THE ORCHARD HOME.
"R. F. D., late as usual," laughed Molly, as Mr. Bud Woodsmall's very
ramshackle Ford runabout came careening through the lane and up the hill
to the yard gate. "I fancy he has had to stop and talk war at every mail
box on his route."
"I think I'll go meet him," said Professor Edwin Green, rather
reluctantly arising from the chaise longue that seemed to have been
built to fit his lack of curves, he declared. He had been sitting on the
porch of the bungalow, eyes half closed to shut out everything from his
vision but the picture of Molly holding the sleeping baby in her arms.
"You know you want to gossip with him--now 'fess up!"
"Well, I do like to hear his views of the situation in Europe. They
are original, at least. He says Yankee capitalists are the cause of it
all. Don't you want me to put Mildred down? She has been asleep for
half an hour," and the young husband and father stood for a moment and
looked down on his treasures with what Judy Kean always called his
faithful-collie-dog eyes.
"I know I oughtn't to hold her while she is asleep, but she seems so
wonderful I can't bear to let her go. I think she is growing more like
you, Edwin."
"Like me! Nonsense! That would be a sad thing to have wished on the poor
innocent when there are so many handsome folks in the Carmichael and
Brown family from whom she could inherit real beauty."
"But Edwin, you are handsome, I think. You are so noble looking."
"All right, honey, have it your own way," and he stooped and kissed her.
"I will allow that the baby has inherited my bald head if you like--Hi
there!" he called to Mr. Woodsmall, who was preparing to unlock the
mail box, "I'll come get it," and he sprinted down the walk where the
garrulous postman held him enthralled for a good fifteen minutes. A blue
envelope with a foreign postmark told him there was a letter from Julia
Kean that would be eagerly welcomed by Molly, but there was no stopping
the flow of R. F. D.'s eloquence. The causes of the war being thoroughly
threshed out, he finally took his reluctant departure.
"A letter from Judy Kean! Now you will have to put the baby down!"
So little Mildred was tenderly placed in her basket on the porch and
Molly opened the voluminous epistle from the beloved Judy.
"Oh, Edwin, she is not coming home! I was afraid she would want to do
something Judyesque. Only listen!" and Molly read the Giverny letter to
her husband.
"What do you think Kent will say to this? I know he is very uneasy about
her anyhow since the war broke out, and now--well, I'm glad I'm not in
his shoes. She is not very considerate of him, I must say."
"Oh, you men folks!" laughed Molly. "I can't see how she could leave
France until she knows something about her mother and father, and after
all, I don't believe Kent and Judy are engaged."
"Not engaged! What do you think Kent has been doing this whole year in
Paris if he wasn't getting engaged?"
"Studying Architecture at the Beaux Arts. Sometimes persons can know one
another a long time and be together a lot and not get engaged," she
teased. It was a very well-known fact that Professor Edwin Green had
been in love with Molly Brown for at least five years, and maybe longer,
before he put the all important question.
"Yes, I know, but then----"
"Then what? My brother Kent is certainly not able to support a wife yet,
and maybe they are opposed to long engagements."
"Well, all the same I am sorry for Kent. It was bad enough when you went
abroad and the ocean was between us and I knew you were being well taken
care of by your dear mother,--but just suppose it had been war time and
you had been alone! The news from France is very grave. It looks as
though the Germans would eat Christmas dinner in Paris as they boast
they will."
"Oh, Edwin, no!" and Molly turned pale.
"Well, look at these head lines in to-day's paper. It looks very
ominous. When did you say you were expecting Kent home?"
"By to-morrow at latest. He wrote Mother he was to stay some time in New
York to try to land a job that looked very promising."
"Here she comes now!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with joy as it
always did when his mother-in-law appeared on the scene.
Mrs. Brown was coming through the orchard from Chatsworth. Her hair had
turned a little greyer since Molly's marriage, but not much; her step
was still light and active; her grey eyes as full of life; and in her
heart the same eternal youth.
"Well, children! Did you get any mail? How is my precious little
granddaughter? I've a letter from Kent. It just did beat him home. Paul
'phoned from Louisville that he is in town now, just arrived and will
be here with him this afternoon. I am so excited!"
Dear Mrs. Brown's life was made up of such excitements now: her children
always going and returning. Mildred, Mrs. Crittenden Rutledge, had left
for Iowa only two days before, having spent two months with her little
family at Chatsworth; now Kent was almost home; and in less than a month
the Greens would make their annual move to Wellington. Sue, the eldest
daughter, married to young Cyrus Clay, lived within a few miles of
Chatsworth and seemed the only one who was a fixture. Paul's newspaper
work kept him in Louisville most of the time and John, the doctor, made
flying visits to his home but had to make his headquarters in the city
for fear of missing patients. Ernest, the eldest son, was threatening to
come home and settle at Chatsworth, but that was still an uncertainty.
