THE PERPLEXITIES OF PIPPIN
"I don't know _what_ to do with Mary!" said Mrs. Aymer. "I am really
distracted about her, Larry. I don't think she's _fit_ to go with you
to-morrow, yet I don't believe anything can stop her."
"She certainly looks ill." The chaplain glanced thoughtfully toward the
pantry door, as if he expected to see through it. "Have you had any talk
with her, Lucy?"
"I've tried, but I had to do all the talking. She just pulls this little
wooden smile--it's just that, Lawrence! it's as if she pulled a string
and twitched the corners of her mouth up; there is no smile in her eyes.
It's _tragic_! And all she will say is, 'It is my duty to go to my
father; I must go, because it is my duty!' over and over; in fact--"
with a petulant outburst--"I seem to have lost my Mary, and got a very
beautiful talking doll in exchange--Only dolls _do_ look cheerful," she
added, "and they don't cry their eyes out all night."
"Have you heard her crying?" asked John Aymer.
"Heard her? No! But I see her in the morning, don't I? _I_ am not an
_owl_, my dear John!"
"No, my love, certainly not!"
The two men gazed meditatively at each other over their pipes. ("Since
my husband must either smoke or fidget," Mrs. Aymer was wont to say, "I
prefer to have him smoke; and there shall be no room in my house that
he is obliged to fidget in.") But the pipes did not make for peace as
usual; the atmosphere of the rose-shaded room was anxious and troubled,
reflecting the mood of its little ruler. However things might be with
Mary-in-the-kitchen, Lucy-in-the-parlor was not herself this evening.
She would knit diligently for a few minutes, then spring up to turn down
the lamp, to poke the fire, to straighten an already straight window
blind, then plunge at her knitting again, and make the needles fly at a
bewildering rate.
"It certainly is an extremely rum start!" said John Aymer thoughtfully.
"Makes one feel as if one were living behind the scenes at the ----," he
named a popular theatre.
"John Aymer!" The knitting was dropped, and two indignant sapphires
burned on the guilty husband. "I don't _like_ to think you are
heartless, John," said Lucy; "but sometimes there seems nothing else
_to_ think. To _make game_ of a poor girl's misery! Men are--"
"Not at all, my love, not at all! I am as sorry as sorry can be, and you
know it. But none the less I cannot help feeling as if I were in a
movie. Here are all the materials, black-hearted ruffian, lovely maiden,
gallant youth--if that wasn't a movie scene the other night, I never saw
one, that's all!-- By the way, Larry, what of the gallant youth? How has
pet-lamb Pippin been to-day? Or haven't you seen him?"
"Oh, yes, I have seen him. I don't believe he cried last night, but he
doesn't look as if he'd slept much for several nights. The boy is as
thoroughly upset as the girl." The chaplain stooped to pick up a coal
from the hearth; then went on slowly. "On the one hand he is all joy at
having found Mary; on the other he is all despair because he thinks he
has offended her in some way. How about that, Lucy? They have been good
friends up to yesterday, have they?" He looked inquiringly at his
sister.
"_Good friends!_" Mrs. Aymer sprang up again and moved restlessly to the
fire.
"_Hold on!_" her husband grasped her skirt and drew her resolutely back.
"My child, if you put the Cape Cod fire-lighter _hot_ into the kerosene,
there will be an explosion, and we shall all be burned very painfully.
This is the fourth time I have caught you on the point of doing it; the
next time, I shall take the thing away and give it to your cousin
Selina, who has never moved quickly in her life. Now, my dear girl, sit
down, and _stay_ down for ten minutes."
Mrs. Aymer subsided in temporary eclipse of meekness, and John Aymer
turned to his brother-in-law, who also had sprung forward when he saw
the glowing sponge approaching the brass pot.
"All right, Lar! She _will_ do it, but I am generally on the lookout.
You ask if Mary and Pippin have been good friends. Lawrence, I have been
conscious for the last two weeks that while Lucy's body has had many
occupations, her mind has done little except marry these two young
people, establish them in a shed-apartment-elect (to be furnished, I
gather, with all our belongings except those actually in use), and
assist in bringing up their family. I feel quite the godfather already,
I assure you!"
"Dear me, sirs!" the chaplain blew smoke rings and watched them with a
critical eye. "I had no idea it had gone as far as that!"
"It hasn't, except in Lucy's fertile brain. Possibly neither of them
has thought of it, though I admit the possibility to be highly
improbable, at least on the boy's side. If I were in his place--"
Here Mrs. Aymer was discovered to be weeping quietly and drying her eyes
with her knitting, to their imminent peril. Both men sprang to caress
and comfort her. Her husband vowed that he would, if necessary, hale
both the potentially contracting parties to the altar and make Larry
marry them then and there. Anything, he declared, rather than have his
wife blinded by knitting needles or destroyed by fire. Incidentally, he
himself was a brute, and if his little girl cried any more, he would
touch himself off with the Cape Cod fire-lighter and have done with it.
