FIRE!
A little after the first of the year Daniella and her mother were on
their way to Texas. Daniella's departure was not made without tears and
vows of eternal friendship. "If I can't write very well yet," she said,
"I'll try, and somebody kin tell me how to spell the words."
"We'll all write," the four girls promised, "and some day we shall
expect to see you again."
"Where?" asked Daniella eagerly.
"We don't know just where," returned Nan, "but one never knows what
will happen in this world, Aunt Sarah says, and so I am going to say we
will meet again." It always pleased Nan to anticipate the improbable.
They all went to the station to see the Boggs's off, and, as the train
moved out, they saw a pair of tearful eyes at the car window, and that
was the last of Daniella for many a day. Both she and her mother had
been comfortably provided for through many contributions of clothing
and money, so they did not go away empty-handed.
"Well," said Nan with a long sigh as they watched the smoke from the
train drift toward the mountains, "I am glad we can think of them
somewhere else than in that lonely little cabin up there."
"It is a comfort," said Mary Lee, "but I really shall miss Daniella
very much, and hasn't she learned a lot since that time we found her, a
wild, little scary thing in the mountains?"
"Aunt Helen says there are all sort of possibilities in Daniella, if
she ever gets any sort of a chance."
"She won't get much on a ranch," returned Mary Lee.
"Who knows?" said Nan thoughtfully.
Nan's music lessons commenced before the holidays were over. She went
three times a week to her Aunt Helen, and, although there were days
when instead of wrist movements, five finger exercises, and close
legato, she gave more time to playing tunes by ear, on the whole, she
was conscientious in her practicing, and it took very few words to
fire her ambition or to make her appreciate the necessity of patient
striving.
"All musicians must go through just this uninteresting drudgery,"
her aunt would tell her. "Think, Nan, even Beethoven and Chopin and
Wagner had to train their fingers by these exercises and scales, so
you must not expect to do less." Then Nan would try her utmost and
the next time would show the improvement naturally following diligent,
painstaking study. It was fortunate for her that Miss Helen knew how to
appeal to her imagination and that she varied her talks, upon the dry
details, with little anecdotes of the great masters, and with snatches
of their best compositions to illustrate what she was saying, so that
Nan, with her knowledge of the rudiments of music, gained also a
knowledge of musical history which made her work much more interesting.
At this time Nan and Mary Lee, too, were fired with an ambition to
further improve their minds, this following certain talks with their
Aunt Helen, and they determined upon a course of reading.
"We'll take Macaulay's History of England," said Mary Lee; "it will be
the most useful."
The two girls were on their knees before the old bookcase which held
mostly old standard works, and few modern books.
"We must have some maps and dictionaries and things," said Nan,
clapping the covers of a volume together to beat out the dust. So with
maps and books of reference, they established themselves in a quiet
corner upon two or three consecutive Saturdays, but at the end of the
third Saturday, they found themselves always starting with a sentence
which read: "The king had no standing army." Beyond this, they never
seemed able to go, mainly because the book to girls of their age meant
simply a very dry record, and they found it more interesting to read
some anecdote from one of the books of reference, and to talk about
what their aunt had told them of England of the present day. Therefore,
at last Macaulay was laid aside, and the only fact they remembered
reading from the book was that the king had no standing army.
Although Miss Sarah had never set foot across the brook, she tacitly
permitted the intercourse between the two families, and even admitted
that Miss Helen was not to be included in the censure which she so
sweepingly bestowed upon her mother. Of the children's grandmother, she
would never speak, and only by a toss of the head and a sarcastic smile
did they know that she had not altered her opinion of the elder Mrs.
Corner. Every attention or gift the girls received was attributed to
the influence of Miss Helen, and Miss Sarah honestly believed that in
her opinion she was right.
As for Miss Helen, she never came to her sister-in-law's house. "I am
biding my time," she told her mother. "When Mary comes back, I think we
shall have matters on a different footing."
"I'm afraid I can never bring myself to going there," sighed Mrs.
Corner. "I'm too old to give up all my prejudices, Helen, but I shall
try to meet my son's wife half way."
"If I know Mary Gordon Lee," said Helen, "you will not have to go even
half way."
