Little by little, the water receded. So slowly did it fall that the eye
could not mark it. Over the mud-colored waters, the sun shone brightly
and made of the spray a million sparkling diamonds.
By evening, the students began to experience the pangs of hunger and
thirst. There was nothing to satisfy them, for although there was water,
water, everywhere, there was not a drop to drink. At twilight, the lower
floors were above the flood, although at intervals, a sudden splash from
without sent little streams back through the door.
The pupils were yet under the spell of the flood. Unusual quiet reigned
in the dormitories, when suddenly a cry of delight came from Erma. Her
voice echoed from one end of the hall to the other, and reached even to
Miss Burkham's ears; but that lady did not appear to reprimand her. The
preceptress realized that the girls had been under a nervous strain all
day and she did not have it in mind to restrain them, even though they
exceeded the bounds laid down by Seminary law.
"What has happened to Erma?" exclaimed Hester, starting up when the cry
reached her ears.
"Don't be alarmed. It is nothing serious. I can tell from her voice.
That shriek is Erma's cry of delight."
In an instant, Erma herself tripped down the hall to explain and to
share. Knocking hastily, she did not wait to be admitted, but flung open
the door.
"What do you think I found?" she cried. "A half-dozen lemons. I forgot
that I had them. I bought them last week. Here, we're dividing."
She thrust one out at them. It had already been opened and part of its
contents extracted.
"There wasn't enough for one a piece. Just take a good long suck from
it."
The girls did. There was nothing humorous in this passing a lemon about
among many. Not a drop of liquid had passed their lips since the night
before. The few drops of juice which they were able to extract, were
refreshing.
"Doesn't it taste good?" cried Erma. "I never knew before how perfectly
delicious a cup of cold water is. Wait until I have the opportunity. I
mean to drink a gallon without stopping. I must go on. The girls in
Sixty haven't had any yet."
She was gone before Hester and Helen had expressed their thanks. Before
she reached Sixty, the door opened and Renee came out. "I was looking
for you, Erma. Someone said you had found some lemons. Can't you lend me
one?"
"What's left of one. Take it and drain it dry." It was almost that now,
but Renee received it thankfully.
"I thought I could not stand it another minute. How long will it be
before we get anything to eat or drink?"
"In a week or so," cried Erma as she passed on.
Sunday morning broke clear and bright. There were no rising or breakfast
bells, for there was nothing to serve the hungry people.
Doctor Weldon and Miss Burkham had conferred together and decided that
as long as the girls were sleeping, they would be neither hungry nor
thirsty, so they allowed them to sleep until they awakened of
themselves.
The perversity of human nature showed itself in every girl's being awake
unusually early. At the usual breakfast hour, the upper halls were
filled. It was the Sabbath, but on the lower floor the servants were at
hard work. The women were wearing top-boots and short skirts, which
reached just below the knees. They were dragging out the mud with hoes.
In the middle of the floors, the sand and mud were fully a foot deep
while in corners, which had been free from the force of the current, the
deposit was three times that depth.
In the middle of the main floor, a saw-log lay. A great hole in the
plaster showed where it had spent its force, and the shattered glass of
the front door was evidence of its place of entrance. The curtains of
real lace which had added to the beauty of the reception hall, were
nothing but dirty rags, discolored, torn, and hung with bits of drift.
The sun beat down upon the water-soaked places, and the steam which
arose, was foul-smelling. The men who were endeavoring to do the heavier
portion of clearing, were knee-deep in the drift. The flood had receded,
but the basement was yet full of water. The conditions were bad and
would remain so for some time, regardless of the fact that everyone was
doing his utmost to better them.
There was nothing to be hoped from the city, for it had its own burden.
The store-houses had been flooded and the food supply cut off.
Miss Burkham went to Doctor Weldon. "What do you think of my taking the
girls from the building?" she asked. "The hygienic conditions here are
dreadful. Outside we can find the sunshine, at least. I can take them
through the city streets--wherever the streets are open. I think we can
keep them better satisfied if we keep their attention on something else
than themselves."
"Perhaps, it would be better. I have been concerned about them. They
have been most thoughtful and considerate so far. You may take the
Fraulein with you--and the school purse, too, Miss Burkham. You may be
able to buy something for them."
"While you are gone, I'll try to get into communication with our people
at Flemington. The telephone and telegraphs are useless. Marshall and
Herman might be able to walk out and carry something back. It will be
hours before a delivery wagon can get through to bring us anything."
