IRENE'S SONG
"Miss Davis gets home to-day," sang Tabitha under her breath, as she
drew on her slippers that bright, hot morning. "Do you know that,
Gloriana Holliday?"
"Haven't I been counting every minute,--yes, every second for the past
twenty-four hours?" laughed the second girl, letting down her luxuriant
auburn mane and beginning to brush it vigorously. "But I had a
horrible dream last night. I thought she sent us her wedding
announcements, and we had to stay here all summer."
"False prophet! How dare you dream such a thing as that? Didn't we
have a letter from her just two days ago saying she would reach here on
to-day's train? And anyway, dreams always go by contraries, you know."
"It's mighty lucky they do in this case," Gloriana replied seriously.
"But I woke in a cold sweat, the dream was so very real. I couldn't
help wondering if something _had_ delayed her so she wouldn't reach
here as soon as we had expected."
"What a pessimist you are!" cried Tabitha, eyeing her companion in
surprise. "You are usually just the opposite. What is the matter with
you to-day, Glory?"
"Oh, I just somehow feel it in my bones that something is going to
happen----"
"To be sure! Miss Davis is coming home and relieve us of our job."
"Something disappointing, I mean.
"Well, you just get that feeling out of your bones right away!"
commanded Tabitha, thrusting the last pin into her shining, black hair
and whisking into her big, kitchen apron. "You must have the
rheumatism and that is bad for one's health. One more meal after this,
and--exit Tabitha Catt and Gloriana Holliday, housekeepers."
Gloriana laughed, as, with a comical flourish and backward courtesy,
the black-haired girl disappeared through the door, but her gay spirits
were contagious, and presently the younger maid joined her companion in
the kitchen, singing softly:
"'Maxwellton's braes are bonnie
Where early fa's the dew,
And 'twas there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true.'"
"There, that sounds better," Tabitha commented. "Really, I was
beginning to get shivers of misgiving myself from your gloomy
forebodings in the other room. What shall we have for dinner in honor
of the occasion? Green peas, asparagus tips, French potatoes and
caramel pudding? Or shall we invest in some strawberries at two bits a
box and have shortcake for dessert?"
Merrily she skipped about the kitchen, making ready the simple
breakfast for the hungry brood; and when that was out of the way, and
the house swept and dusted, the two housekeepers began preparations for
an elaborate dinner.
"To celebrate our release from bondage," laughed Gloriana, browning the
sugar for a caramel pudding, while Tabitha carefully concocted her best
layer cake. So busy were they that the morning flew by as on wings,
and before either was aware of the hour, a shrill blast of a whistle
proclaimed the approach of a locomotive.
"The train!" gasped Tabitha.
"And we haven't tidied the children up or changed our own dresses,"
mourned Gloriana.
"I intended to meet Miss Davis at the station, to be sure she came here
for dinner," wailed the other.
"It's too late now to do that, but we can make the youngsters a little
more presentable before the 'bus comes up from the depot," suggested
the younger girl.
"They certainly will need cleaning up by this time, I'll admit. Call
them, will you, please?"
Gloriana stepped to the door and yodelled shrilly, but there was no
answering trill, save the echo thrown back by the mountain peaks.
"Decamped again!" sighed Tabitha impatiently. "Did you ever see a
bunch of children who could do the disappearing act as quickly or as
completely as the tribe of McKittrick? If you will watch these
potatoes, I will go hunting. They were here only a few seconds ago,
seems to me."
Briskly she circled the house. Not a chick nor a child was anywhere in
evidence. Down to the boulder playhouse, up the trail to the summit,
but nowhere were the children to be found. Tabitha became alarmed.
What mischief had Billiard led them into now? He had been perfectly
angelic for twenty-four hours. It was time for another outbreak.
Shading her eyes with her hand, she anxiously surveyed the surrounding
hillsides, the gray flat below, the dingy station house, and presently
her sharp eyes espied a procession of lagging figures straggling down
the steps from the depot platform.