And indeed there was no going half way for anybody, as an occurrence
soon changed everything for those who lived at Uplands. It took place
one night when the winds of March were sweeping through the mountain
forests, sighing through the pines in Nan's summer retreat, and
uncovering the young pushing blades, already started from the ground
down by the brook.
Nan, who was a light sleeper, was startled from her slumbers by the
dashing by of engines, and by hearing cries of "Fire!" She slipped out
of bed and drew aside the curtains to look out, wondering if the barn
on their own place could have caught, but it was beyond the brook that
the sky was red and the flames were mounting high. In an instant, she
realized where the danger was. She rushed to the boys' door. "Ran,
Ran," she cried, banging on the door, "Uplands is on fire!" She stopped
to pound on her Aunt Sarah's door. "Uplands is on fire!" she cried.
Then she ran back to her own room and slipped on her clothes.
In a few minutes the bolt rattled at Ran's door and he went flying
down-stairs, two steps at a time. Then Aunt Sarah appeared in her
dressing gown. "What was it you were saying, Nan?" she asked.
Nan was at the window. "Just come here and see," she said, and Aunt
Sarah joined her. "Goodness!" she exclaimed. The fire was burning more
fiercely now, fanned by the high winds. They could hear the "Chug,
Chug" of the engines, the crackle of the burning, the hoarse cries of
the men.
A sob arose in Nan's throat. "I can't bear to look at it, and yet it
fascinates me," she said. "Oh, Aunt Sarah, do you suppose they are
safe? I wish I could go and see."
"Not a step do you go," decided Aunt Sarah. "I'm going down to put some
water to boil and be on hand if I'm wanted. You'd better go back to
bed. The others are all fast asleep and that's what you ought to be."
"As if I could sleep," said Nan. "Please let me come down-stairs."
"Come along, then," said Aunt Sarah. And Nan followed.
In a short time there was a sound of voices outside and a knock at the
door, then Ran came rushing in. "They are bringing Mrs. Corner and Miss
Helen here," he said. "I told them to. That was right, wasn't it? This
is the nearest house."
"It was quite right," returned Miss Sarah, stiffening herself, but
going to the living-room to make a light, and then to the front door,
candle in hand. "Bring them right in," she said, speaking to the forms
moving about in the darkness.
"It took a little while to get a carriage," spoke up one of the men,
"and the ladies had to stand outside for a time. They'd better have
something warm."
Miss Sarah opened the door to admit first Mrs. Corner, helped along
slowly by two men, and then Miss Helen. Both had blankets thrown around
them over their night-dresses, and both were in their bare feet. "Right
in here," repeated Miss Sarah.
The men established Mrs. Corner upon the old threadbare sofa, and Miss
Helen sank into a rocking-chair. Nan had immediately gone back to the
kitchen and presently appeared with two cups of steaming coffee. She
went over at once to the sofa. "Won't you drink this, grandmother?" she
said. "It will do you good."
"I am very cold, very cold," returned Mrs. Corner weakly. "Where am I?"
she asked as the sense of warmth pervaded her.
"At our house grandmother," Nan answered.
"Where's Helen?" she asked with a bewildered look.
Miss Helen came to her. "Here I am, mother dear, perfectly safe. Drink
this hot coffee and you will feel better."
Mrs. Corner took the coffee obediently and then lay back with closed
eyes. Nan threw her arms around her Aunt Helen. "Darling," she said,
"please drink your coffee, too, before it gets cold, and come over here
by the stove."
"I'll sit by mother," returned Miss Helen. "Never mind about me."
"But I do mind about you," said Miss Sarah, standing over her with the
coffee. "Drink this right down, Miss Helen." And Miss Helen, with a
forlorn little smile, obeyed.
"We must get your mother straight to bed," Miss Sarah continued. "I'll
go up and get ready for her. Do you think you could help me carry her
up, Ran?" she asked the boy, who was standing by.
"Indeed I can!" he answered. And in a few minutes both Mrs. Corner and
her daughter were in Miss Sarah's own bed, and that capable person was
grimly seeing to their comfort.
Little was said on either side, but after Miss Sarah had placed hot
bricks to Miss Helen's icy feet, she leaned over her and said: "Now,
go to sleep and don't worry."
