AT THE CORNERS
"Oh! Aunty Rose Kennedy!" cried the little girl, finally recovering her
voice. "I wondered and _wondered_ why you didn't come back to us. It
wasn't your garden that kept you up here at the Corners, now was it?"
"Not altogether, Carolyn May. Your Aunt Mandy couldn't take care of
this sweet little girl all by herself," replied Mrs. Kennedy. "You see,
there is something, after all, for old Aunty Rose to do in the world
besides sitting down to twiddle her thumbs."
In came Mamma Cameron and Uncle Joe with the bags then, and the baby
was made much of. That she should have a real, live baby named after
her quite amazed as well as delighted Carolyn May. The baby cousin was
named "Carolyn Amanda."
"That sounds ever so pretty," stated the little girl. "I'm going to
write Edna about it right away. You see, she couldn't have their baby
named after her because it was a boy. Isn't it nice, Mamma Cam'ron,
that there is another girl in our family?"
Later she was allowed to go in to see her Aunt Mandy, who was propped
up in bed and looked very pretty in cap and bedgown. Mrs. Joseph
Stagg's face fairly shone her delight when Aunty Rose brought in the
baby to her; and it was plain now why Uncle Joe looked so proud and
happy.
"You see," he said seriously to Carolyn, "we found that we could not
get along at all in this big old house without a little girl in it.
Your being here for so long quite spoiled Amanda and me for living
without young company. So we got a Carolyn of our own."
"Yes. And weren't you lucky?" observed Carolyn May. "For you might have
found a boy, you know."
She hoped the new Carolyn would be as happy as she had been for some
months at the old homestead.
On the very next morning the little girl began to run about the Corners
to renew acquaintance with all the neighbours, while Prince chased
ancient feline enemies and became friendly again with the dogs of the
hamlet, which he had not seen for more than a year.
Carolyn must needs search out Freda Payne, who had been her dearest
school friend when she had attended the red schoolhouse; and with Freda
she went to call on Miss Minnie, who had been their much loved teacher
but was now married to the school committeeman who most frequently came
to visit the school.
"There!" said Carolyn May wisely. "I always thought something would
come of _that_."
Miss Minnie warmly welcomed Prince, as well as the little girls, for
she had reason to feel friendly toward Carolyn's dog.
Then, when dinner was over, and the baby was asleep, Carolyn and her
"cayenne friend," as Chet Gormley had once called Prince, went over
into the churchyard. Already the shadows of the church and its steeple
had begun to lengthen. The windows of the minister's study looked out
upon this quiet nook; chancing to glance up from his work the Reverend
Afton Driggs saw a familiar little figure digging industriously with
a trowel about the three little lozenge-shaped stones that marked the
graves of Aunty Rose Kennedy's little ones who were too "puny" to grow
up and around the bigger stone, "sacred to the memory of Frank Kennedy,
beloved spouse."
"If I believed in ghosts, I surely should think I saw one now," said
the minister, putting his head out of the window. "Is it really, truly
you, Carolyn May?"
Carolyn laughed delightedly. Everybody seemed so glad to see her! She
came to stand beneath the window and reached up to the minister a
rather grubby hand.
"And are you still in the 'Look Up' business, Carolyn May?" he asked.
"Still brightening the world? Still seeing the sunshine and blue sky
rather than the grey clouds and gloomy days?"
"Why, Mr. Driggs!" cried Carolyn, aghast, "there aren't any such days.
Leastways, I never see 'em. You know, there is always so much that's
pleasant going on that I forget to think of anything unpleasant."
Yet that was not altogether so. There was one thing deep in the child's
heart that pricked her thought frequently. Hers was not a nature,
however, to thrust her own troubles upon the attention of others.
This particular thing was a very real trouble, nevertheless. She
continued to think of the pale lady and her baby. That they should
have to remain in the hot city and in that hopelessly uncomfortable
apartment, caused the child positive heartache.