Her brother said nothing, but took hold of her little finger and shook
it in a particular way which had meant consolation ever since he was six
and big, and Lucy was three and little. Finally, between them, they
coaxed a smile from her, and a declaration that they were dear boys and
she was a goose. Then it occurred to her that Mary might sleep better
with a hot water bottle; this cleared up matters wonderfully, and she
bustled off quite cheerfully, promising John that she would have one
herself, and giving Larry a good-night hug as the best of brothers.
The brothers-in-law exchanged an affectionate nod as the door closed
behind the little woman they both adored; a nod which said many things,
all kind and patient and loving. They smoked in silence for ten minutes,
then one asked the other where he got his boots; the other replied, and
they talked boots with absent-minded ardor for ten minutes more, then
fell silent again.
"_But_," John Aymer exploded suddenly, "it _is_, as I said, an extremely
rum start. I suppose you feel perfectly sure of your pet lamb, Lar?"
"Perfectly--humanly speaking!"
"Then that's all right. The fellow is so infernally attractive--you
understand! If I thought he would make Mary unhappy, or--or
anything--I'd wring his neck for him, see?"
The chaplain nodded gravely. "I see! you won't have to wring his neck,
Jack."
"Then that's all right," repeated John Aymer. "Glad of it! He certainly
is as taking a scamp as ever I saw. Is he--has he any family? Nice
comfortable mother or sister who would be good to Mary, eh?"
Lawrence Hadley shook his head; a slow, humorous smile curled the
corners of his mouth. He heard Pippin's voice, eager, imploring. "You
won't tell any one, will you, Elder? About Pa and Ma, I mean. Honest,
sir, they've ben more help to me than lots of real folks I've seen. What
I mean--well, I've seen folks act real ugly, you know, to their own
flesh and blood; speak up real hateful, the way you wouldn't speak, no,
nor I wouldn't, to a houn' dog! But these folks of mine, so good
and--and so--well, kind of holy is what I mean, and yet ready to joke
and laugh any time--gorry to 'Liza! Elder, I do wish you could _see_ Ma
and Pa, I do so!"
"No, John," said the chaplain, "I'm afraid--I have always understood
that Pippin was an orphan."
The friendly silence fell again, and the chaplain's thoughts reverted to
his conversation with Pippin that morning. What a child the boy was! How
almost incredible--if the things of God could ever be incredible, mused
the chaplain--that after such a bringing-up (say, rather, dragging,
kicking, cuffing up) he should be what he was. Hadley's mind, always
with a whimsical thread running through its earnestness, recalled a
visit to an aquarium, and certain creatures of living crystal through
which such organs as they had were visible as through glass. Pippin was
like that, he thought. An Israelite without guile; the child of the
slums, the young desperado; Pippin the Kid, alias Moonlighter, alias
Jack-o'-lantern. Strange and true, and blessed! Out of the mouths of
babes--gutter babes as well as those of Christian homes! But how absurd,
how utterly unreasonable, this very crystalline quality made the boy! He
had thought that once he found the girl, all would be plain sailing. He
had actually expected Mary to start with him, hand in hand like two
children, that very morning for Cyrus Poor Farm, thirty miles away.
There was folks he knowed all along the road, dandy folks, would be
tickled to death to take them in; what say? The chaplain vetoing this
proposal decidedly, the eager light had died out of Pippin's eyes, the
anxious cloud settled again on his brow.
"She's mad with me!" he lamented. "Green grass! She's mad with me, and I
don't know no more than the dead what I done. Why, don't you rec'lect,
Elder, she was puttyin' round there [Pippin meant "puttering"] while we
was talkin', smilin' and--and lookin' pleasant, the way she does--why,
you'd said I was welcome, wouldn't you? Sure you would! Why, sir, we was
_friends_! There's things I've told that young lady--and she 'peared to
understand, too, and to--what I mean--not be opposed to hearin' 'em--and
then all of a sudden--I tell you, Elder, I don't know what I'll do if
she stays mad with me, honest I don't." Pippin's voice broke, and he
brushed his hand across his eyes. "Have you any _i_dea why she's mad
with me, Elder?" he asked simply.
The chaplain patted his shoulder as he would a child's.
"No, Pippin, I have no idea. I don't even know that she is 'mad with
you.' She has had a shock, and a great deal of excitement and--and
emotion, and I don't think she is quite herself now. You must be
patient, Pippin. A young woman's feelings are very sensitive, as you
said yourself yesterday. Mary is very much upset, and she probably
feels--she is a very sensible girl, and a very intelligent one"--"You
bet she's all that!" Pippin murmured--"probably feels that as you are
connected with all this excitement and emotion, it is better for her not
to see you just now. Start along with your wheel, and Mary and I will
follow by rail. Mr. Bailey can meet us at Cyrus Centre--it's a four-mile
drive, you say? We'll be there as soon as you, Pippin, or before. Be off
with you! And cheer up!" he added with his friendly hand on the broad
shoulder that drooped as it had never drooped before since that hour
among the buttercups. "Cheer up, Pippin! 'Praise the Lord with
gladness,' you know, my son!"
