"FRANCES"
"There were three ladies in a hall,--
With a heigh-ho and a lily gay:
There came a lord among them all,--
As the primrose spreads so sweetly."
IT was hot, very hot, in Cherry Street. Miss Billy's garden bloomed
as Paradise, but up and down the alley household garbage bubbled and
boiled in the sun. The sweet peas on the fence were a marvellous
cloud of pink, violet, crimson, purple and white. They rioted over
the Hennesy pickets, and spread their fairy wings as if to descend
on the other side;--but across the street Mr. Schultzsky's weeds
flaunted in all the rank arrogance of a second crop.
Miss Billy was disheartened, but not defeated. "Of course I can't
accomplish it all by myself," she thought, "and John Thomas is too
tired at night to help and Theodore is working, too. But every child
in the street that can handle a hoe shall be enlisted in the cause if
I can accomplish it."
She went over to Mrs. Canary's to talk the matter over, and found
Holly Belle in a kitchen that easily registered 110 degrees. Mrs.
Canary was in bed with one of her "attacks," the twins, unwashed and
sticky, were playing with a basket of potatoes on the floor: Ginevra,
the little sister, was grumblingly washing the breakfast dishes,
while Holly Belle, with signs of recent tears around her eyelashes,
was binding up a badly burned arm.
"You see, there's bread-baking to-day," she said, as Miss Billy's
deft fingers bound up the burn, "and maw's sick, and paw goes onto
his beat at noon, and must have his dinner, and the twins are
restless with the heat, and won't stay satisfied five minutes at
a time with anything. The boys are off somewhere, and no good to
anybody, and my own head aches so I can't hardly see. It aches all
the time, now, anyway."
"I should think it would," said Miss Billy sympathetically. "Can't
you let that fire go out? It's simply unbearable in here."
"No," said Holly Belle, "the bread's in the oven, an' there's pork
an' cabbage cooking. I've got to get the potatoes peeled right away,
or dinner'll be late."
Miss Billy reached for a kitchen apron that hung on a nail. "Well,
I'll bathe the babies," she said: "I think that will make them feel
better. Then I'll sweep up for you, and help with the dinner."
"You're awful good," said Holly Belle simply. Her eyes looked heavy,
and her shoulders had a pathetic droop. "Jinny, if yer through with
the dishpan, give it to Miss Billy to wash the twins in, and then go
down to the store and fetch a pound of butter."
Miss Billy bathed the babies in a tiny pantry, away from the
scorching blast of the cook stove, and clad them in clean, dark
calico slips. Ginevra came with the butter, and was despatched with
the twins in their carriage to the shady north side of the Lee house.
Order slowly evolved from chaos. The kitchen was swept, the pantry
put to rights, and Miss Billy, crimson in the face, and with her
collar quite wilted, was preparing to set the table.
"Don't you think--Holly Belle," she suggested, "that it might be
better to move the table into the other room? It's much cooler in
there."
"We never have," answered Holly Belle dubiously. "We've always eat in
the kitchen."
"Well, we'll try it this time, anyway,--and if your mother objects
we'll not do it again. It's so hot in here, Holly Belle, it's
positively dangerous! And as you can't take the stove out, it seems
as though you would have to take yourselves out, that's all."
"I've been thinking," she went on, as she went back and forth from
the table to the pantry, "that instead of having the children in
the neighbourhood spend every Saturday morning with me, as they have
been doing, I shall have them come every morning for two hours. That
would help you, wouldn't it, Holly Belle? And I can just as well do
it through the vacation. You could send the babies before nine, and
I'd bathe them and be ready for the rest at nine o'clock.
"This child-garden, Holly Belle, is going to resolve itself into an
Improvement Club. Every member who is old enough must pledge himself
to one half-hour's service a day in keeping clean his own yard and
alley, and the street in front of his house. The weeds must be kept
down, the cesspools disinfected, and the garbage disposed of. Then
another half hour might be pledged to household duties,--such as
washing and wiping dishes, bringing in wood, carrying water, and
making beds. They'll all subscribe to the conditions, I know, for the
sake of sharing in the pleasures of the child-garden."
"Launkelot and Fridoline couldn't never wash and wipe dishes," said
Holly Belle hopelessly. "They'd break them all up."
"Indeed they can, if they try," returned Miss Billy stoutly. "My
brother Theodore can wash and wipe dishes as deftly as a girl,--and
he could do it at their age, too."
"'Twould be an awful help," mused Holly Belle, "and our yard an'
alley is a sight to behold, but I ain't got no time to clean it."
"Of course you haven't. But you are doing noble work in this kitchen
every day,--and taking care of those babies beside. It's noble work,
Holly Belle."
Holly Belle's lips quivered, and her tears fell. "I ain't like
other girls," she sobbed. "I used to go to bed of nights an' dream
I had a piano an' could play on it. An' when I'd wake up I'd be so
disappointed it seemed to me I couldn't stand it. An' I used to go on
hopin' and hopin' that I'd get one, an' learn, but I know it's too
late now. I'm growin' on fourteen, already."
Miss Billy, taking in all the pathos of the starved little life,
found no words to reply. "But the thing that hurts worst," went on
Holly Belle, wiping her tears on her apron, "is that I can't go to
school. I had to stop when Mikey was a baby, and then just as I got
started again the twins came, and I guess I'll never go back. The
teacher came to see maw, an' told her how quick I learned,--but it
didn't do no good, an' I'll have to stay right here in this kitchen
all the rest of my life."
Miss Billy crossed over to the drooping little figure, and put her
arm about her. "Keep hoping, Holly Belle," she counselled: "Keep
hoping, and keep on trying. I'm sure it will all come out right.