The worst of it was, it was a case in which Carolyn could not
interfere, no matter how good her intentions might be. Papa Cameron was
seldom as stern as he was in his decision to do nothing more for Mr.
and Mrs. Laird and Baby Laird. The pale lady's husband must have done
something very dreadful, or Carolyn's father would not have come to the
determination he had.
The memory of her poor friends and their unfortunate situation thrust
itself into the way of Carolyn May's enjoyment more frequently than
even her mother dreamed. Faithful little soul that she was, in the
midst of a most enjoyable time--when she and Freda Payne were revelling
in the delights of a "shavings party" at Mr. Parlow's carpenter shop,
for instance--thought of the pale lady and her baby made Carolyn
suddenly grave.
"What _is_ the matter, Car'lyn May?" demanded Freda. "_Don't_ look like
that--so big eyed and all--all--Well! my grandmother would say somebody
must be walking on your grave when you look like that."
"Why!" said Carolyn May, "I haven't any grave--yet. Uncle Joe owns a
lot in the churchyard at the Corners, and so does Aunty Rose. But I
haven't picked out _my_ grave yet. Why, of course not! I shan't need a
grave for ever and ever so long.
"But I was just thinking when you spoke to me, Freda."
"What ever were you thinking about?" demanded her friend, to whom
Carolyn was always a source of wonder because of her "oddities."
"Why," said Carolyn May very earnestly, "I was thinking how too bad it
is that folks who do wrong don't have to go off by themselves and keep
away from the good folks. Then good folks wouldn't have to suffer for
the bad folks' doin's."
"Why--!" squealed Freda. "That's dividin' the sheep from the goats,
like it says in the Bible. And that can't be done till we get to
heaven."
"Can't it?" murmured Carolyn.
"Of course not! And I guess it's wicked for you to even think of its
bein' done now," added Freda complacently.
"Oh, dear!" sighed her little friend. "It does seem an awful long while
to wait for lots of sensible things to be done. It's too bad we can't
have 'em changed for the better here, and not have to wait till we get
to heaven."
Such unorthodox doctrines as this quite shocked Freda; but there was
something daring and enticing about Carolyn's flights of fancy even
upon religious subjects. The little country girl wondered if all
city-born girls were like Carolyn May. The latter had become noted
for her "imagination" during the few months she had attended the red
schoolhouse at the Corners.
What other little girl, indeed, could have found so much to "supposing"
with the wealth of shavings that were to be found in Mr. Parlow's
carpenter shop? When the two were about to start for home they were
trimmed with the long curly shavings--to say nothing of Prince--to an
extent to amaze the beholder. Amos Bartlett, who came along from the
direction of the Cove, was very greatly astonished when he first beheld
the decorated little girls and the dog.
"I declare to Peter!" Amos ejaculated, big-eyed, "I didn't see you
girls under them shavin's--not at first. How-do, Car'lyn?"
"Thank you," said the visitor to the Corners, "I'm well. Your nose is
just as big as ever, isn't it, Amos?"
The small boy felt of it to make sure before he answered: "Seems to be."
"Where've you been, Amos?" asked Freda.
Amos displayed the music roll under his arm. "To Miss Spellman's," he
said. "Maw makes me go ev'ry week. Take lessons. I hate it!"
"Piano lessons?" cried Carolyn May. "Oh!"
"He don't like it," Freda explained with disgust. "I'd be just _crazy_
'bout it if my mother'd let me take of Miss Spellman. But we haven't
any piano."
"Aw, it's all bosh!" whined Amos. "I'd ruther pound a dishpan with a
hammer. My maw thinks she can make a _mu_-sican out o' me. I dunno what
it's all about. Whad you think Miss Spellman told me to find out today?"
"What?" chorused the little girls.
"She asked me--now, le's see--it was how many carrots there are in a
bushel."
"What?" Freda gasped. "How many carrots in a bushel? She never!"