"I must read you Judy's letter, Mother. I know you will feel as uneasy
as we do about her. Edwin thinks she should come home, but I think she
could hardly leave, not knowing something more definite about her
mother and father, who may be bottled up in Germany indefinitely."
"Only think of the sizzle Mr. Kean will make when they finally draw the
cork," laughed Mrs. Brown; but when Molly read the whole of Judy's
letter to her, the laughter left her countenance and she looked very
solemn and disturbed.
"Poor Kent!" she sighed.
"I wonder what he will do," from Molly.
"Do? Why, he will do what the men of his blood should do!" Mrs. Brown
held her head very high and her delicate nostrils quivered in the way
her family knew meant either anger or high resolve. "He will go to
France and either stay and protect Judy or bring her back to his
mother."
"But, Mother, are you going to ask this of him? Maybe he won't think it
is the right thing to do."
"Of course, I am not going to ask it of him. I just know the 'mettle of
his pasture.'"
"But the expense!"
"Expense! Molly, you don't sound like yourself. What is expense when
your loved ones are in danger?"
"But I can't think that Judy could be in real danger."
"I can't think anything else. You surely have not read the morning
paper. The Germans are advancing so rapidly.... The atrocities in
Belgium! Ugh! I can't contemplate our Judy being anywhere in their
reach."
"But, Mother, they must be exaggerated! People could not do what they
say they have done, not good, kind German soldiers."
"Molly! Molly! Your goodness will even let you love the Germans. I am
not made that way. The Anglo Saxon in me is so uppermost and I feel such
a boiling and bubbling in my veins that nothing but my grey hairs keeps
me from joining the Red Cross myself and helping the Allies!"
"Well, then you don't blame Miss Judy Kean," laughed Professor Green,
who never loved his mother-in-law more than when, as old Aunt Mary
expressed it, "her nose was a-wuckin'."
"Blame her! No, indeed! If I were her age, I'd do exactly what she is
doing, but I should certainly have expected Molly's father to come over
and protect me while I was being so foolhardy."
"Judy doesn't say she is going as a nurse," said Molly, referring to the
letter. "Jo Williams is to fly and Judy seems uncertain what she is
going to do,--just see the fight, as far as I can make out. I know Judy
so well I just can't feel uneasy about her. You mustn't think I am
mercenary, Mother, or careless of my friend. Judy always lands on her
feet and is as much of an adept in getting out of scrapes as she is in
getting in them."
"My darling, of course I didn't mean you were mercenary," cried Mrs.
Brown, seeing in Molly's blue eyes a little hurt look at the vigorous
tone she had taken when Molly merely suggested expense. "I just think in
your desire to think well of every one, nations as well as individuals,
that you are blind to the terrors of this war. If Judy will only go to
Sally Bolling, she will be taken care of. I fancy Sally is at La Roche
Craie now."
"Oh, I had forgotten to think of what this must mean to Cousin Sally!"
exclaimed Molly. "The truth of the matter is that it is so peaceful here
my imagination cannot picture what it is over there. I am growing
selfish with contentment. Of course Philippe d'Ochte will join his
regiment and poor Cousin Sally and the Marquis will suffer agonies over
him."
"Yes and over France!" said Edwin solemnly. "I remember so well a
conversation I had with the Marquis d'Ochte on the subject of his
country. I believe he really and truly puts his country above even his
adored wife and son. That is more patriotism than I could be capable
of----"
"Not a bit of it, my dear Edwin," broke in Mrs. Brown.
"'I could not love thee half so well
Loved I not honour more.'
"Molly and your little baby Mildred are but a part of your country, and
if the time should come and your country called you, you would answer
the call just as I hope my own sons would."
"Oh, Mother, you are a Spartan! I am not so brave, I am afraid," said
Molly. "Even now at the thought of war, I am thanking God my Mildred
baby is a girl."
Little Mildred, at mention of her name, although it would be many a day
before she would know what her name was, awakened and gave an
inarticulate gurgle. Mrs. Brown dropped the role of Spartan Mother and
turned into a doting grandmother in the twinkling of an eye.
"And was um little tootsie wootsies cold? Come to your Granny and let
her warm them. Molly, this baby has grown a foot, I do believe, and look
what a fine, strong, straight back she has! And does oo want your Granny
to rub your back? Only look, her eyes have brown lights in them! I said
all the time she would have brown eyes."
"And not Molly's blue eyes! Oh, Mother, that is very bad news to me.
Why, the baby's eyes are as blue as the sea now. They could not change,"
and Edwin Green peered into his offspring's face with such intentness
that the little thing began to whimper.
The proper indignation being expressed by the females and the baby
dangled until smiles came and a crow, Mrs. Brown informed the ignorant
father that all young animals have blue eyes and there is no determining
the actual colour of a baby's eyes until it is several months old, but
that the minute brown or golden lights begin to appear in blue eyes, you
can get ready to declare for a brown-eyed youngster.
