THE ADOPTION OF A MOTHER
Bobbie had become a personality. What is more, he had adopted Esther
Bright as his mother, without any formalities of the law. He had found
a mother heart, and had taken his place there by the divine right of
love. No one seemed to know how it had all come about; all anyone
knew, positively, was that Bobbie suddenly began to call his teacher
"Mither."
At first the children laughed when Bobbie would call her by this new
name; then the baby of the school was broken-hearted, until the
teacher had mended the break with kisses and tender words.
Sometimes at midday recess, the drowsy child would climb into Esther's
lap; and when she would cuddle him, his great blue eyes would look up
into hers with a look of content and trusting love. After a while the
heavy lids would close, and the flaxen hair lie moist on the ruddy
forehead. Then Bobbie would be laid on an improvised bed, to finish
his siesta.
Day after day went by, with increasing love on Bobbie's part, and
deepening tenderness on the part of Esther Bright.
He was not always good. Far from it. He was a healthy little animal,
bright and attractive. His activity sometimes got him into trouble.
Then to divert his mind, his teacher would tell him little stories.
When she would finish, he would say coaxingly, "More."
After a while, he would call for certain stories she had already told
him, and interrupt her all the way along, his face alive with
intelligent interest. At last he himself wanted to tell the stories to
his teacher, with many interpolations and funny variations.
But the funniest thing happened one day when he refused to go home,
and announced that he would stay with his adopted mother.
"Oh, no, Bobbie dear," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"What would your father do without you?"
"He tan det another wain," he said, in a tone of satisfaction.
"No, Bobbie," insisted the teacher; "you must go home."
Still he refused. Then all his Scotch stubbornness asserted itself. He
could not be driven or coaxed home. And when the older children tried
to carry him, he kicked and screamed and fought, till he had freed
himself. He ran to his teacher with heart-rending sobs. She sent the
other children home, and took him in her arms. Gradually his sobs
ceased and he fell asleep. His face was wet with tears. In his sleep,
great sighs, the aftermath of the storm, seemed to come from his
innermost heart.
The adopted mother sat with her arms clasped about him. Such a look of
tender love came into her face as one sometimes sees in the face of a
young mother, bending over her sleeping babe. If ever Esther Bright
was beautiful, it was at that moment. Kenneth Hastings stood a short
distance away, watching her. He lifted his hat and stood with bowed
head. At last he spoke her name. She turned, and nodded toward the
sleeping boy in her arms.
"Come sit down," she said, moving to make room for him on the
doorstep.
"You seem to be a good nurse, too," he responded, taking the proffered
seat. "What's Bobbie doing here this time of day?"
She told him of the child's decision to stay with her, and his refusal
to go home, his fight, and his stormy sorrow. He listened, with an
amused twinkle in his eyes.
"Poor little chap," he said; "he has my sympathy in refusing to be
parted from you."
She flushed slightly.
"Don't waste your sympathy," she replied saucily. Somehow that
provoking smile of his nettled her. He had found her vulnerable.
"Bigger chaps than he feel the same way towards you," he said, smiling
still.
He saw that she was badly teased, and the spirit of mischief led him
on.
"Now _I'd_ like to stay with you always, myself."
She looked as though she would annihilate him.
"And what is more, I'd like to change places with Bobbie this very
minute."
She rose suddenly, but with some effort, for the child was stout and
heavy for his years.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, looking admiringly upon Bobbie.
"I'm going to carry him home."
"How cruel to Bobbie!" he said, stepping near her and extending his
arms for the child. "Let _me_ carry him, do."
"I can carry him myself, thank you," she said, with a sudden air of
independence.
Again she saw his look of amusement, and struggled with her heavy
load, knowing full well that she could not carry him far.
"No, you must not carry him," he said firmly. "He is too heavy for
you." And without more ado, he took Bobbie from her arms.
"Come," he said amicably, "we'll both take him home--to Mrs.
Carmichael's."
So on they trudged. Bobbie roused a moment, but seeing a familiar
face, he reached up his grimy hand and patted the bronzed cheeks, then
cuddled comfortably into the strong arms.