"Did so!" declared Amos, more confident the moment his statement was
doubted. "That's what she asked me. And I've got to find out before
next week."
"What's carrots got to do with music?" demanded the stunned Freda.
But Carolyn began to giggle. She clapped a hand over her own lips to
stifle the laughter that would well up to them; but her shavings-curls
shook as though disturbed by a stiff breeze.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Freda, while the none-too-bright
Amos stared, round-eyed, at Carolyn.
"Why! Why!" gasped the latter. "Miss Spellman didn't ask about
_carrots_. Now did she really, Amos? Wasn't it about _beets_?"
"Wal," drawled he of the big nose, "it was 'bout some vegertable."
"I want to know what beets have got to do with music then?" Freda cried.
"She asked him," explained the other little girl, much amused, "how
many beats there were in the measure. Now, didn't she, Amos Bartlett?"
"Guess she did," admitted the abashed small boy. "But what's the
diff'rence? Ev'rything about pianner playin' is foolish."
Mr. Jedidiah Parlow, an amused but until now a silent auditor, observed:
"Miz Bartlett's got a crazy notion she can make that Amos a musical
prodigal. Amos'll make it 'bout the time pigs fly--but pigs air mighty
onsartain birds."
With Amos the little girls and Prince started back along the dusty but
pleasant road to the Corners. It was nearly two years since Carolyn
May had first walked this way to the carpenter shop to play in Mr.
Parlow's shavings. Everything along the road seemed just the same as in
that long past time. Perhaps it was the very same squirrel Prince had
then chased that he set out after now, full yelp, and scattering his
ornaments of shavings to the four winds.
"I don't know how it is," his little mistress observed, "but Prince
never _will_ learn that he can't climb trees and lamp-posts. If a cat
runs up a post he thinks he can get her by jumping. And see him now,
trying to climb that tree after that squirrel! I'm ashamed of you,
Princey Cameron. You act just as if you didn't have good sense."
Behind them sounded the harsh roar of a heavy touring car. Automobiles
were not plentiful in the roads about Sunrise Cove and the Corners. The
condition of the highways themselves were the cause of that. Where much
timber-hauling is done the roads are always deeply rutted and otherwise
badly cut up.
So Carolyn, with the less sophisticated country children, stood aside
to watch the big car pass. To their surprise it slowed down and was
finally halted by the driver right beside them.
The driver was a liveried chauffeur. Carolyn stared at him with growing
wonder in her eyes. The only passenger sat beside the driver, and he
it was who first spoke:
"Are you sure you do not know this road, Ren?"
"I'm all up in the air, Boss, like I tol' you," the chauffeur said,
clipping his words as a French Canadian often does. "And these roads!
They will rattle the fine car of M'sieu to little bits."
"We won't do that," drawled the other. "The Old Man would say
something, sure enough. Here, children! How far is it to a service
station?"
Amos was dumb. Freda looked at Carolyn for advice upon this weighty
point. Freda had never heard of an automobile service station.
Carolyn May tore her gaze away from the liveried chauffeur and looked
at the man who had asked the question, only to be stricken with further
amazement.
The driver of the car called René she had recognized as the chauffeur
of those "awfully rich people" who had smashed the pale lady's go-cart!
And the dark-faced, unpleasant looking man beside him on the front
seat, Carolyn identified too. She had seen him the day on which the
pale lady had fainted. The man had come out of one of the apartments
under that of the Lairds, and had turned his keen gaze upon the little
girl in what Carolyn had thought at the time a threatening way.
He did not recognize the little girl now. He merely repeated his
question more sharply. "These backwoods kids," he said, _sotto voce_,
to René, "are all dumb."
Carolyn heard this and she did not like it at all. Indeed, she did not
like the dark man, with his very black brows and saturnine expression
of countenance. But she said politely:
"There aren't many automobiles go this way; but Mr. Hiram Lardner, that
keeps the blacksmith shop, has got a sign out, 'Autos Repaired,' and
you can buy gasoline at Mr. Albert Sprague's store."