"But we are giving you so much trouble, Miss Dent," said Miss Helen,
"and besides----"
"What are we in this world for?" said Miss Sarah. "And as for the rest
of it, you're where you ought to be. I know what Mary would want. All
you have to do is to get warm and go to sleep." But as she crossed the
hall, Miss Sarah drew a long sigh. "I wonder what next," she said.
"I suppose the Lord thought He'd teach me and that proud old woman a
lesson, and we're learning it here side by side."
Nan laid her cheek against her Aunt Sarah's hand. She had a very good
idea of what a bitter lesson it was, and of how hard it was to Aunt
Sarah Dent to offer hospitality to Mrs. Corner.
"You're very good to do all this," she said, "and to give up your own
room, Aunt Sarah."
"I'll slip into your place by Mary Lee," said Aunt Sarah, "and you can
get in with the twins; theirs is a mighty wide old bed. I wouldn't turn
a dog out under such circumstances, and if Grace Corner can stand it, I
can."
They were all at breakfast when Miss Helen came down the next morning.
Nan had laid out some of her mother's clothing for her, which sat
strangely upon Miss Helen's little figure. "Mother is sleeping,"
she said, "and I would not disturb her. I am afraid she is a little
feverish." She turned to Ran. "Was anything saved, do you know?" she
asked.
"Quite a lot of furniture and some of the pictures, I believe," he told
her.
"Grandmother's portrait, I hope," spoke up Nan.
"Yes, that was saved, I am sure. It is a little hard to know just what
is safe, for everything is so soaked with water in the rooms that were
not actually burned, that we can't tell just yet. Half the house is
burned out entirely, only the walls stand on that side."
Miss Helen drew a long sigh. "We were to have been very happy there for
the rest of our lives," she said plaintively.
"What's become of Baz?" asked Jack anxiously. The children were much
excited over the strange news that had met them when they awoke that
morning.
"I found Baz in a fence corner," Ran told Jack. "He was scared to death
at first but I managed to catch him, and bring him over here. Lady Gray
seemed to recognize him at once and they are snuggled up in the box
with Ruby."
Jack looked greatly pleased. Her own had come to her again.
Miss Helen said little. There were great circles around her eyes and
she was very pale. After breakfast she went to Miss Sarah.
"I know it is hard for you to have us here," she said, "and I cannot
consent to giving you extra care. I know how you must feel."
"My dear," said Miss Sarah, "I have no right to feel. It is Mary's
house, and I am simply doing as I know she would wish to do. I am not
to be considered at all in the matter."
Miss Helen looked at her wistfully and Miss Sarah's face softened.
"Please don't give yourself any anxiety," she went on. "When I saw
your mother, feeble and dependent; when I saw your white hair, Helen
Corner, and realized what the years had done for you, and that you were
homeless by the power of the Almighty's elements, do you think I did
not understand that He meant to teach me, too, not to set up my puny
little will against His? We are all children of one Father and you are
one of my sisters."
"Thank you," said Miss Helen gently. "I understand, too, and I thank
you. Now, please, may I tell you of a little project of mine?"
Miss Sarah drew up her chair and the two sat down. "I have been
thinking," began Miss Helen, "that we could be very comfortable in the
wing of this house. There are the two rooms up-stairs besides the
attic and the three rooms down-stairs, including the office which we
could use as a kitchen. Couldn't we move over such of our things as are
saved from the fire and settle there, for the present, at least? Do you
think Mary would object?"
"I think Mary would say it was the very thing to do, if it suited you."
"I think it would be better for mother to have a place she could call
home. This is where she lived when she was first married, before my
grandparents died and she went to Uplands. It is familiar to her. She
could be near the children and yet could have the quiet which she is
accustomed to. We can have Martha to do our work and I do not see that
we could do better. Then, too," she paused in some embarrassment,
"mother would want to pay a generous rent."
Miss Sarah raised her hand. "That must be settled by you and Mary," she
said. "As for the rest, I know she will consent."
"Then will you send for Martha? And I am sure we shall be able to get
settled very soon."