Following Miss Burkham's instructions, the girls dressed in their
shortest and shabbiest skirts and put on heavy shoes. It was a dismal,
hungry-looking party which set forth.
For a square down Main Street, the way was clear. They were often forced
to leave the sidewalk and make a detour to escape the piles of drift
which lay in heaps. The mud was over the tops of the rubber shoes, and
the greater number had discarded overshoes before they had gone far. At
the corner of Main and Clinton Avenue, they stopped. Their way was cut
off by a great pile of logs, timbers, and uprooted trees which reached
above the second story of the houses. Here and there, caught between the
branches of the trees or the conjunction of timbers, were bits of
household articles, parts of chairs, window frames or broken beds and
soggy mattresses.
"We can climb over," suggested Hester. "That will not be much of a
climb."
Miss Burkham had been hesitating. She feared to go on and yet to go back
meant dissatisfied, hungry girls shut up in a wet, foul-smelling
building.
"We'll climb," she said. "But be careful to move slowly, and not bring
this down upon you."
The feat was not a difficult one. They succeeded in crossing and entered
the business street. There was not a whole plate-glass window in this
section. They had been shattered into bits so small that no trace of
them could be found.
The girls entered what had been the largest and finest grocery store of
the city. The mud was several feet deep; the show-cases had been
battered to pieces; canned goods were piled in heaps in the corners and
covered with refuse. But the combination most surprising, was where a
large cheese had tumbled down upon a dead cow which had been washed in
from some dairy farm far up the river.
Men were already clearing the streets, and shoveling the refuse from the
stores.
From the business thoroughfare, Miss Burkham led her charges to the
residence street. Here conditions were the same. The elegant houses bore
the marks of the flood. Trees were uprooted. Lawns which but a few days
before were things of beauty, were now but heaps of refuse, or hollows
filled with water.
Doors and windows stood open wide. Delicate, cultivated women had
arrayed themselves in overalls and were scraping the mud from their
homes.
As they made their way eastward, Robert Vail hurried down a side-street
to meet them.
"I started for school the instant I could," he explained to Miss
Burkham. "I did not know how bad conditions were, but I expected they
could not be good.
"I have a tally-ho and horses, but we could not get beyond Fairview
Street. South Street is a mere chasm. The horses could not have crossed
there. I did reach Miss Alden and Miss Richards. My man took them back
home while I came in."
Hester grasped his arm. "Auntie--is Auntie all right?"
"Fine as silk. She was concerned about you until we satisfied her that
seminary girls could not be gotten rid of so easily. It takes more than
a flood--" He spoke lightly to the girls and then turned to Miss
Burkham. "Our housekeeper said I should fill up the tally-ho and bring
the girls there. The buildings at school will not be fit to live in for
some days. We'll take care of eighteen or twenty until you arrange
matters."
A feeling of relief came to the preceptress. "You have taken a great
responsibility from Doctor Weldon and me," she said. "We shall never be
able to thank you. As to the girls, Hester and Helen, of course must go;
also the Fraulein, for I must not allow the girls to go alone."
She turned to the group about her, and selected the number which would
fill the tally-ho.
"You girls will go with the Fraulein and Mr. Vail, and remain until we
send you word to return. Berenice, Violet, Edith and I will return to
school."
"I declare, this is too bad," cried Robert. "I cannot allow you to walk
back, and without anything to eat."
"You cannot help it. The circumstances are unusual. The elements have
our fortunes in hand," she replied.
"The instant I get the young ladies home, my man and I will come back
with all the good things we can carry. Tell Doctor Weldon that we shall
have a dinner--perhaps a late one--for her."
"She has sent messengers to Flemington. They will bring us something for
one meal at least. Come, girls." She led her little flock toward home.
There was no hope of finding a bite to eat anywhere in the city. Men and
women had worked all night and were yet working without a particle of
food or drop to drink. The preceptress was worn and weak. Her
responsibility for the last two days had been great; but she did not
dare give up. She trudged bravely toward school, encouraging the girls
and drawing their attention to any phase of the situation which was not
burdened with pathos.
Robert Vail led his party down the residence street and then turned down
an alley. "These narrow passages have less drift," he explained. "My man
and I discovered this this morning."
By devious ways, he brought them out on High Street which stood above
the ravages of the flood. Here a tally-ho with four horses stood
waiting.