"So Bobbie wanted to stay with you," he was saying.
"Yes, he calls me mither, you know."
"_I'd_ like to call you 'mither' myself some day. It's a beautiful
name."
She felt provoked with herself. Why in the world had she made that
unfortunate remark?
"You love children, don't you?" He was not smiling now.
"Oh, yes; from my childhood up I have loved every child I have seen."
"I see."
But at this juncture Bobbie again roused, rubbed his eyes and demanded
to be put down. So Kenneth set him on his feet. The little lad stood
in sleepy bewilderment a moment, then with an engaging smile, offered
one hand to Esther, and the other to Kenneth. He began to chatter.
"Bobbie loves his mither."
"So do I," responded Kenneth.
Esther bit her lip. She would not look up. But she felt her cheeks
flush.
"Mr. Kenneth love Bobbie's mither?"
Kenneth laughed, a free, happy laugh. It was contagious, and the
child laughed too. So did Esther in spite of herself.
"Mr. Kenneth tan't love Bobbie's mither."
"Can't, eh?" Again the happy laugh. "Who says I can't?"
"I do, his adopted mother," said the girl, demurely.
"I'll just capture you the way Bobbie did, and you can't help
yourself." And again the stern eyes that seldom smiled, were filled
with laughter.
Esther suddenly stopped.
"_I_ can take Bobbie home."
"So can I," he said carelessly, with a suggestion of laughter still in
his voice.
"I command you, Mr. Persistency, to turn about and leave me to take
Bobbie home."
"I refuse to obey, Miss Obstinacy." A low chuckle.
"I suppose I'll have to endure you, then," she said, with mock
seriousness.
"I suppose you will," he said. He seemed to enjoy the tilt. "But Miss
Bright--." He stood still and faced her. "--I didn't know you were
such a fighter. Here I have been trying to make you understand how I
appreciate you, and you almost give me a black eye."
"You had two before--ever you saw me," she said.
"You have looked into them, then," he said, maliciously, "so that you
know their color?"
He was, provokingly confident in his manner. Suddenly she stopped
again. They were almost at Mrs. Carmichael's door, and Robert Duncan's
shack was not far away.
"Really, Mr Hastings," she said, resuming a serious tone, "I do wish
you would leave me."
"No," he persisted, "I am going to see you safely home."
Mrs. Carmichael met them at the door. Donald had already reached home,
and had told her of Bobbie's refusal to return with him. She patted
the little one on the head. He was an attractive little boy, and it
was evident Mrs. Carmichael loved him. She stooped and extended her
arms, and the child ran into them.
"So my Bobbie was nae coming home tae his auntie? What'd I dae wi'oot
him?"
Bobbie hung his head and then said softly:
"Bobbie hae found a mither."
The call was prolonged in order to get Bobbie into a staying frame of
mind. At last they spied Robert Duncan approaching his shack, when
Kenneth stepped over to tell him of Bobbie's decision and afternoon
experience. At first the man smiled, then the tears trickled down his
face.
"Puir bairn, puir bairn," he said, huskily. Kenneth laid a kindly hand
on his shoulder. He knew that Duncan was disheartened, and had spent
much time, lately, in the saloons.
"Come," he said. "Come get the little chap. It is evident he misses
his mother."
"Yes, he misses her, an' I miss her. I'll gie mair time tae him."
So saying, he accompanied Kenneth to the Carmichael home and soon
Bobbie was in his father's arms.
The call of Kenneth and Esther drew to a close.
As the two walked briskly toward the camp, Esther Bright paused from
time to time to draw in great breaths of air, and to drink in the
glory of the world about her.
"Come," her companion said, "we shall be late to dinner. Did you know
I am invited to dine with the Claytons to-night?"
"Really!" She tossed back the curls the stiff breeze had blown across
her eyes.
"Really!" he echoed, in a tone of mockery. "Miss Bright, pardon me,
but you--" He paused.
"Well?" she said. "What about _you_?"
"You look altogether charming."
She stopped. He walked on.