"Amen, Elder! 'And come before His presence with a song.' I will, sir!
Gimme a little start, and I will. So long, sir!"
It was not Pippin's own flashing smile that greeted the chaplain from
the gate, as with Nipper on his back, the boy turned into the lane; but
still it was a smile, and his chin was up, and his shoulders square once
more. Yes, Pippin was all right again. But--the chaplain sank deep and
deeper into reverie--what was to become of Pippin eventually? He could
not go pirouetting across the stage of life as if it were--Hadley
glanced at his brother-in-law, and saw him also deep in thought--a
moving picture show. If he had only taken his, the chaplain's, advice
in the beginning, and let him find an opening for him in some safe,
steady business!
As if in answer to his thoughts, John Aymer looked up suddenly.
"How would Pet-Lamb fit into the hardware line?" he asked. "About as
well as a salmon in a lobster pot, eh? Well, we must fit him in
somewhere, Lar. I want Mary to stand by Lucy this winter, you
understand!"
"Of course. And anyhow, Jack, the boy cannot expect to support a wife by
scissor-grinding."
"All right!" John Aymer rose with an air of relief. "I was afraid that
you might have some idea in your visionary old noddle. Come on! Let's
have an apple and go to bed!"
When Pippin went his way that morning, with many a wistful backward
glance at the friendly house and yard where now no blue shape of grace
and youth smiled on him, he did not start at once for Cyrus Poor Farm.
There was a visit to make first. He plodded along the streets, looking
neither to right nor to left, his bell tinkling in vain (two or three
housewives waved their aprons and called to him, but he did not hear
them) until he came to the now familiar brick wall and the wrought-iron
gate opening on the cheerful courtyard. He was a frequent visitor now at
the Home; he knew every child intimately, and had won every adult heart,
even that of Mrs. Faulkner, who declared that there was certainly no
resisting him and that she had given up trying. Mrs. Appleby's heart had
been his from the start, as we have seen, and it was she he had come to
see, for the children, he knew, would be at school. Still, as a matter
of habit he glanced at the upper windows, and was rewarded by the sight
of a forlorn little freckled face which lighted into ecstasy at sight of
him.
"Gee!" said Pippin. "Now wouldn't that--"
He waved his cap to the little prisoner, and a lively sign dialogue
ensued. Had Jim, Pippin asked with expressive action of his hands, run
away again and got behind the bars? Vehement denial, the red head shaken
till it seemed in danger of coming off. Been cutting up, then, and got
spanked good and hard and sent to quod? This also was rendered with
dramatic effect, was also denied, with some show of indignation. Then
what the didoes was the matter? Pippin spread his arms abroad with
uplifted brows. For reply the window was pushed up behind the nursery
bars, and a hoarse little voice croaked "Tonsilitis! Been abed--" Here
the speaker was withdrawn swiftly from behind, and the window closed
again. Mrs. Appleby looked down and nodded to Pippin, intimating that
she would be down directly; then turned to the child, with admonition in
every line of her firm, substantial figure.
Soon she came, with friendly hand extended; soon Pippin was sitting
opposite her in the mission-furnished parlor, pouring out his artless
tale of woe and bewilderment.
Mrs. Appleby had been expecting Mary for several days, had rather
wondered at her non-appearance. She listened round-eyed to Pippin's
account of the attempted burglary--his own part in the drama lightly
dismissed with, "I knowed the guys, and I just put a spoke in their
wheel. See?"
"Good gracious!" she ejaculated. "Why, they might have been murdered in
their beds. Why, Pippin, your being there was simply providential."
Mrs. Appleby, like many another excellent person, had distinctly biassed
views as to the part played by Providence in human affairs; not so
Pippin, otherwise enlightened by his Elder.
"I view things generally in that light!" he said gravely. "All is,
there's times when I can't understand 'em. Lemme tell you!"
He told her, with kindling eyes, of his discovery of the astonishing
fact that Mary Flower was May Blossom. Yes, she knew that, Mrs. Appleby
said demurely. She did? _She did?_ Then why--Pippin stared at her a
moment in blank bewilderment; then he smote his hand on his knee. That
was right! He saw, he understood. That was why she wanted the letter
from Elder Hadley; that was right! She couldn't have done no other way,
she sure couldn't. And now, here was the Elder right in town here, and
she could see him and make all the inquiries she--
But now the mobile face darkened, and the wail broke out.
