HOME AGAIN
George Riley protested vigorously: "But I tell you she's only a little
girl and she's got a baby and a big basket and I don't know how many
other things and some one's just got to help her!"
With anxious headshakes Terence and Janet McFadden corroborated all
George Riley said, but the gatekeeper was firm. "Only passengers this
side the fence," he repeated.
So the three friends had to wait while the long train slowly disgorged.
Terence stood guard on one side of the gate, George Riley on the other,
while Janet pressed a tense searching face through the bars of the high
division fence. The first arrivals were the dapper quick young men with
new leather bags and walking-sticks who, in their eagerness to arrive,
always drop off a train before it stops. After them came more men and
the more agile of the women passengers. Then the general rush and crush:
the fussy people laden down with parcels; old ladies struggling to
protect their small handbags from the assaults of porters; distracted
mothers jerking their broods hither and thither; middle-aged men
murmuring to wives and daughters, "No rush! No rush! Plenty of time!"
"Maybe she missed the train!" Janet McFadden suggested tragically.
The crush subsided, the last stragglers passed through the gate, and
then, just as Janet remarked gloomily, "Well, I was perfectly sure she
wasn't coming!" a little girl with a baby in her arms alighted from a
coach far down the track and stood where she was while the conductor
piled the ground about her with boxes and parcels and baskets
innumerable.
"There she is! There she is!" Janet and Terence cried out together.
The gatekeeper looked at them a little less sternly. "Well, I guess you
can come in now."
Janet dashed through the gate with her arms raised high, calling out a
joyful "Rosie! Rosie!" George Riley and Terence followed close on her
heels, and in a moment Rosie and the baby were enveloped in a cloud of
hugs and kisses.
"Oh!" Rosie gasped, "but it's nice to be back! And I'm so glad to see
you all!... Here, Jarge, you take that heavy box and be awful careful.
It has jelly in it and canned fruit and I made them all myself, too!
Your mother taught me how.... You take the big basket, Terry. That's our
clothes. And I think you can take the basket of vegetables in the other
hand. Janet'll take that bundle, won't you, Janet? They's two dressed
chickens in it and I plucked them myself, too. Mis' Riley showed me how.
And you take the shoe-box, Janet. It's full of cookies. Hold it straight
so's not to break them.... I'll take that last basket in my other hand.
You can't guess what's in it, can they, Geraldine? It's Geraldine's
little pussy cat! We just couldn't leave it, could we, baby? Geraldine
named it herself. She named it Jarge."
"After me, I suppose," George said, and they all laughed as if this were
a mighty fine joke.
"Now are we ready?" Rosie asked, making a quick count of bundles and
baskets. "I'm not leaving anything, am I?"
George groaned. "I should hope not! Tell you one thing: I can't carry
any more. Say, Rosie, what have you filled your jelly glasses with?
Rocks?"
This was another fine joke and it carried them out of the station and
all the way to the cars.
"Now watch me play the Rube," George whispered with a wink. When the
conductor came for their fares, George fumbled in his pocket, counted
the change laboriously, then asked for an impossible transfer. The
conductor tried patiently to explain, at which George slapped him on the
shoulder and roared out: "Aw, go on! I'm a railroad man myself!" At this
everybody laughed and the conductor and George became friends on the
spot.
At the home corner, small Jack was waiting and, before Rosie was fairly
off the car, he was calling out excitedly: "Hello, Rosie! Hello! What
did you bring me from the country?"
"Oh, you darling Jackie! I'm so glad to see you!" Rosie kissed him on
both cheeks, then answered his question. "A little turtle! It's in a box
at the bottom of the vegetable basket that Terry's carrying."
Jack danced up and down in delight. "Oh, Rosie, can't I have it now?
Please!"
"No, no, Jackie, you must wait till we get home."
"Aw, Rosie, all right for you!" Jack looked at her reproachfully, then
shouted out: "Come on! Come on! Let's hurry home!"
At home Mrs. O'Brien and Jamie were waiting for them with outstretched
arms.