"You are perfectly incorrigible," she called. "Unless you promise to
talk sense, I'll not go a step further with you."
He turned.
"Sense?" he said with mock seriousness, "that's what I have been
talking when in your society all these weeks past. And here you make
me play second fiddle to Jack Harding, Wathemah and Bobbie."
"And you prefer to be _first_ fiddle?"
"Of course!"
She seemed in high spirits, ready for a tilt.
"Do be sensible," she said gayly.
"Sensible? I was never more sensible in my life." He made a long face.
"Unfortunate man!" She sighed, as though his condition were utterly
hopeless.
He laughed.
"Miss Bright!"
"Mr. Hastings!"
"I have been thinking!"
"Marvelous!" She seemed like some mocking sprite.
"Why don't you ask what I am thinking about?" He seemed provokingly
cool.
"Because you are just dying to tell me." She was piquant.
"I vow I'm not. I won't tell you!"
"All right," she returned, quickening her pace.
"Really, now, _don't_ you wish to know what I have been thinking
about?" He stepped nearer to her.
"I'm not the least bit concerned," she answered with airy
indifference. "I wouldn't know for anything."
"Then I'll tell you. I was just thinking what fun it would be to meet
you in society, and have a rattling flirtation with you."
"Indeed!" She lifted her head. "You'd find Greek had met Greek."
"I've no doubt. That would be the fun of it."
"And you might die of a broken heart." Her tone was full of laughter.
"That's what I'm doing already." He looked comical. "And you take no
pity on me."
"You might take a dose of soothing syrup." She looked extremely
solicitous.
"How extremely kind of you, Miss Bright. But my malady is in the
region of the heart. I suspect you think I haven't a heart. But
really, Miss Skeptic, a heart happens to be a part of my anatomy."
"I thought we were to talk sense," she reminded him.
Just then they heard a familiar call, and turning, saw Lord Kelwin
hastening towards them.
"By George!" he said, breathing hard. "I have been trying to overtake
you two for a half mile. You seemed to be having a mighty good time."
"Good time?" echoed Kenneth. "Miss Bright has been abusing me all the
way." He assumed an injured air.
"I have no doubt, Miss Bright, that Mr. Kenneth enjoyed the treatment
he received," remarked Lord Kelwin.
"Enjoyed it?" Kenneth interjected. "I have been a perfect martyr to
feminine cruelty. And would you believe it? Miss Bright has been
trying to palm off on me that she is not a daughter of Eve."
"You are a veritable son of Adam," she rejoined, gayly. "And to think
that I shall have to endure you at dinner!"
"You'll have to endure another son of Adam, too," interjected Lord
Kelwin, "for I am invited also."
At once new light broke in upon Esther.
"I believe you are letting the cat out of the bag," she said, "for I
am sure this is intended to be a surprise for me. I have a birthday
to-day."
"A birthday?" Kenneth said. "Let me see--" he said with comic gravity,
"--you are getting to be a venerable lady. I presume you'll never see
fifty again?"
"Oh, I assure you that is altogether too young." Then she turned to
Lord Kelwin.
"Do you think it proper to suggest such frivolity as a flirtation to
one of my advanced years?"
"Highly improper. Highly improper," said the Irishman, "but I'd like a
hand in such a flirtation myself." He seemed to enjoy the nonsense.
"Then there would be two victims."
"You and I?" questioned Lord Kelwin.
"No; you and Mr. Kenneth."
"I was just thinking--." Lord Kelwin paused, to think of something
that would make him a score.
"Thinking! Thinking!" as though that were quite incomprehensible. "Mr.
Hastings also claimed to be thinking."
"Better leave her alone, Kelwin," laughed Kenneth. "She will have the
last word. She's like the woman with the scissors."
"Good avenin'," said a rich brogue just at hand.
"How are you, Patrick?" said Kenneth.
"Well, sir. How are yez, Miss?" He gave his slouch hat a jerk. "Good
avenin', Lord Kelwin."
They walked on together, and the talk drifted to the Gila Club.
