E-text prepared by Al Haines
FOREWORD
_This little volume and its predecessor, "Mostly Mary," the first two
of the "Berta and Beth Books," have been written to comply with the
wishes of the young readers of Clementia's other books, "Uncle Frank's
Mary," "The Quest of Mary Selwyn," and "Bird-a-Lea." In them the
author narrates the events leading up to "Uncle Frank's Mary," and
endeavors to satisfy the demand for "more about Berta and Beth," those
mischievous, lovable "twinnies," who furnish much of the amusement and
not a little of the excitement in the "Mary Selwyn Books."_
Mary's Rainbow
_by_
"CLEMENTIA"
[Transcriber's note: Real name--Sister Mary Edward Feehan]
Author of
Mostly Mary
Uncle Frank's Mary
The Quest of Mary Selwyn
Bird-a-Lea, etc.
MATRE & COMPANY
CHICAGO
1922
Copyright 1922 by
MATRE & COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
Printed in U. S. A.
[Illustration: Two little girls on a swing.]
_To_
_another very dear little_
Mary
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. Gene
II. Busy Days
III. Mary's Secret
IV. Maryvale
V. Christmas
VI. The Land of Sunshine
VII. Through Storm to the Rainbow
VIII. That Moving Week--Monday
IX. Monday--Continued
X. Tuesday
XI. Wednesday
XII. Thursday
XIII. New Friends
XIV. Naming the Pets
XV. Only the Beginning
MARY'S RAINBOW
CHAPTER I.
GENE.
"You have grown very fond of your good nurse, haven't you, Mary?"
"Indeed I have, Uncle. I wish she could go South with us after
Christmas."
"But don't you think it would be selfish of us to take her away from
little folks who really need her? That brings us to a matter of
importance which I must discuss with you this evening."
Mary, in her usual place on her uncle's knee, fixed her eyes on the
fire, folded her hands, and tried to look very grave and grown-up; for
to talk over a matter of importance with Doctor Carlton was, in her
opinion, a very serious thing indeed.
"I have a patient, a little boy four years old, who has injured his
spine. He can be cured, I think, if he has proper care. He is an only
child and is somewhat spoiled, and the pain he is suffering makes him
very peevish and cross. His poor mother is quite worn out, for he
insists on having her beside him day and night. We had a fine nurse
for him, but he took a dislike to her and would not let her come near
him. Now, the only one I know who can handle this case is Sister
Julia. She has a way of her own with children, as you well know. You
are improving so fast that you really no longer need her; so I think we
had better let her go to that poor little fellow who does; don't you?"
The Doctor watched Mary's face over which a look of dismay had spread,
and he saw the struggle that was going on in her heart, which sank very
low at the thought of the long, long days all alone, except for the
servants, in the big house. She locked her frail little fingers
tightly together and winked very hard before she answered in a voice
scarcely above a whisper; "Ye----es, Uncle,----and----and maybe you can
come home a little earlier, just a _little_ earlier every evening,
and----and stay longer at luncheon, and----and will you ask Mrs. Burns
and Mrs. Lee to let Hazel and Rosemary come in to play with me for a
while every day on their way home from school and take turns spending
the day with me on Saturdays----" Her voice broke, and she hid her
face against his coat.
"Why, little one, you don't think for an instant that you will be here
alone all day, do you? Of course, you may have as many of your little
friends as you please come to visit you. I could not allow that while
you were so weak; but there is no reason now why they may not come very
often. I have made plans, however, so that you need not be alone for a
single moment of the day. Sister Julia has a young friend, Miss
Donnelly, who often takes her place in cases like this. I know her
quite well and feel very sure that you will like her. She is about
sixteen--not a bit too old to enjoy your games--and she is an expert
dolls' dress-maker."
"Is she a little young lady or a big young lady, Uncle? I do hope she
is small. I like little people best."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Oh, I mean small ladies. Mother is not very big, you know, and all of
her friends that I love best are small. But I like men to be big like
you and Father. You are both just exactly right. I have often seen a
great big lady pass here, and I am sure that I would not like her at
all. She wears a long black coat like an overcoat, and a hat almost
exactly like a man's. Her hair is always brushed back as smooth as
smooth can be. She hasn't any pretty, soft, little curls like
Mother's."
"I know that lady very well. She is a doctor, and her patients,
especially children, think everything of her. So you see how unwise it
is to judge from a person's appearance." The Doctor tweaked the little
girl's ear, and his eyes twinkled as he went on, "At any rate, I have
engaged Miss Donnelly without regard to her size or style of dress; so
we shall have to give her a fair trial, at least."
"Ye----es, Uncle, of course. It wouldn't be very p'lite to tell her we
don't want her after you have asked her to come. And I shall try as
hard as I can to love her even if she is as big as the doctor lady and
wears a man's hat and coat."