Robert assisted the Fraulein and girls to their places and bade the
coachman drive on. Hester and Helen sat side by side.
"Now, I am really to meet your Aunt Harriet," said Hester. "It is very
strange. Think of my rooming with you for ten months and never meeting
her."
"Never met mother?" exclaimed Robert Vail. "Be prepared to meet the
finest mother in the world."
"There may be some exception," said Helen, "at least Hester may think
so. She may be vain enough to think that she had the finest mother in
the world."
"Oh, no," began Hester hastily and then she paused. She was not dull.
She had been keen enough to know that there was something not just right
about a mother and child traveling alone through a strange country and
no one ever searching for them. But she could not allow any one else to
know her thoughts. Her face flushed as she continued, "I have never
known a mother. Aunt Debby is all I ever had. I am sure that no one can
be finer than she."
"We will make an exception in favor of Miss Alden," continued Robert.
"With the exception of Miss Debby Alden, you will find my mother the
finest woman in the world. You'll fall in love with her the instant that
you meet her."
"I know. I have caught several glimpses of her but I never met her. But,
perhaps she will not care for me. I should not be pleased if I should
like your mother very much and she would not like me at all."
Vain little Hester Alden. She knew what speech Robert Vail would make.
She had heard him express himself on the subject twice before. Because
his words had pleased her, she called them forth again.
"There'll be no danger of her not liking you. I'll vouch for that.
Mother and I always like the same people and things. She has the best
taste in the world."
Helen laughed teasingly. "You like to impress people with the fact that
you are fond of your mother; but have you ever noticed, Cousin Robert,
that there is always one compliment for her, and two for you?
"Robert Vail and his mother like the same things. That is the first
premise. The second is, his mother has excellent taste;
conclusion--Robert Vail has excellent taste. I have not studied logic
for nothing, Cousin Robert."
Robert shrugged his shoulders. "That is a girl's idea of reason," he
said. "They always go about in a circle, like a lost duck and they never
lose the personal element in anything."
"Your remarks are not original," said Helen. "I have heard Doctor Baker
say that same thing."
"I have heard you mention Doctor Baker before. Is he your physician at
home?" asked Hester. She had forgotten Helen's Easter letter.
"He's our pastor and perfectly lovely, Hester. He has been with us a
long, long time. I told you once about him, but you were vexed with me
then and my words fell on deaf ears. Sometime you must come and spend a
month with me in my home and you shall meet Doctor Baker."
"I never would go and leave Aunt Debby for an entire month. It was bad
enough to go to school and not be with her," was Hester's reply.
"But Aunt Debby can come along. My father would like her, and she and
Aunt Harriet would be friends from the moment they met. Maybe we can
arrange it for this summer. Sometimes Doctor Baker comes to visit us,
too. He gets very lonely. I should think any one living alone would be
lonely."
"Isn't he married?" asked Hester. "I thought ministers were always
married. Why doesn't he get married?"
"You think a marriage certificate goes with the manse," said Robert.
"His case is a paradox. He is always marrying, and yet never is married.
Quite a riddle isn't it?"
Helen's face lighted up. She was like Hester in that both delighted to
hear romantic stories.
"He had a love affair, a long time ago," she said softly as though the
subject were one too sacred for full tones to play upon. "But he went to
college, and when he came back his sweetheart did not care for him. But
he has never forgotten her."
Hester gave a sigh of contentment. She would remember and tell her Aunt
Debby about this. While her Aunt Debby had chided her about repeating
these little romantic tales which came to her ears, Hester had a feeling
that the elder Miss Alden was not wholly unsympathetic.
Josephine, who was sitting in the front of the tally-ho, caught the last
of Helen's speech. She sighed, and leaning forward that all might catch
her words, said: "How lovely! Such persons appeal to me. There is
nothing in the world which is so beautiful to me as faithfulness. How
perfectly lovely! I always--"
"Hester, lend me a pin, please. I see you have one in the front of your
coat and I need one to fasten the ends of my tie," it was Renee who
broke in upon Josephine's flow of sentiment.
"We shall soon be there now," said Robert. "The house stands back of
those trees." He pointed to a small elevation which was about a mile
distant. The girls exclaimed with delight except Mame Cross who looked
down upon her short skirt and mud-stained shoes with a mortified
expression.
"Really, Mr. Vail, I simply cannot enter your home, looking like this.
