of their elders died away, and the street was
wrapped in slumber.
It was then Miss Billy came softly from her room, clad in a flowing
wrapper. She listened longest at Theodore's door, till, satisfied
by his heavy breathing that he slept, she descended the stairs and
stepped out into the moonlight.
Mingled with the perfume of her roses came the rank breath of the
weeds, bringing malarial poisons to the sleepers of Cherry Street.
Mrs. Hennesy's words came uppermost in her mind. "Wherever there's
good, there's bad,--and if the good stopped trying, what would become
of the world?" "Well, I'm going to help all I can, and I'm going
to commence on Mr. Schultzsky's premises." She caught up a sickle,
crossed the sidewalk jubilantly, and bumped into another pale wraith,
sickle in hand, who straightened himself suddenly from the O'Brien
weeds.
"John Thomas Hennesy!" she exclaimed. "How you frightened me! What
are you doing out here at this time of night?"
John Thomas wiped the honest drops of toil from his brow and regarded
her sickle suspiciously. "I'm cutting weeds. I've cut our own and now
I'm cutting Canary's. What are you going to do, I'd like to know?"
"I'm going to cut Mr. Schultzsky's," said Miss Billy, in a gay stage
whisper. "No,--not a word, John Thomas,--I want the satisfaction of
laying those weeds low myself."
"Well if she ain't a reg'lar brick!" said John Thomas admiringly, as
the swish of her sickle came across the street to his ears. "Catch
Mary Jane taking a sickle in her lily white hand to----"
The rest of his sentence was lost in the sound of his own sickle as
it played dexterously among the O'Brien weeds.
There were other ears than John Thomas's on which fell the swish of
Miss Billy's keen blade that night. Two eyes peered down from an
open window of the Schultzsky house on a girl kneeling in the very
dooryard. A girl who might have been mistaken for a saving angel
with the moonlight on her wavy hair and flowing gown. A girl who
attacked the weeds in a very fury of resentment, and scattered their
rank growth in every direction. The eyes peered and peered, and then
withdrew,--but gave no sign.
It was ten o'clock the next morning when Miss Billy came sleepily
down to her breakfast. Theodore met her with suspicion lurking in his
eye, but sang carelessly:
"The lark is up to meet the sun,--
The bee is on the wing:
The ant its labours has begun----
"Say Sis, who cut all those weeds last night?"
"Theodore," said Miss Billy pathetically, with a nervous sense of
aching muscles, and a weariness on which his raillery grated, "is
there any breakfast?"
"There is," said Theodore; "I couldn't half eat mine, I was so
excited. I've been bursting to tell you the news for two hours.
Guess, Sis, what's happened?"
"What?" said Miss Billy, looking apprehensive. That it was something
portentous she knew from Theodore's manner.
"Mr. Schultzskyczarovitch fell through the rotten planks of our
sidewalk this morning at eight o'clock, and broke his leg, even as
you wished."
"Oh," said Miss Billy faintly, and then for no reason at all
collapsed in a little heap to the carpet.