"Well, she will surely have Molly's hair," he insisted.
"That we can't tell, either," said the all-knowing grandmother. "You
see, she is almost bald now except for this tiny fringe that is rapidly
being worn off in the back. That does seem a little pinkish."
"Pinkish! Oh, Mother-in-law, what a word to express my Molly's hair!"
"Can't you see she is getting even with you for making Mildred almost
cry?" laughed Molly. "I know she is going to have my hair because when
you slip a little bit of blue under that little lock that is on the
side, where it hasn't rubbed off, the 'pink' comes out quite plainly. My
Mildred will be a belle. I have always heard it said that a girl with
brown eyes and golden hair is born to be a belle. Oh, yes, I will call
the baby's hair golden although I have always called my own red."
"I don't know whether I want her to be a belle or not," objected Edwin.
"She might be frivolous."
"Frivolous with your eyes! Heavens, Daddy, she couldn't be!"
Mrs. Brown contentedly smiled and rocked the baby, who crowed and cooed
and kicked her pretty pink tootsies. The sun shone on the orchard home
and a particularly obliging mocking bird burst into song from one of the
gnarled old apple trees, heavy with its luscious fruit. Mocking birds
are supposed not to sing in August, but sometimes they do, and when
they do, their song is as wonderful and welcome as an unlooked-for
legacy.
Molly looked over the fields of waving blue grass to the dark beech
woods that bordered the pasture, a feeling of great happiness and
contentment in her heart. How peaceful and sweet was life! She leaned
against her husband, who put an ever-ready arm around her, and together
they gazed on the fruitful landscape. Mrs. Brown crooned to the baby a
song ever dear to her own children and one that had been sung to her by
her own negro mammy.
"Mammy went away--she tol' me ter stay,
An' tek good keer er de baby,
She tol' me ter stay an' sing dis away:
Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby!
Oh, go ter sleep! sleepy little baby,
Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby,
Kaze when yer wake, yo'll git some cake,
An' ride a little white horsey!
We'll stop up de cracks an' sew up de seams--
De Booger Man never shall ketch you!
Oh, go ter sleep an' dream sweet dreams--
De Booger Man never shall ketch you!
Oh, go ter sleep! sleepy little baby,
Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby,
Kaze when you wake, you'll git some cake,
An' lots er nice sugar candy!"
How could whole countries be at war and such peace reign in any spot on
the globe?
The whirr of an approaching motor awoke them from their musings and
stopped the delightful song before one-third of the stanzas had been
sung. It was Kent with John in the doctor's little runabout.
"My boy! my boy!" and Mrs. Brown dropped the baby in her basket and flew
across the grass to greet the long-absent Kent.
"I couldn't wait for Paul but had to get old Dr. John to bring me out.
Mumsy, how plump and pink you are. I declare you look almost as young as
the new baby," said Kent after the first raptures of greeting were over.
"And Molly, you look great! And 'Fessor Green, I declare you are getting
fat. I bet you have gained at least three-quarters of a pound since you
got married. Positively obese!"
"You haven't said much about the baby," objected Molly.
"Well, there's not much to say, is there? She is an omnivorous biped, I
gather, from the two feet I can see and her evident endeavor to eat
them, at least, I fancy that is why she is kicking so high. She has got
Edwin's er--er--well--his high forehead----"
"She is not nearly so bald-headed as you were yourself," declared his
mother. "You were such a lovely baby, Kent, the loveliest of all my
babies, I believe. I always adored a bald-headed baby and you had a head
like a little billiard ball."
They all laughed at this and Kent confessed that if he had been
bald-headed himself, he believed the little Mildred must be, after all,
very charming.
"Any letters for me?" he asked, and Molly thought she detected a note of
anxiety below all the nonsense he had been talking.
"No, I have not seen any."
"Well, have you heard from--from Judy Kean?"
"Yes," confessed Molly. "I got a letter to-day."
"Please may I see it?"
"Yes, of course you may."
But Molly felt a great reluctance to show Julia Kean's letter to her
brother. She knew very well he was uneasy already about their friend
and was certain this letter would only heighten his concern. Kent was
looking brown and sturdy; he seemed to her to have grown even taller
than the six feet one he already measured when he went abroad. His
boyish countenance had taken on more purpose and his jaw had an added
squareness. His deep set grey eyes had a slight cloud in them that Molly
and her mother hated to see.
"It is Judy, of course," they said to themselves.
"I landed my job in New York," he said, as he opened the little blue
envelope.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Molly.
Mrs. Brown tried to say splendid, too, but the thought came to her:
"Another one going away from home!" and she could only put her arm
around her boy's neck and press a kiss on his brown head.
They were all very quiet while Kent read the letter. Dr. John, alone,
seemed disinterested. He very professionally poked the infant in the
ribs to see how fat she had grown and, also, much to the indignation of
Molly, went through some tests for idiocy, which, of course, the tiny
baby could not pass.