A NEW FRIEND FOR JEANNE
The very next day, when Old Captain and Jeanne were coming away from the
hospital, they met Mrs. Fairchild going in to visit a sick friend. The
impulsive little lady pounced upon Jeanne.
"Please don't think that I'm crazy," said she, in a voice that Jeanne
considered decidedly pleasing, "but you're _just_ the person I wish to
see. One day, more than two years ago, my son Roger fell into Lake
Superior and was _almost_ drowned. He says that you know the girl--a
very _large_ girl, Roger said she was--that saved his life. Just think!
Not a word of thanks have I ever been able to give her. I am _so_
anxious to meet that brave girl."
"Well," said Old Captain, with a twinkle in his eye, "you're meetin' her
right now. She tore a hole two feet across that there net o' mine
savin' your boy. That's how I come to know about it."
"Not this _little_ girl!"
"It was mostly the net," said Jeanne, modestly. "I just threw it over
the place where he went down. His fingers _had_ to grab it. I lived
right there, you know, and I had pulled my little brother Sammy out ever
so many times. He was _always_ tumbling in."
"My dear," declared Mrs. Fairchild, "I'm going home with you. I want to
see the exact spot. Roger has always been so vague about it. Get into my
car--it's just outside the gate--and I'll drive you there. I must run in
here first, but I won't stay two minutes."
It was Old Captain's first ride in an automobile, and he was surprised
to find himself within sight of his own home in a very few minutes after
leaving the hospital.
"This here buggy's some traveler," said he, admiringly.
They escorted Mrs. Fairchild to the end of the dock, to show her the
spot from which Roger had taken his dangerous plunge. She looked down
into the green depths and shuddered.
"Ugh!" she said, "it _looks_ a mile deep. Oh, I'm _so_ thankful you
happened to be here."
Next, she inspected the shack on the dock; after that, the Captain's old
freight car.
"And you _live_ here!" she said, seating herself on the bench outside
and drawing Jeanne down beside her. "I want you to tell me all about it
and about _you_. I want your whole history."
By asking a great many questions (she had lived with Roger long enough
to learn how to do that) she soon knew a great deal about Jeanne, her
life on the wharf, her two years with the Huntingtons, her father's
wishes for her. Jeanne found it not only easy but pleasant to chatter to
her sympathetic new acquaintance.
"This is a beautiful spot in summer," said Mrs. Fairchild, when she had
the whole story, "but it is no place for a girl in winter. The minute
cold weather comes, unless your people have already sent for you, I am
going to carry you off to visit me. Of course, if you didn't happen to
like us, you wouldn't have to stay; but I do want you to try us. _You_
know who Mr. Fairchild is, Captain Blossom--the lawyer, you know--so you
see you can trust us with her. At any rate, my dear, you can stay with
me until your people send for you. You see, neither Mr. Fairchild nor I
will be able to rest until we've had a chance to know you better and to
thank you--to _really_ thank you. I'm _very_ grateful to you. Roger's
our only child; you saved him for us. I've had you on my conscience for
more than two years. You _will_ come, won't you?"
"If I could think about it just a little," said Jeanne, shyly.
"You must persuade her, Captain Blossom. You _know_ she'd be better off
with me--so much nearer school and other nice girls of her own age. I
shall simply love to have her--I'm fond of her already."
Mrs. Fairchild was a pretty little woman, impulsive, kind-hearted, and
very loyal in her friendships. One had only to look at her to know that
she was good. Not a very wise woman, perhaps; but a very kind one. Her
son Roger--she had lost her first two babies--was undoubtedly rather
badly spoiled. Had her other children lived, Roger would certainly have
been more severely disciplined.
"I'm coming tomorrow afternoon," said she, at parting, "to take this
little girl for a ride."
"That'll be lovely," returned Jeanne.
After that, Mrs. Fairchild made a point of borrowing Jeanne frequently.
Her comfortable little open car often stopped in the road above the
Captain's old freight car to honk loudly for Jeanne, and she often
carried the Cinder Pond child home with her, and kept her to meals. Mrs.
Fairchild was the nearest approach to a girl companion that Jeanne had
ever had. Jeanne _liked_ the pretty, fair-haired lady, who was so
delightfully young for her thirty-seven years. She also liked Mr.
Fairchild child, whose clothes were quite as good as those of her Uncle
Charles, while his manners were certainly better--at any rate, far more
cordial.
"I'm crazy about dolls," confessed Mrs. Fairchild, one day, when she had
Jeanne beside her in the little car. "I've promised to dress a whole
dozen for the church guild. I want you to help me buy them right now.
Won't that be fun? And we'll dress them together. You shall choose the
dresses for six of them. Isn't it a shame I never had any little girls
of my own?"