I have a solemn conviction that when one wishes hard enough for a
thing, it comes to pass. And so I am sure the school days will come
again, and the piano and the lessons, too."
Holly Belle dried her tears. "You've made me feel almost sure of it,
too," she said, with a smile. "I'm thankful for the help you've been
to me with the work, Miss Billy,--and I'll send the children over in
the morning."
* * * * *
It was that evening that Theodore, freshly arrayed in the glory
of blue serge and starched linen, drew Miss Billy into a secluded
corner. His neck, even as Mr. Hennesy had predicted, was burned to a
deep red, and the blisters on his hands were hardening into calloused
spots,--but there was no self pity in his manner as he handed his
sister a five dollar gold piece.
"My first week's pay," he announced, proudly: "and thank you very
much for the accommodation."
"Oh, I'd rather not take it now, Ted," demurred Miss Billy. "Wait
until you've earned more."
"No indeed," said Theodore proudly. "Next week I shall pay father for
my shoes, and after that, every cent of my money goes into the bank.
Take it now, or never, Miss Billy."
"Well, I'll take it if I must, but I don't want to," grumbled his
sister. "Say Ted, Beatrice and I are going over to call on Mr.
Schultzsky's niece, Frances Lindsay, this evening. Mother saw her
trunk arrive to-day, and thought we ought to. Won't you go with us?"
"No, I thank you," said Theodore. "To tell the truth, I've soured on
the society of ladies. But if she's handsome, and wealthy, and under
thirty, I may relent and call upon her some other evening."
"For my part, I think the idea of our going over there is
ridiculous," scolded Beatrice. "I wouldn't, if mother didn't insist
upon it. It's more than likely she can speak only Bohemian, as that
other little niece does, and will run and hide upon our arrival."
"Well, we'll go, anyway," said Miss Billy. "Mother is right. The girl
will feel very strange and lonely in that old house, and if she can't
speak English we can at least shake hands and then sit and smile at
her."
They took their way across the street, Beatrice very dainty in her
white dress with a rose low in her hair,--Miss Billy in a black
dress skirt and white shirt-waist, with a severely masculine collar
and tie. The front door stood ajar, and after tapping several times
Miss Billy ushered herself in. "It's the only way," she declared, in
reply to Beatrice's horrified exclamation. "Mr. Schultzsky _can't_
let us in, that little Bohemian girl _won't_ let us in, and under the
circumstances, I suppose the new niece can't make up her mind what to
do."
There was the sound of a well-modulated masculine voice reading in
Mr. Schultzsky's room. Miss Billy tapped gently, and the door was
opened by a young man. In one swift glance she knew he was tall, with
dark eyes and a ruddy skin, and wore glasses.
"I beg your pardon," she faltered. "We have called to inquire for Mr.
Schultzsky, and to call upon his niece, Miss Frances Lindsay."
In the next instant, too, she was sure the young man was well bred.
He gave Beatrice a chair, and turned on the student lamp without
manifesting any embarrassment, while Miss Billy crossed to the old
man's bedside, and extended her hand.
"I hope you are better, Mr. Schultzsky," she said. "Sister Beatrice
and I have come to call upon----" For some undefined reason the words
died away, and she stood with glowing cheeks and paralysed tongue.
"Sit down," said Mr. Schultzsky, pointing to a chair at the bedside.
The young man was regarding Miss Billy with open humour shining in
his dark eyes.
"I feel already acquainted with you, Miss Lee," he said, "as a good
friend of my uncle's, and as a young lady who insists upon spelling
my name 'ces.' _I_ am Francis Lindsay!"
He was looking at Beatrice now, whose face was the picture of shocked
propriety and haughtiness. Miss Billy's wits returned.
"It would be very funny," she thought, "if Bea didn't take it so
tragically. But he is not at all to blame. He has tact, and is
kind. _I_ am the stupid one." Then she introduced Beatrice with a
mischievous ring in her voice. "My sister Beatrice,--_Mr._ Francis
Lindsay."
Mr. Schultzsky was feebly wagging his head and chuckling. "She iss a
smart girl," he said,--"but she wass fooled dot time."
With a person less polished, the situation might have been deeply
embarrassing,--but Mr. Schultzsky's great-nephew conversed
entertainingly, with his arm resting easily on the table. He spoke
of his native city of New York, of existing social relations, of
his uncle's illness. He addressed his remarks to Miss Billy, but he
glanced often at Beatrice, who sat cold and silent across the room.
"I trust you will give me permission to return the call," he said
pleasantly, as at the end of ten minutes they rose to go. "I assure
you I know what it is to be lonely, though I am not a girl."
"Do come," said Miss Billy cordially,--but Beatrice remained silent.
"Now with your usual propensity for doing stupid things, you have
drawn us into a fine entanglement," scolded Beatrice, as they
reached the sidewalk. "I never heard of anything so arrogant in my
life as his asking if he might return the call. And it was not your
place to give him permission, either. You quite forget you are my
younger sister."
"I think him extremely courteous and high-bred," returned Miss Billy
with spirit, "and his asking to call upon us was a delicate and kind
thing to do, under the circumstances. But don't let us quarrel about
him, Bea. How old do you suppose he is? I think he can't be over
twenty-one,--but his grave manners make him appear older."
"I have no suppositions whatever upon such a subject," said Beatrice
loftily.
"But at least, you cannot deny he is a gentleman?"
Beatrice raised her pretty eyebrows. "Into that I shall not inquire.
It is enough for me that he is a relative of Mr. Schultzsky's."