"I'm really surprised, don't you know," said Lord Kelwin, "at the
interest these fellows take in the club."
"It's the first dacint thing the byes has had ter go to. Look at that
saloon there!" he said, pointing to an overgrown shack, where women of
the coarsest type presided. "And look at that opium den," he said,
indicating a small building at their right. "And see that haythen," he
said, pointing to a female who stood in the door of a saloon, her
cheeks painted, and puffing away at a cigarette. "Thim is the things
as has sint the byes to desthruction."
Kenneth Hastings and Lord Kelwin made no reply.
"If yez kape on, schoolma'am," continued Patrick, "yez'll wipe out the
saloons and opium places, an' make dacint min an' women out of these
poor crathers." He nodded his head.
"So pitifully sad!" Esther's vivacious mood suddenly vanished. She was
again grave and thoughtful.
"Aye," said Patrick, "but yez kin do it, Miss, niver yez doubt it. Yez
can do it! Oi used ter go ter the saloon mesilf, but Oi'll go no more,
no more. That's what yez has done fur me."
Just then Wathemah came running and leaping from Keith's saloon. In a
moment he spied them, and ran full tilt towards them.
"It makes me sick at heart," Esther said in a low tone to Patrick,
"whenever I think of Wathemah living longer in the saloon."
"Yez air right, Miss," answered Patrick, "but Misthress Keith is a
purty dacint sort av a woman, and she has been good ter the lad."
"Yes, I realize that. But I wish I could take him myself."
By this time the child was trudging along beside his Beloved.
Lord Kelwin liked to tease him, and said in a bantering tone, "What
are you always hanging on to Miss Bright's hand for, Wathemah? She
don't allow the rest of her admirers to do that."
Wathemah placed his other hand over the hand he clasped.
"_Me_ teacher _mine_!" he said, defiantly.
The men laughed. The teacher placed one hand on the child's head. He
rested his cheek against her hand, as he said softly, "Me _mother_."
"Your mother, eh?" Lord Kelwin looked amused. "I wish she'd mother the
rest of us."
The child did not understand the laughter, and fancying himself
ridiculed by Lord Kelwin, turned, ran and leaped like a squirrel to
his shoulder, and struck him in the face.
"You little savage," the Irishman said, angrily, as he grasped the
child and shook him.
"Let _me_ settle with Wathemah," said Esther, firmly. She stepped
forward, and took him by the arm, and held him. "Go on," she said to
the men, "I will follow."
They sauntered on, leaving her with the refractory urchin. When she
and the child finally overtook them, Wathemah's face was tear-stained.
Nothing more was said to the child until they reached the Clayton
door.
"I guess you had better go back now, dear," Esther said, placing her
hand on Wathemah's shoulder.
"No," he said stoutly, "Mrs. Clayton ask Wathemah he Miss Bright
party."
"Oh, yes," she said, with sudden understanding, "you came to celebrate
my birthday, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"You want me to wash your face and hands, don't you, Wathemah?" she
asked. And off she went with the child.
"By George," said Lord Kelwin, "I never saw such a woman."
"Nor I," returned Kenneth. "There is no other like her."
The other whistled, and Kenneth flushed. His companion went on, "I'd
like to know if she really has a fortune."
"Better ask her." Lord Kelwin did not observe the look of contempt on
Kenneth's face.
But host and hostess had entered the spacious room, and were extending
gracious welcomes.
"Does either of you happen to know of the whereabouts of Miss Bright?"
questioned Mr. Clayton.
On learning of her arrival with them, he rallied them on spiriting her
off. In the midst of the raillery, Esther and Wathemah entered the
room. The latter found his way at once to Mr. Clayton's side, for they
were great friends. The entrance of Esther was the signal for further
badinage.
"John, what do you think of a young lady who tells her escort she
supposes she'll have to endure him?"
"Mr. Clayton," she said, with a saucy tilt of her head, "what do you
think of gentlemen who tell a lady they would like to flirt with
her?"
