A DIFFICULT PROMISE
When the boys reached the farm, they saw Jenny dressed in her sunny
yellow with the buttercup wreathed leghorn hat shading her face, and, as
she was walking down the lane carrying a basket, it was quite evident
that she was going away. Harold felt a distinct sense of disappointment.
Lenora was lying in the hammock under two towering eucalyptus trees.
Charles went to her at once and sat on the bench near, but Harold,
excusing himself, ran toward the barn where he could see that Jenny was
already in the old buggy backing Dobbin out into the lane.
Hatless, he arrived just as the girl turned toward the highway. “Whither
away, fair maid?” the boy sang out.
“To see my very nice teacher, Miss Dearborn. I had a message from her
this morning. She wishes to see me before three. My heart is rebuking me,
for it is over a week since our classes ended and I’ve been so busy I
haven’t been over to Hillcrest. I’m glad, though, that she has sent for
me, and I hope she will scold me well. I deserve it.”
The boy hesitated. “Would I be much in the way if I went with you?” Then
eagerly, “I’d love to drive old Dobbin.”
Jenny, of course, could not deprive him of that pleasure, and so, at her
smilingly given assent, the lad went around to the other side, leaped
over a wheel and took the seat and reins abandoned by the girl.
Dobbin, seeming to sense that all was ready, started on a trot toward the
gate. Harold turned to wave back to Charles, who returned the salute. He
was glad to be alone for a time with Lenora. They were planning to write
a combination letter to their far-away and, as they well knew, lonely
father.
“You care a lot for this Miss Dearborn, Jenny, don’t you?” Harold turned
to one side of the highway to give the automobiles the right of way on
the pavement.
“Indeed I do! I love her and I am always fearful that I may lose her
before my education is completed.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go away to school somewhere? Most girls do, I
understand.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t leave Grandma and Grandpa. They are old people and
need me. At any time something might happen that either or both of them
would be unable to work as they do now. I want to be right here, always,
to be their staff when they need one.”
The boy, glancing at the girl, could readily tell that what she had said
had come from her heart. It had been neither for effect nor from a sense
of duty.
The boy changed the subject. “You will miss Lenora when she is gone.”
There was an almost tragic expression in the liquid brown eyes that were
turned toward him. “No one can know _how_ I shall miss her. It has been
wonderful to have someone near one’s own age to confide in.”
“Wouldn’t I do when Lenora is gone?” Harold ventured. “I’m not such a lot
older than you are.”
“I’m afraid not,” Jenny smilingly retorted. “Girl confidences would seem
foolish to you.” Then, as they drove between the pepper-tree posts, she
exclaimed, “I surely deserve a scolding for having so long neglected my
beloved teacher.”
Miss Dearborn did not scold Jenny. There was in her face an expression
which at once assured the girl that something of an unusual nature had
occurred. Harold had remained in the wagon and the two, who cared so much
for each other, were alone in the charming library and living-room of
Hill-Crest.
“Miss Dearborn. Oh, what has happened? I know something has.” Then seeing
a suitcase standing near, locked and strapped, the girl became more than
ever fearful. “You are going away. Oh, Miss Dearborn, are you?” Tears
sprang to the eagerly questioning brown eyes.
“Yes, dear girl, I am going to Carmel. I had told you that Eric Austin
and his family are living there. Last night a telegram came, sent by that
dear sister-friend herself. She is ill and wants me to come at once. Of
course I am going.”
The telephone called Miss Dearborn to another room. When she returned she
said, “A taxicab will be here shortly.” As she donned her hat, she
continued talking. “No one knows how sincerely I hope my schoolmate will
recover. She is so happily married, she dearly loves her husband and her
children. Oh, Jeanette, it is so sad when a mother is taken away. There
is no one, _just no one_ who can take her place to the little ones.”
The girl asked, “How many children are there, Miss Dearborn? I remember
you said one girl had been named after you.”
“Yes, then there is a boy, a year or two older, and this baby, the one
that has just come!” She took up the suitcase, but Jenny held out her
hand. “Please let me carry it.” The teacher did so, as she had to close
and lock the front door. Harold sprang from the wagon. “Miss Dearborn,”
the girl said, “you have heard me speak of our neighbors, the
Poindexter-Jones. This is my friend Harold.” The lad, cap under his arm,
took the outstretched hand, acknowledging the introduction, then reached
for the suitcase.
Sounds of an automobile laboring up the rough hill-road assured them,
before they saw the small closed car, that the taxi was arriving.
Jenny held her teacher’s hand in a close clasp and her eyes were again
brimmed with tears. This time for the mother of the little new baby.
“Good-bye, dear girl.” The woman turned to the boy and said, “Take good
care of my Jeanette. Even she does not know what a comfort she is to me.”
The boy had replied something, he hardly knew what. Of course he would
take care of Jenny. With his life, if need be. When the taxi was gone he
took the girl’s arm and led her back to the wagon. He saw that she was
almost crying and he knew that her dear friend must be starting on some
sad mission, but Jenny merely said, when they were driving down the
canyon road, “Miss Dearborn has a college friend living in Carmel and she
is very ill and has sent for her.”
After a time he spoke aloud his own thoughts. “Jeanette, that is what
your teacher called you. It reminds me of my sister’s name somewhat.” He
hesitated. He was on dangerous ground. He must be very careful of what he
said. The girl turned toward him glowingly. “How lucky you are, Harold,
to have a real sister. She must be a good pal for you. Is she to be at
home soon?”
“Yes, tomorrow.” The boy hesitated, then he said slowly, thinking ahead:
“Jenny, Mother and I feel that we haven’t brought Gwyn up just right. We
have helped her to be proud and selfish. I’m going to ask you a favor.
Will you try to win her friendship and be patient and not hurt if she
seems to snub you just at first? Will you, Jenny?” The boy was very much
in earnest, and so the girl replied, “Why, Harold, I will try, if you
wish, but I know that your sister does not want my friendship, so why
should she be forced to have it?”
“Because I wish it,” was all the lad would reply. Jenny knew better than
the boy did how difficult it would be.