"Ah, Rosie," her mother exclaimed, with fluttering hands and streaming
eyes; "I'm that glad to see you, I'm weepin'! And will ye look at wee
Geraldine as fat and smilin' as a suckin' pig! Ah, Geraldine darlint,
come to yir own ma!"
Jamie O'Brien, less demonstrative than his wife, patted Rosie's head
gently. "It's mighty glad I am to have you back. Why, do you know,
Rosie, since you've been gone there hasn't been a soul in the house to
hand me a pipe of an evening!"
"You poor old Dad!" Rosie began sympathetically. She would have said
more but small Jack interrupted.
"Now, Rosie, give me my turtle! You promised you would!"
"Of course I did," Rosie acknowledged, "and I'll get it for you right
now. Here, Terry, let me have the vegetable basket." Rosie thrust her
hands among the onions and cabbages and drew out a small pasteboard box
generously pierced with air holes.
"Here it is, Jackie dear."
Jack pulled off the string, tore open the box, and gaped in wide-eyed
delight. "Oh, Rosie, thanks! thanks! It's a beaut!" For one moment mere
possession was enough, on the next came an overpowering desire to
exhibit his treasure before an admiring and envious world.
"Say, Rosie, I got to run down and see Joe Slattery. I'll be back in a
minute."
Mrs. O'Brien put out a detaining hand. "No, you won't be going down to
see any Joe Slattery! Dinner's ready and you'll be comin' in with the
rest of the family this minute. Come along, Rosie dear."
Rosie paused. "Can't we keep Janet, Ma? Is there enough?"
Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head emphatically. "Sure there's enough and, if
there ain't, we'll make it enough."
"Thanks, Mis' O'Brien, but I don't believe I better stay." Janet spoke
regretfully. "You know my mother ain't very well these days and I don't
like to leave her alone too long."
"Why, Janet!" Rosie looked at her friend in sudden concern. "Is your
mother sick?"
Janet shook her head. "I don't know what's the matter with her. It seems
like the hot weather and the work and the worry have been too much for
her. But I'll be back, Rosie, at three o'clock for our papers. I got two
new customers, didn't I, Terry? And, Rosie, what do you think? Terry
gave me an extra nickel for each of them."
Janet started off and Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed: "Now, then, for dinner!
All of yez!"
"See you later, Rosie," George Riley remarked, opening the door of his
own room.
Mrs. O'Brien called after him excitedly: "Why, Jarge lad, where's this
you're going? Aren't you sitting down with the rest of us?"
"I ain't more than had my breakfast," George explained; "and I think I
better get in a little nap before I start out on my next run." He nodded
to Rosie, smiled, and shut his door.
"Poor Jarge!" Mrs. O'Brien threw sympathetic eyes to heaven and sighed.
Rosie looked at her mother quickly. "Is there anything the matter with
Jarge?"
"Poor fella!" Mrs. O'Brien went on in the same lugubrious tone. "He's as
honest as the day and I'm sure I wish him every blessing under heaven.
Never in me life have I liked a boarder as much as I like Jarge. He's no
trouble at all, at all, and it was mighty kind of his mother inviting
you and Geraldine to the country. No, no, Rosie, you must never make
the mistake of supposing I'm not fond of Jarge!"
"Ma," Rosie begged; "tell me what's the matter!" She stopped suddenly
and two little points of steel came into her blue eyes. "Is it Ellen?
Has she been doing something to him again?"
Mrs. O'Brien looked grieved. "Why, Rosie, I'm surprised at you--I am
that, to hear you talk that way about your poor sister Ellen. And such a
bit of news as I've got about Ellen, too! Sit down now and, when I serve
you, I'll tell you."
There was no hurrying Mrs. O'Brien and Rosie, knowing this, said no
more. At heart she gave a little sigh. It was as if a shadow were
overcasting the bright joy of her home-coming. She had arrived so full
of her own happiness that she had failed to see any evidence of the care
and worry which, she realized now, had plainly stamped the faces of her
two dearest friends. Poor Janet McFadden! For one reason or another it
had always been poor Janet. And now, apparently, it was to be poor
George Riley as well.