"Can it be--" she began. "Yes, I do believe it is! Horrors! Whatever
will Miss Davis say when she sees that bunch of dirty ragamuffins!
One, two, three, four--Billiard is lugging Janie pickaback, and Mercy
and Toady have made a chair for Rosslyn. Yes, that is my family!"
She turned to go back to the house, but another thought had suddenly
occurred to her. "Miss Davis! She's not with them. Can it be she
didn't come? Was Gloriana right after all? She surely would not let
the children plod home in the heat while she rode in the 'bus. No,
there are only eight people in that bunch and they are all children.
Oh, dear, suppose Glory's dream has come true!"
Mechanically she turned back to the house, and her comrade in misery,
catching a glimpse of her disturbed face, cried in alarm, "Can't you
find any of them?"
"Yes, they have been to the depot."
"The little rascals! Without so much as asking leave! And it is such
a long walk for Rosslyn and Janie!"
"I suppose Billiard put them up to it," Tabitha murmured, glad that
Glory had not asked about Miss Davis; and she fell to dishing up
potatoes with such reckless energy that the hot fat slopped over and
blistered her hand.
"Oh!" cried Gloriana pityingly, "you have burned yourself. Let me
finish taking them up."
"No, it's nothing. Serves me right for getting so provoked. I do wish
I could learn to control my temper."
Gloriana remained discreetly silent, thinking that Tabitha was angry
because of the children's latest escapade; and in silence they finished
dinner preparations, both waiting anxiously, nervously for the
runaways' return.
At length they heard them coming up the steep path from town, and Susie
flew through the door with two letters in her hand. "They are both for
you, Tabitha," she panted. "One's from mamma. I'd know her writing in
the dark. Miss Davis didn't come on to-day's train, but I s'pose
likely she'll be here to-morrow, don't you think?"
Tabitha snatched the envelopes from Susie's outstretched hand, and
ripped them open with one stroke of the knife she held, muttering
feverishly, "The other is from Miss Davis." Her quick eyes swept the
page at a single glance, it seemed, and a smothered groan escaped her.
"What is it?" ventured Gloriana timidly, the morning's foreboding
gripping her anew.
"She has broken her leg."
"Broken her leg!" repeated the red-haired girl dully.
"Broken her leg!" echoed mystified Susie.
"Who? Mamma?"
"Miss Davis."
"Holy snakes!"
"Why, Susie!"
"I mean--I--I--that just slipped out accidental. I was so s'prised at
wondering what we'd do with a broken-legged woman hopping around here."
"But she won't be hopping around here," Tabitha grimly told her. "She
must stay flat on her back in bed for three weeks, and then it will be
days and days before she can get around without a crutch."
"Then--who--will housekeep--for us?" gasped Susie. "I reckon it is up
to you to stay a while longer. Mrs. Goodale's grand-baby's got the
fever and she is going to stay in Carson City until he's well. He is
the only grandbaby she's got."
"How did you hear that?" demanded Tabitha, her heart sinking within her
at Susie's words.
"Don't we know the Goodales well? She has only one girl, and that girl
has only one baby."
"Oh, I didn't mean that! Where did you hear that the baby was sick?"
"Mr. Porter told us at the station. He has just got home from Carson
City, and he saw Mrs. Goodale there. Why don't you read mamma's
letter? You hain't looked at it yet."
Tabitha had completely forgotten the second envelope, and now hurriedly
drew out the written page and scanned the blurred, uneven lines. Then
without a word of explanation, she slipped the paper back into its
envelope, and dropped it into her pocket, saying only, "Let the
children have their dinner now. Everything is ready."
But all through the meal she was unusually preoccupied, puzzling,
pondering, struggling, longing to be alone with herself, and yet held
to her post by her sense of duty. At last, however, the hungry
appetites were satisfied, the chattering children had gone back to
their play, the dishes were washed and piled away in the cupboard, and
Tabitha slipped away to the little room which she shared with Gloriana
and Janie, knowing that no one would molest her here as long as the
lame girl stood guard at the door.
