WHAT WAS IN AN OLD TRUNK
"Where you been?" demanded Mrs. Shannon, crossly, from the doorway of
the shack. "Hurry up and put Sammy and Annie to bed and don't wake
Patsy. Your pa wants you to say your lessons, Jeanne. I gotta go up town
after yeast. Come along, Mollie, we can go now. Here's Barney with the
boat."
Her family tucked into bed, Jeanne slipped into her father's room.
"Here I am," said she. "I'm not a bit sleepy, so you can teach me a
lot."
Jeanne seated herself on her father's little old leather trunk--the
trunk that was always locked--and patted it with her hands.
"There's my spelling book on the table, Daddy. There's a nice pink
clover marking the place."
Her father looked at her for a moment, before reaching for the book. He
_liked_ to look at her; it was one of his few pleasures.
A soft clear red glowed in her dark cheeks and her eyes were very bright
and very black. She was small and of slender build, but she seemed
sufficiently healthy.
"Father, why do I have to speak a _different_ language from Mollie's?"
(She had never called her stepmother by any other name, since her
fastidious father had objected to "Maw.") "What difference does it make
anyway, if I say I _did_ it or I _done_ it?"
Here was rebellion! Her small dark father looked at her again. This time
not so contentedly.
"Arise from that trunk," said Mr. Duval, whose speech retained a slight
foreign touch that most people found most pleasing. "I think I shall
have to show you something that I have been keeping for you."
Jeannette hopped up, gleefully. She had always wondered what that trunk
contained. Now, it seemed, she was about to find out. From a crack in
the wall, Mr. Duval fished a small key, fitted it to the lock, turned
it, and lifted the lid. There was a tray containing a few packages of
letters and a small box.
Her father opened the little box and drew from it something that had
once been white, but was now yellow. Something wonderfully fine and
exquisite, with a strange, faint perfume about it. A lace handkerchief.
Even Jeanne, who knew nothing of laces, felt that there was something
especially fine and beautiful about the filmy thing in her hands.
"Was it--was it--"
"Your mother's," assented Mr. Duval. "Is it like anything of Mollie's?
Well, your mother wasn't like Mollie. She was fine and exquisite like
this little bit of lace. Now, here is something else for you to see."
Mr. Duval placed in his daughter's hand a small oval frame containing a
wonderful bit of painting. A woman's beautiful face. The countenance of
a very _young_ woman, with a tender light in her brown eyes. And _such_
a pretty mouth. And oh! such dainty garments, so becomingly worn.
"Your mother," said the little man, briefly.
"Why!" gasped Jeanne. "She was a _lady_!"
"Yes," admitted her father. "She was a lady."
"And when she died, you married _Mollie_!"
"When she died, I died too, I think. I was ill, ill. I walked through
the streets with you in my arms one day, here in this strange town when
your mother's sickness compelled her to leave the steamboat. You were
two years old. In my illness, I fell in the street near the door of
Mollie's mother's house, near the cemetery where they had laid your most
beautiful mother. They took me in and cared for me and for you. For
weeks I was very, very ill--a fever. I did not improve--I _wanted_ to
die. But slowly, very slowly I grew better. Your mother had married
against her father's wishes. Her father, I knew, would not receive you;
and _I_ would ask no favors.
"Mollie was young then and very good to you. I knew almost nothing about
her except that she was giving you a mother's care. For that reason,
when Mrs. Shannon said it was the thing to do, I married her. You
understand, my Jeanne, it was not because I cared for _her_--it was just
because I cared for _nothing_ in the whole world. Perhaps not even very
much for you. I seemed to be asleep--numb and weak. It was two years
before I realized what I had done for myself. Then it was too late. Of
course I could not take Mollie and her mother to the town where I had
lived with your mother; so I was obliged to find work here. I tried to
be good to Mollie. She has always been kind to you. And now do you know
why I want _your_ speech to be different from Mollie's?"
"Yes, yes," cried Jeanne. "I'll _never_ say 'I done it' again! Or 'I
should have went' or 'I ain't got no money.' Oh, I _wish_ I'd _never_
said them. Daddy! Do you s'pose I _could_ grow up to be a _lady_?"
Her father looked at the eager young creature.
"Yes," he said, "I believe there's a way. But it's a hard,
heart-breaking way for one of us."
"If _you're_ the one," said Jeanne, "I guess I'll stay just me and _not_
be a lady. Anyhow, a girl has to grow up first, doesn't she?"
"Of _course_," returned Mr. Duval, with a sudden brightness in his dark
eyes and something very like a note of relief in his tone. "There's
still time for you to do a lot of growing. But these things had to be
said. Now let us put the treasures away and do our spelling, or Old
Captain will get here and put an end to our lessons."
"Will you show me the picture again, some day, Daddy?"
"Some day," he promised, opening the spelling book at the pink clover.
The next day was bright, the weather was warm, and the little Duvals, to
put it frankly, were very, very dirty. Jeanne, who had charge of the
family while lazy Mollie dozed in one of the frowzy bunks, decided to
give her charges a bath. There was a beautiful spot for the purpose
along the edge of the Cinder Pond. The bottom at that place was really
quite smooth and sandy. A tiny bit of beach had formed below the sloping
bank of fine cinders and never were young trees more useful than those
in the two clumps of shrubbery that screened this little patch of sandy
beach. The shallow water was pleasantly warm.
"Me first! Me first!" shrieked Annie, who had wriggled out of her
solitary garment, and was already wading recklessly in.