Your mother would refuse to receive me."
"I do not understand why," he replied.
"Mame, do please forget about it," laughed Erma. "My shoes are muddy; my
skirt is shabby; I am hungry--so hungry that I'll fairly snatch at
anything to eat. I look like a fright, I know I do. But what's the use
of thinking about it. It can't be helped. So why not pretend that we do
not notice it?"
"We must make up for our looks by being so nice that Mrs. Vail will not
notice that we are not immaculate." It was Mellie who offered this
suggestion.
"That is all very well for you girls to speak so," said Mame. "But you
do not look as I do. You girls look nice, considering what you have gone
through; but me--I always look the worst. I never look like other
girls."
"Then give up trying, Mame. You never will look like other girls, you
know. So make the best of matters which cannot be helped, and be
cheerful and gay." Erma's words were supposed to be ironical; but her
happy little laugh and dainty little touch upon Mame's hand, robbed them
of their sting.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Robert Vail, as the horses turned from the main
road into a private drive. Hester opened her eyes in astonishment. She
had seen the beautiful homes near Lockport, but this surpassed any. The
house was in the midst of a great park; there were lawn, forest, and
flowers. The house was large, but not imposing. It had rather the look
of a home than of a mansion. Never before had Hester seen such beauty of
surroundings. Nature and cultivation had worked together to make the
best of this.
As the girls stepped from the tally-ho, Hester grasped Helen by the arm,
"I am afraid--afraid," she whispered.
"To meet Aunt Harriet? Why, little roommate, she is not a bit
formidable. You will love her."
"I think it is not just that--" she began again. She could not finish.
Aunt Debby and Miss Richards had come to meet them. Back of these two,
stood a large, wiry woman in a dark dress and an extensive white apron.
"My little girl," cried Debby, clasping Hester in her arms. "I have been
very anxious about you."
"I was safe, Aunt Debby. Perfectly safe, but so hungry."
Robert Vail escorted his guests to the door.
"This is Mrs. Perkins, young ladies," he said, indicating to the big
woman. "She will see that you have something to eat at once."
"I have been waiting dinner. If the ladies wish to come at once--" She
led the way. The guests were weak from hunger. The odor of the food
aroused their appetites afresh.
"Did you ever think bread and butter was so gloriously fine?" said Emma
after her first mouthful. "Do you realize that we have had nothing since
Friday evening."
"I do; but I do not intend talking about it--now," said Hester. "I have
greater things to do."
Indeed, they all had that. They had kept up bravely under strenuous
conditions. There had been no word of complaint. Erma especially, had
been cheerful and gay as long as those two qualities were needed to
sustain herself and her friends. Now, she was the first to give way.
After a few morsels had been eaten, she realized that she was tired--so
tired that she believed that ever being rested again would be an
impossibility. She made an effort to keep up. She tried to laugh, but
ended with a nervous giggle. Then to the amazement of all, she began to
cry and sob.
"I am so tired. I am too tired to live. I never could go through with
this again."
"And you will not need to--never again," said Miss Debby, going to the
girl's aid.
"Let her cry. It will do her good," she continued as the others were
about to leave their dinner. "Let her cry, it will do her good."
At this Renee began to giggle. Mame looked at her and straightway did as
Renee. Mellie and Josephine made a brave effort to control themselves,
but after a few minutes they were following Erma's example and were
sobbing as though their hearts would break.
Miss Richards and Miss Debby took matters into their hands. There was no
help to be expected from the Fraulein, for she was as wearied as the
girls.
The housekeeper made ready the rooms and the girls were forced to go to
bed.
"Each young lady ate a little something, I observed," said Mrs. Perkins.
"Let them rest a while, then I shall take some refreshments to them."
"It was so beautiful what they behaved yet to this time," cried the
Fraulein. "Never no word, no fuss, all smiles, all funs, no cross or
nothing until now." She was much disturbed lest the women would
discredit her for the girls' behavior.
"We understand," said Debby Alden. "It is not your fault, Fraulein. You
are going to rest now, too. We intend treating you like a little girl;
send you to bed and send your bread and jelly to you."
"Ach," the little German teacher tried to look self-reliant and
sufficient to take care of herself. But there was something in Debby
Alden's manner which touched her. The Fraulein was a stranger in a
strange land. Many and many were the times when she longed for the
tenderness of those who were bound to her by the ties of love and blood.