Of course sympathetic Mrs. Fairchild heard all about Sammy, Annie, and
Patsy, and how disappointed Jeanne had been to find them missing.
"I'm _worried_ about them," confessed Jeanne. "Their new uncle _may_ be
good to them, but I'd like to know for _certain_. I'm bothered most
about Annie. She's such a good, gentle little thing and Mrs. Shannon was
always awfully cross to her."
"While we're dressing our other dolls," said Mrs. Fairchild, "we might
make a little dress for Annie."
"She's almost six," sighed Jeanne. "I do wish I could watch her grow
up--and teach her to be _nice_. But, of course, making a dress for her
will help a little!"
Of Roger, Jeanne saw but little. At first he avoided her; still, he
_did_ speak, when they met face to face; and, in the course of time, he
was even able to say, "Hello, Jeanne!" without blushing.
Jeanne went to school. It was a long walk and she hated to miss a single
moment of the outdoor life on the old dock; but going to school was
something that she could do for her father. Her clothes were beginning
to trouble her a little. Some were wearing out, others seemed to be
getting smaller. Jeanne, you see, was growing and her garments were not.
Still, the other pupils were far from suspecting that Jeanne was a
motherless, fatherless waif from the Cinder Pond. She was always neat;
and even daintier than many of her classmates; but the washing,
ironing, and mending necessary to insure this daintiness, meant
considerable work on Jeanne's part.
One evening, when she had taken off her dress to replace a button, it
occurred to Jeanne to feel in the pockets of her father's old coat--the
coat that still hung behind the door of Léon Duval's room. She found in
the pocket a letter that he had written. Except for a stamp, it was all
ready to be mailed to _her_. She read it greedily.
There was the usual home news; but one paragraph stood out from all the
others: "Be patient and learn all you can, my Jeanne. You, in turn, can
teach it all to Annie and your brothers. Even the hated arithmetic you
must conquer."
"Oh," sighed Jeanne, "I'm so glad I found this. I _will_ conquer those
mathematics, and I _will_ teach those children, some day. Perhaps I'll
have to teach kindergarten after all, so as to earn money enough to go
after them. And dear me, they're growing older every minute. But, no
matter how hard it is for me, I'm going to look after those children the
very first minute I can."
While Jeanne was waiting for the first cold weather or else for news
from the Huntingtons--one _couldn't_ tell which would come first--she
studied to such purpose that her first month's marks surprised even
herself, they were so good.
Another night, when she had gone early to the shack in order to mend a
long rent in her petticoat, she found herself with half an hour to spare
before bedtime. She had left her books on Old Captain's table and the
kittens were also in the Captain's car. For once, now that her mending
was finished, she had nothing to do unless she were to dress, and go up
the dock to Old Captain's. And that, she decided, was too much trouble
for so short a time. She was obliged to stand on a box to reach the nail
she liked best for her dress. As she did so this time, the lamplight
fell upon a crack in the wall that was level with her eyes, and
contained something that suddenly glittered. She fished the small
object from its hiding-place; and recognized in it the key to her
father's little old trunk. She looked at it thoughtfully. Perhaps, since
she was so very lonely for her father, he wouldn't mind if she opened
that trunk to see what articles he had handled last.
She moved the lamp to a box beside the trunk, turned the key, and lifted
the cover. Her father's best suit was there, very neatly folded, and his
shoes. From under these came a gleam of something faintly pink. Jeanne
carefully drew it forth.
"My old pink dress!" she exclaimed.
Jeanne slipped it on. It was much too short.
"Why," said she, "what a lot I've grown!"
Upright in one corner of the trunk, Jeanne found a green bottle. It held
a withered stalk to which two dried pink petals still clung.
"I left that bottle with a rose in it on father's table when I went
away," said Jeanne. "He must have found it there when he got back and
_kept_ it. And this dress. He didn't give it to Annie. He _kept it_.
And I'm glad. Sometimes, when I was so awfully lonesome at Aunt
Agatha's, I used to wonder if my father really _did_ love me. But now I
_know_ he did--every single minute. I'll put this dress back where I
found it."
Another thing that came to light was her father's bankbook. She showed
that, the next day, to Old Captain, who studied it carefully.
"I'm glad," said Jeanne, "that there's a little money. It may be needed
for Mollie."
It was. One day, early in October, Mollie failed to waken from one of
her comfortable naps. Thanks to Léon Duval's modest savings, poor Mollie
was decently buried. Mrs. Fairchild took Jeanne and Old Captain and all
the flowers from Mrs. Schmidt's little greenhouse to the very simple
funeral.
"I've got to be a mother to Mollie's children just as soon as ever I
can," said Jeanne, on the way home. "I was going to do it for daddy,
anyway; but now I want to for Mollie, too."