"Ladies first, _always_," said Jeannette. "Mike, you and Sammy go behind
that bush and undress. Then you can paddle about until I'm ready to soap
you. Here, Patsy! Keep out of the water until I get your clothes off.
There, Annie, you're slippery with soap. Go roll in the pond while I do
Patsy. Don't get too far away, Sammy, I want _you_ next."
"Annie make big splash," said that youngster, flopping down, suddenly.
"Annie jump like hop-toad."
"Now, Annie, you've hopped enough. You watch Patsy while I do Sammy.
Sammy! Come back here. Michael! Bring Sammy back. Goodness, Sammy! How
wet you are--don't put your hands on me."
"Wonst," remarked Sammy, eying the big bar of yellow soap, thoughtfully,
"I seen _white_ soap--white and smelly. The time the boat with big sails
on it was here."
"Once I _saw_," corrected Jeanne. "Old Captain said that was a yacht. I
liked that lady with little laughs all over her face. _You_ remember,
Michael. She took us aboard and showed us the inside. My! wasn't that
grand! She showed us the gold beds and nice dishes and everything."
"What for did the boat come?" asked Sammy.
"They broke something and had to take it to a blacksmith to be mended.
They stayed here most all day."
"Sammy tried to _eat_ their smelly soap," said Michael.
"Aw! I didn't," denied Sammy. "I just licked it like I done the cheese
that was on the cook's table. He gimme the cheese. But I'd ruther a-had
the soap--it tasted better."
"You sure _needed_ soap," teased Michael.
"I'd like to be all smiling on my face like that pretty lady," said
Jeanne, wistfully. "And she hadn't any holes in her clothes."
"_Oo_ got a pretty face," assured Annie, patting it with one plump hand.
"So have you when it's clean. Why don't you wash it yourself as I do
mine? I'm sure you're big enough."
"Nuffin to wipe it on," objected Annie.
This was true. The family towel was a filthy affair when there _was_
one. Even if Mollie had had money, it is doubtful if she would have
spent it for towels. As for _washing_ anything, it was much easier to
tuck it into the stove or to drop it into the lake. Mollie simply
_wouldn't_ wash; and since Mrs. Shannon's hands had become crippled
with rheumatism, she couldn't wash. Jeannette, however, washed her own
shabby dress. Her father washed and mended his own socks and shirts.
Also he had towels for his own personal use and those he managed to
launder, somehow. Time and again he had provided towels and bed-linen
for his family; but Mollie, who grew lazier with every breath she drew,
had taken no care of them. One by one, they had disappeared.
"I think," said Jeannette, wisely, "that it would be a very good thing
if I knew how to sew. Then, perhaps, father could get me some cloth and
I could make things. I'd love to have nice clothes."
"Grown-up ladies," contributed Michael, "wears a lot of white things
under their dresses--twenty at a time I guess. I seen 'em on a
clothesline. The lady what was hangin' 'em up says, 'Don't you trow no
mud on them _under_clothes.'"
"_Any_ mud," corrected Jeanne, patiently. "And _saw_, not seen."
"The lady said '_no_ mud,'" insisted Michael.
"Then maybe she wasn't a truly lady. Sometimes you see a truly lady in a
little gold frame and _she_ never says 'I done it.'"
"How _could_ she?" demanded practical Michael, to whom Jeanne had
intrusted the cake of soap, in order that he might lather himself while
she rinsed Annie's hair. For this process, Annie sat in the Cinder Pond,
whose waters were so placid that, even when the lake outside was
exceedingly rough, there were no treacherous waves to trouble small
children. Both boys could swim. Jeanne, too, could swim a little, but
was too timid to venture into very deep water.
"There," said Michael, returning the precious cake. "Gimme the rag and
I'll rub if I _got_ to. Here, Sammy, I'll rub _you_ first."
"Aw, no," protested Sammy, backing away. "Let sister do it--she rubs
_softer_."
The bath lasted a good long time, because, the worst of the agony over,
the happy youngsters wished to play in the water. It was only with
great difficulty that Jeanne finally coaxed her charges back into their
clothes.
"I don't blame you," she mourned, "for hating them. I _do_ wish you had
some clean ones."
Mollie was peeling potatoes outside the cabin door, when Jeanne returned
home with her spotless family. She was peeling the vegetables
wastefully, as usual. Mollie could go everlastingly without things; she
couldn't economize or take care of what she had. Or at least she didn't.
"Mollie," said Jeanne, "I've been thinking that I'd like to sew. Could
you teach me, do you s'pose?"
"Me? _I_ couldn't sew," laughed Mollie, good-naturedly, her soft fat
body shaking as she laughed. "I never did sew. Ma always done all that.
I could tie a bow to pin on a hat, maybe, but _sew_--lordy, I couldn't
cut out a handkercher!"
Mrs. Shannon, in spite of the warm sunshine, sat inside, huddled over
the stove. Her fingers were drawn out of shape with rheumatism. Her
knees and her elbows were stiff. She sat with her back bent. Out of her
shriveled, unlovely face her eyes gleamed balefully.
"Granny," asked Jeannette, rather doubtfully, "could _you_ teach me to
sew?"
"I could, but I won't," snapped the old woman. "Let your father do
it--your _his_ young one. If he'd make money like a man ought to, you
could buy clothes ready-made. But he ain't no money-maker, and he never
will be."
Jeanne backed hastily out of the shack. Even when Mrs. Shannon said
pleasant things, which was not very often, she had a rasping, unpleasant
voice. Clearly there was no hope in _that_ quarter.