She was but a little homesick girl, herself and wished to be mothered
like other girls. But she was brave enough with all her longing. She
shrugged her shoulders; but Debby laid her hand affectionately on the
girl's shoulder. That settled it. In an instant, the German teacher
rested her head against Debby; her eyes filled; she touched Debby's
cheeks tenderly; "I vill go. The Fraulein is so kind. The Fraulein has
a heart in her breast." Without a word of demur, the little German
teacher followed the girls and rested while the housekeeper and Debby
Alden waited upon them with the most kindly attention.
Robert Vail and his man had returned at once to the city taking with
them a supply of necessities. The housekeeper came to Miss Debby with
the explanation and apology. Thought of others had caused Robert to
neglect his duty as host. Here Mrs. Perkins looked mournful and as
though she might say much if she chose, and added that Mrs. Vail had
left early that morning, having driven over the hills to an adjoining
town where railroad communications had not been cut off. She had
received news which had caused her some anxiety and she had set forth at
once.
The housekeeper was in the mood to speak freely; but Debby Alden was not
one who discussed with the maid the affairs of the mistress. She
accepted the explanation and went her way. So many incidents of life
turn as a straw in the wind. This was a time and place propitious for
much clearing-up of uncertain matters; but Debby Alden had not been in
the mood to listen; and the mistress of the house was traveling over the
country after a will-of-the-wisp which had led her many a long,
unfruitful journey.
Robert Vail, greatly fatigued with his day's work, came back to
Valehurst just at dusk. By this time, the nervous tension had been
greatly relieved. The girls had had a nap and a substantial evening
meal, and were prepared to look at the experiences of the last few days
in a more cheerful light.
Robert brought with him the good news that the hucksters from Flemington
had driven in over the hill and had brought food with them to the
seminary. The teachers and pupils were preparing to return with them to
the farmhouses which stood high enough to be out of the way of the river
and creek.
Marshall and Belva with a set of workmen were remaining at school to put
the place in order; to build fires that the building might be dried
rapidly and to protect the grounds and buildings from vandalism. Doctor
Weldon had sent word that the young ladies who were with the Fraulein
at Valehurst were to remain there until she recalled them.
Miss Debby and Miss Richards, with the little group of girls, had
gathered about Robert on the lawn, anxious and eager to hear about their
friends. When the message had been received and the good news told, the
crowd separated into little groups. Helen and Hester, in company with
Robert, moved toward the house.
"I had no opportunity of asking you about Aunt Harriet," said Helen,
"and I do not like to put such questions to Mrs. Perkins. You said that
Auntie would be here, Robert." She looked up at him and waited as though
expecting an explanation.
"So I thought. We made ready before daylight this morning to go for you
girls. Mother came down to see us off. In fact it was she who prepared
the lunches to give to any one in distress. But Perkins tells me that
quite early someone called her up on the 'phone. She talked a long time.
Then she called Ryder and told him to get out the grays and the light
carriage. Then she went off. She didn't even leave word where she went.
I called up father's office. He knew nothing about it."
"And don't you know?" There was anxiety in Helen's voice. Her eyes had a
pained, distressed look.
"She telephoned to Perkins that she had gone to Minnequa, a little
factory town where an old colored woman had the care of a young white
girl. The message came from those people who had found such a 'sure
thing,' before and then failed to make good when the time came."
"You don't mean that horrid man and his son? What was their
name--Stroat--Strout?"
"Stout, if I remember right. Before it was a mere scheme to extort
money, and I do not doubt that it will be the same now. Poor mother, she
will be worn out with the journey and have nothing but disappointment
for it all. I mean to talk with her on the wires to-night. If she does
not intend coming home at once, I shall go to Minnequa and be with her.
I may start early and shall not see you in the morning. Will you
explain to Miss Debby and the girls? I am not running away, but I must
not let my mother stay there alone."
"Yes, you must go. Do not give a thought about us. We shall be very well
taken care of here. Poor Aunt Harriet! How I wish I might fill that
empty place in her heart!"
Hester had been walking a few steps in advance; but had heard the
conversation. Why should Helen always speak of her aunt as though she
were to be pitied? Mrs. Vail had everything that a woman could desire--a
beautiful home with trained service, a husband and son who considered no
one but her. It was strange. Hester could not understand why Helen
should always speak of Mrs. Vail as "poor Aunt Harriet."