"Where's that?" asked the man.
"At the Corners. You know, Mr. Albert Sprague; the storekeeper. His
father, Mr. Jackson Sprague, is the oldest inhabitant."
"Ha!" laughed the dark man shortly. "I've read of him in the papers
then."
"Oh, yes," Carolyn said placidly. "And maybe you saw his picture, too.
He took ten bottles of Wormwood Bitters and they cured him."
"What of?" chuckled the man. "Cured him of being the oldest inhabitant?"
"Oh, no, sir. I guess he's always been that, for he looks dreadfully
old. But the bitters cured him of whatever it was ailed him. He didn't
say just what it was. You know: 'Doctors were of no avail, and he gave
up hope at the early age of sixty-two. But at eighty-seven he is still
hale and hearty and lays his wonderful preservation exclusively to
Wormwood Bitters. Copyright.' He let me read the article once, that he
had cut out of the Wormwood Farmers' Almanac."
The dark man was grinning widely by this time--and he was not used much
to smiling, it was evident. He said:
"You young ones jump on the runningboard--and hang on--and show Ren
where to drive to this blacksmith who can repair automobiles."
"Oh, you can't miss of it!" blurted out Amos Bartlett. But Freda
smacked her palm over his mouth in a hurry.
"Hush, you!" she ordered in a fierce whisper. "Don't you want to ride
on that shiny thing?"
The three stepped up and clung to the machine. They would have been
doubly delighted, especially the little girls, to have ridden in the
tonneau, the upholstery of which was all shrouded with linen covers.
But the dark man did not offer them this superlative pleasure.
The big car started, and Prince, who had been sitting on his tail with
his tongue lolling out, started likewise and ran, barking, beside the
automobile. The road was rough and the car bumped up and down a good
deal; but René did not drive fast, although the children thought it a
very exciting ride indeed.
In five minutes they reached the Corners. As the big car came to a
halt, Mr. Lardner, in leather apron and with his shoeing hammer in his
hand, came to the door of his shop, deep within which the forge fire
glowed like an unwinking eye.
"Oh, Mr. Lardner!" cried Carolyn May, "we brought you a customer."
"Much obleeged to you, Car'lyn May," the blacksmith said, smiling, and
then gave his attention to René and the matter the chauffeur wished
attended to.
Amos remained to gape at the car, at its occupants, and at the
blacksmith repairing it. But the two little girls walked away.
"My!" sighed Freda Payne, "I don't see how you can talk to folks as
you do, Car'lyn May. I'm just tongue-tied when I see strangers. You
certainly have got the gift of gab!"
Carolyn might have framed some retort to this rather uncomplimentary
statement; but at the moment her thoughts were fixed upon a puzzling
problem.
It was surprising to see here at the Corners the car and chauffeur of
the rich man who had given her the twenty-dollar bank note for the
pale lady. It was likewise astonishing to see here the keen-eyed,
dark-complexioned man who had made an unpleasant impression upon her
mind the day the pale lady had fainted.
To see the two together was a still more amazing fact!
Disturbed as little Carolyn May's mind had been on the occasion when
she had first seen the saturnine looking man, she remembered now
something important about the incident. The man had been talking with
the pale lady's neighbour about the Lairds themselves, when Carolyn
came down the stairs.
The dark man was interested in the Lairds. His presence here, in this
handsome automobile, and with the chauffeur of the rich man who had
smashed the Lairds' baby go-cart, linked him with the owner of the
automobile.
This was a mystery--a mystery that piqued Carolyn's curiosity just
as had the mystery about the identity of the Lairds and their baby.
Had there not been so much going on at the Stagg homestead and in the
neighbourhood, the little girl certainly would have conferred with
Mamma Cameron about it.