Once alone, she spread the two letters out on the bed before her and
read and re-read them until she knew both word for word.
Only one course lay open to her, that was plain; but yet her heart
rebelled hotly against the circumstances which made this one course the
only right one.
"There never was such a girl for getting into scrapes,", she groaned.
"And this time I've not only got myself into one, but Gloriana as well.
It will be six weeks at the very least before Miss Davis can come home,
and there is no telling when Mrs. Goodale will be back. It is out of
the question for Mrs. McKittrick to leave her husband just when he
needs her most, even though she does offer to come. No, it's up to me,
as Susie says. And I did want to go to Catalina with Myra so much!
Here's my whole summer spoiled just because of a hasty promise.
"_Tabitha Catt_! Aren't you ashamed of yourself! You know right well
that Mrs. McKittrick never could have gone to the city if you hadn't
taken charge of her children, and the chances are that Mr. McKittrick
would have died without her. He isn't wholly out of danger even yet.
You selfish wretch! What do you think of a person who will talk the
way you have been doing? Oh, dear, what a queer world it is! I
wouldn't mind so much if Gloriana didn't have to suffer, too; but it is
too bad to keep her here on the boiling desert when she might be
enjoying life on the Island or at the beach. It wouldn't be so bad if
those awful boys weren't here, either; but they are the _limit_. I am
on edge every minute of the day, looking for the next outbreak. I
don't believe they _can_ be good. And yet--there's no other way--out
of it. I can't let Mrs. McKittrick come home just because I am too
utterly selfish to stay here myself. She has been so good to me. And
it is positively out of the question for her to have the children with
her."
Undecided, rebellious, unhappy, Tabitha crossed the room to the window,
and stood looking out over the barren mountainside. Should she? Could
she? What ought she to do? On the other side of a little gully just
opposite the window, sat Irene, rocking to and fro on a teetering
stone, and singing in a high, sweet treble to a battered rag-doll,
hugged tightly to her breast. The words floated up to the girl in the
window, indistinct at first, but growing clearer as the singer forgot
her surroundings; and Tabitha suddenly found herself listening to the
queer, garbled words of the song that fell from the childish lips.
"What in creation does she think she is singing?" she asked herself in
amazement, recognizing with a fresh pang the tune Gloriana had begun
the day with.
Irene finished the verse and commenced again:
"Maxwellton breaks her bonnet,
And nearly swallows two,
An' 'twas their hat and her locket
Gave me a pummy stew.
Gave me a pummy stew
Which near forgot can be,
And for bonnet and a locket
I'd lame a downy deed."
Three times she repeated the distorted version of that grand old song,
and somehow the frown of perplexity smoothed itself from the listener's
brow.
"Dear little girl," she whispered; "it's your father and your mother!
I am a selfish old heathen! Of course I will stay as long as I am
needed!"
Quietly returning to the kitchen where Gloriana sat pretending to sew,
she laid the mother's letter on the table before the seamstress, and
when the gray eyes had read the message and glanced inquiringly up at
the dark face beside her, Tabitha nodded her head. "Yes," she
half-whispered. "I can't desert them now." Then after a moment of
silence, she added, "But you will go with Myra, Glory. Please! I'd
feel so much better, knowing that you were having a good time."
The red head shook a vigorous denial. "I shall stay with you,"
Gloriana declared. "I knew you wouldn't leave here as long as you were
needed, and you needn't think I'll let you stay alone. I shouldn't
have a good time at all if I did such a thing as that, Tabitha."
"But it may mean all summer," Tabitha protested. "And it does get so
hot here. Besides, there will be little fun in such a vacation."
"Then it is up to us to _make_ some fun," said Gloriana firmly.
"That's so," Tabitha replied, startled at the thought. "Maybe the boys
wouldn't be such trials then. Let's try it!"
"All right," agreed Gloriana.
And straightway the two girls put their heads together to devise some
method of breaking the deadly monotony of the desert days, and bringing
added enjoyment to their troublesome charges.