"That depends," he answered, with a broad smile, "upon who the lady
is. Now if I were not a staid married man--"
"You do not answer my question," she said. "You introduce an
altogether extraneous matter. I asked you what you thought of
gentlemen who would tell a lady they would like to flirt with her."
Here both Lord Kelwin and Kenneth Hastings tried to present their
cases. Esther raised her hand. "Would you not consider this great
frivolity, Mr. Clayton?" And she assumed a prim, shocked expression so
funny that all laughed.
"If you wish to know my candid opinion," he said, with the air of a
judge, "I believe they were within the law; but, if they were guilty
offenders, they have my sympathy."
Wathemah looked from one to another with a puzzled expression as he
listened to their laughter. He seemed to sense the fact that his
Beloved was in some way the butt of their fun. In a moment he had slid
from his place on John Clayton's knee, and was standing leaning
against Esther.
"That's right, Wathemah," she said, pretending to be greatly injured,
"you take my part."
"Look out here, young man," said Lord Kelwin, as Wathemah approached
him with a threatening fist. Kenneth caught the child, and held him
close in his arms, whispering to him, "We're only fooling, Wathemah."
But he said aloud:
"Did you know, John, that Miss Bright has become an adopted mother?"
"No. Whom has she adopted? You?"
"Me? No. That's a good one. She's adopted Duncan's little boy,
Bobbie. And when I suggested that I'd like to change places with
Bobbie, she almost annihilated me."
All seemed to be enjoying the nonsense.
"Really, Miss Bright," continued Lord Kelwin, "I think you should be
at the head of an orphanage."
"I suppose you'd like to be chief orphan," suggested John Clayton.
Then the talk drifted to serious themes, until dinner was announced. A
birthday cake with sixteen lighted candles, in the center of the
table, was the signal for another fusillade of fun.
"Sixteen! sixteen!" said Kenneth Hastings. "I accused Miss Bright,
to-day, of being fifty, and she assured me she was not so young as
that."
"Sixteen! sweet sixteen!" said Lord Kelwin, bowing low.
She, in turn, bowed _her_ head.
"You see," she said, "our good prophet, Mrs. Clayton, cried out, and
the shadow has turned backward on the dial of Ahaz."
"It is not so much the number of years we count on the dial, after
all," spoke Mrs. Clayton, who had thus far listened smilingly to the
others; "it is what we live into those years. And you have lived
already a long life in your few years, dear friend."
"You are right," Kenneth rejoined. "Miss Bright has lived more years
of service to her fellow men in the few months she has been in Gila,
than I have lived in my thirty years." Then, half in jest, half in
earnest, he continued, "I wish Miss Bright could have been my
grandmother, then my mother, then my--" He halted in embarrassment, as
he saw a deep blush sweep over Esther's face.
"And then--" suggested Lord Kelwin, in a provoking tone--"and then?"
"I should like her for my _friend_."
"So say we all of us," rejoined John Clayton. Then observing Esther's
face, he changed the drift of the conversation.
"How would you good people like to make up a party to go to Box Canyon
sometime in the near future?"
"Delightful!" spoke several, simultaneously. And thereupon they began
to describe for Esther the canyon and what she would see.
Before leaving the table, every wineglass save one was filled with
sherry. That glass was turned down. John Clayton rose and lifted his
glass.
"Here's to our dear friend, Miss Bright. May she always be sixteen at
heart, with her ideals of life as true and as sweet as they are now;
may the cares of life sit lightly upon her; may she be given strength
to do all that she will always seek out and find to do; may the love
of the true of heart enfold her; may the Heavenly Father keep her in
all her ways; may the shadow ever turn backward on the dial."
And lifting their glasses, they drank to this toast.
Ah, little did they realize how prophetic in some ways that toast
would prove to be, nor how great was the work that lay before the
lovely and fragile-looking girl. All were happy and light-hearted; at
least, all save Carla Earle. She sat quiet and retiring, when her
duties were over. Wathemah had found refuge in her lap, and his
regular breathing assured her he was fast asleep. So the evening wore
on. At last all the guests except Wathemah had departed. The fire
burned low. And soon all were asleep in the quiet house.