The result of this planning was that within a week Miss Helen and
her mother were established in the old wing. During the time of
preparation, Mrs. Corner did not leave her room, and seemed still
dazed and shattered, but was quiet and docile, seldom showing any
evidence of her old spirit. The furniture saved was supplemented by
such new pieces as were needed and it really was a cozy little home
into which Miss Helen took her mother. There was no lack of helpers.
Friends, neighbors and kinsfolk were only too ready to lend their aid,
though by far the most eager were the boys and girls of the house, who
were willing runners of errands and did much toward making the rooms
pretty and cozy.
Still, from the moment of her removal from Uplands, Mrs. Corner failed
visibly. She rallied a little after going into the rooms prepared for
her, and took a passing interest in them, but it was only a short time
after that she grew weaker and at last could not even leave her bed.
"It is the shock and the exposure," said Dr. Ward, looking grave when
Miss Sarah questioned him. "I doubt if she gets over this, but we must
try to keep Miss Helen in good heart." And with the knowledge that
a broken, feeble old woman was nearing the brink of the dark river,
the last vestige of ill-will left Miss Sarah, and she was a tower of
strength to Miss Helen in her hour of trial.
The wind-swept, blackened rooms of the house at Uplands gave the
children an awed feeling whenever they looked that way. From those
of the rooms which were not completely burned out, the water-soaked
furniture had been removed, except where, here and there, a scorched
piece of drapery flapped from some broken window, or a charred article
of furniture was visible through the gaps in the walls. The fire had
started in a defective flue and one side of the house was in complete
ruins.
It was a desolate sight to those who had known and loved its inmates,
and of these perhaps the chief mourner was old Unc' Landy who, in spite
of his railings at the former mistress of the mansion, now felt for
her only pity. "Hit sho is hard fo' a proud uprighteous pusson lak ole
miss ter give up all dese yer flesh-pots ob Egyp'," he said to Nan, "de
quails an' de manna an' de gol'en calf what she been a hankerin' arter
in de days ob huh youf. Yas, Lord, yuh done lay yo' han' mighty heaby
on huh, an' I suttinly does groan in spi'it when I sees how de mighty
fallen. I sholy does wrastle wid de Lord in de night season implorin'
Him to hab mercy on huh po' soul."
Such talk was awe-inspiring to the children, not one of whom thought of
anything but the favors their grandmother had shown them, and all of
whom were ready and eager to do the least thing they could to add to
her comfort or to their Aunt Helen's.
"It means so much to have you dear children so near," said Miss Helen
many times a day. "I don't know what I should do without you."
The March winds were still and the April rains were falling gently when
the end at last came to Grandmother Corner's days on earth. In the
early evening of a spring Sabbath she called clearly: "Mary Lee, Mary
Lee!"
Nan ran for her sister. "Grandmother wants you," she said, and Mary Lee
wondering, hurried in to receive no look of recognition. She was as a
stranger to her grandmother.
"Here is Mary Lee," said Nan bending over her.
Mrs. Corner shook her head. "Mary Lee, Mary Lee," she whispered.
"It is your mother whom she is calling," said Aunt Sarah as the patient
dozed again.
Presently there came a second call: "Helen, Helen!"
"I am here, mother!" said her daughter.
The mother opened her eyes and looked at the little figure by her side.
"You will be just, Helen," she said. "Jack was my child as well as you,
and his children must have what is right."
"They shall have it," said Miss Helen, laying her cheek against her
mother's frail-looking hand.
"There was a will--I forget," and again she dozed.
Aunt Sarah spoke to Nan. "You and Mary Lee go now into the next room. I
will stay here, and if Miss Helen wants you, I will call you."
The dusk was settling down on the earth, the mountains were dimly seen
through a mist of rain. "There are shadows everywhere," said Nan, as
she stood looking out of the window. Jack and Jean were staying with
their Cousin Mag, but the two elder girls had kept close together all
day.
The dusk had faded into twilight when there was a slight movement in
the next room, then the girls heard a footstep on the stair and some
one hurried along the hallway. They went to the door. "Where is she?"
they heard some one say, and they looked to see their Aunt Helen
clasped in the arms of their own mother and heard her say: "Oh, Mary,
Mary, you are all I have left me now, you and the children."
[Illustration: CHAPTER XX
LOOKING AHEAD]