"Mrs. Appleby, she's mad with me! Yes, ma'am, she is so! She won't look
at me, nor yet hardly speak to me, excep' kind of cool and polite, like
you'd speak to a stranger. Why--" he sprang up and paced the room,
light-foot, absorbed, lifting his chin a little, unconsciously, as he
reached either wall of the room, like a woodland creature in a cage.
"Why, Mrs. Appleby, I respect that young lady more than anybody in the
world. We was friends, I want you to understand, till this come up, real
good friends!" cried Pippin, clutching at his file and stabbing the air
with it as he paced. "Nor I don't know no more than the dead what it
_was_ come up! I never said anything anyways low to that young lady--my
tongue would ha' withered in my mouth first. It makes me wild--"
Here he stopped, and, collecting himself with a great effort, sat down
and begged Mrs. Appleby's pardon. He would ask the Lord to help him, he
said gravely. 'Twasn't likely any one else could, and he'd no business
to be bawlin' like he was a kid. He asked Mrs. Appleby's pardon again,
and hoped she would overlook it. She, good lady, as much puzzled as he,
tried to comfort him, as the chaplain had done, with hopes that all
would come out right eventually. Mary was upset, and no wonder. This
might make a great change in her life; Pippin must have patience.
"St. James!" Pippin's brow cleared, and he rose with his little bow
which Mrs. Appleby privately considered the most graceful motion she had
ever seen in her life. Talk of Russian dancers! "St. James! 'Let
patience have her perfect work.' That's right! James, he's real good and
searchin'; that takes holt of me. Well, ma'am, I'll wish you good day,
and thank you kindly. You have helped me, too, you sure have."
At this moment a knock was heard, and the round-eyed pupil-teacher
entered.
Please, ma'am, Jimmy Mather wanted to know could the--the gentleman
[Janey did not think "my Grindy Man" would be polite or proper to
repeat] come up to see him. He was flouncing about horfil, and she could
not keep him quiet.
Mrs. Appleby hesitated. It was not usual, she said, but--the other
children were at school, and Jimmy had been very poorly; if Pippin cared
to go up for a few minutes--
"Sure I do! Tickled to death! Thank you, ma'am."
Mrs. Appleby led the way through cool, clean, stone-flagged halls and
corridors to the pleasant infirmary with its yellow walls and snowy
beds. Ten beds, and only one occupied, by a freckled, tousled
quintessence of fractiousness in a blue wrapper.
"I _won't_ behave! I _will_ kick them off!" He did. "I want my grindy
man, and I won't _ever_ behave unless he comes. I won't, I won't, I
_won't_!"
"Dry up!" Pippin stood in the doorway, erect, with eyes of authority.
"What kind of way is this to act, I want to know? You lay down--" the
boy obeyed instantly--"and you stay layin' down till I give you leave to
set up. Now!" He nodded assurance to Mrs. Appleby, who withdrew, drawing
a reluctant Janey after her. Janey admired Pippin as much as anybody
did, and had her own thoughts about the foolishness of letting that kid
have his own way like that.
But Mrs. Appleby did not go far, only into the sewing-room close by,
where she sat down and motioned Janey to a seat beside her. The door was
open--it would have been close with it shut--and she had left the
infirmary door on the jar. Sitting at their sewing, the two women
listened.
No sound at first except Pippin's voice in a low admonitory murmur. Then
louder, in clear, crisp tones: "What say, kid? Goin' to try? Shake!" Two
voices now, in brisk and cheerful dialogue; then gurgles and crows of
childish delight. (What could Pippin be doing? As a matter of fact, he
was giving an exhibition of the Wig Wags, his fingers impersonating
these mystic creatures, and performing unheard-of acrobatic feats in
connection with the bedposts.)
Then--and this was what Mrs. Appleby had been waiting and hoping for,
came the injunction: "Now sing, Grindy Man!"
Pippin sang; and the mite of fractious quicksilver lay back on the
pillow with a happy sigh. The matron dropped her sewing, and took out
her handkerchief; she was easily moved to tears, good Mrs. Appleby.
Downstairs from the housekeeper's room, upstairs from kitchen,
dining-room, pantry, eager footsteps came stealing. Soon the whole
household was sitting on the stairs, listening, and Mrs. Appleby was
resolutely unaware of them, reflecting that some things were more
important than others, and that nobody would die if dinner _was_ a
little late.
Sing, Pippin! Pour your heart out, and lift up the hearts of all that
hear you, sad hearts and merry, dull hearts and quick, for with them you
shall lift up your own also, till your eyes shine with their own glad
light, and you go your way, once more joyful in the Lord:
"Fling out the life line with hand quick and strong:
Why do you tarry, why linger so long?
See! he is sinking; oh, hasten today--
And out with the Life-Boat! Away, then, away!"