Mary smiled bravely up at him as she lifted her face for his good-night
kiss. "When----when is she coming, Uncle?"
"To-morrow morning, dear. By the way, you must not try to come down to
breakfast for a few days. Luncheon and dinner will be enough for you,
so take a long sleep in the morning."
Mary's heart was very heavy as she went up the stairs with Sister
Julia. Even with this good friend to comfort and cheer her, the little
girl had spent many lonely hours since her parents and baby sisters had
sailed for Europe, where her father's business required that he should
live for a year. Mary had not been able to go with them, because she
had been very ill and was not strong enough for the long voyage. So
she had been left with her mother's brother, who had always made his
home with the Selwyns. During her long illness, Mary had grown to love
Sister Julia very, very much. What would she ever do now with a
stranger? And the letters from her father and mother, which her uncle
had felt so sure would arrive that day, had not come. Yes, it was a
sad-hearted little Mary who laid her head on her pillow that night and
tried to picture the new companion her uncle had found for her.
Two hours later, the Doctor himself was sorry that he had not told her
more of Miss Donnelly; for when he tiptoed to her bedside, he found her
pillow wet with tears; and as he lightly kissed her forehead, she
murmured in her sleep, "O Uncle! I wish she wasn't so big--not _quite_
so big."
After dreaming for the greater part of the night of a very large,
strong young girl with fair hair drawn back so tightly that she could
scarcely wink, Mary slept quite late in the morning. She had just
finished her breakfast when Liza, the house-maid, came in with a card
for Sister Julia. Mary felt that the dreaded hour had come, and
remembering her promise to her uncle, braced herself to meet the Miss
Donnelly of her dreams. Yes, they were coming up the stairs. She
could hear Sister Julia's merry laugh. The next moment the nurse
entered the room followed by a young girl dressed in brown from top to
toe. Laughing, dark eyes in a small, oval face framed in soft, little,
brown curls won Mary at once. She stretched out her arms with a cry of
delight. "Oh, you are just too dear!"
"And you are just too darling!" The little brown lady ran to the
bedside and hugged the child.
"I wish, oh, I wish that you were going to stay with me
instead----instead of----"
"Instead of that cross old Sister Julia," laughed the nurse.
"No, no, _no_, Sister! You have never, _never_ been cross--not once.
I mean instead of----well, it isn't very nice to say, but I just can't
help it----instead of Miss Donnelly."
"But this is Miss Donnelly, dear."
"Why----why----but Uncle said----no, he didn't exactly say it, but I
thought Miss Donnelly was----different."
"And I thought _you_ were different. Just wait until I see your uncle!
As you say, he did not exactly tell me so, but I thought I was to take
care of a little old lady who would not give me a chance to sit still
one minute. What sort of a Miss Donnelly did you think I would be?"
"The one I dreamed of all night was big and strong and had a very loud
voice and wore her hair plastered back and----and oh! I _am_ so glad
she isn't real! Isn't Uncle a tease! But I am not going to scold him
one bit since he sent me the right kind of a Miss Donnelly."
"And now, dear, I must say good-bye. Your Uncle sent the carriage for
Miss Donnelly, and Liza says that Jim is waiting to drive me to the
home of my new patient."
"But you will come to see us often and often, Sister, and when the
little boy is well, you will come back to us, won't you?"
"I hope you will be so well and strong by that time, Mary, that you
will not need me. My work is to take care of the sick, you know. But
I shall stop in to see you on the days when I return to our convent;
and when you are able to go out, you and Gene must come to see me. I
am sure that my new patient will be glad to have you visit him."
Mary threw her arms about Sister Julia and clung to her until Gene
declared that she was growing jealous. On her return to the little
girl's room after seeing the Sister into the carriage, she caught Mary
hastily wiping her eyes, but pretended not to see and asked cheerfully,
"Now, what shall we do first?"
"The very first thing, Miss Donnelly, will be for me to get dressed."
"Very well, Miss Selwyn," was the prim reply.
"Why----why I am just Mary, Miss Donnelly. I am only seven and a half.
No one _ever_ calls me _Miss_ Selwyn."
"And I am just Eugenia, Miss Selwyn. I am only sixteen, and no one
ever calls me anything but Gene. So if you wish me to call you Mary,
you must call me Gene."
"But----but I think I ought to call you _Miss_ Gene. Mother told me
always to say Miss before the names of the big sisters of the little
girls I know."
"This is a very different case. I should so like to play that I am
your big sister; for, you see, I am the youngest in our family, so I
have never had a little sister. Don't you think that we could pretend
we are sisters?"
"Yes, yes, of course we can! I have never had a big sister; but if I
had one, I should wish her to be exactly like you."
Gene promptly hugged the little girl. "And you would not call her
_Miss_ Gene, would you? Oh, I shall be very lonely if you call me
that."
"I know what we can do. I shall call you Gene until Uncle comes home
to luncheon; and then, if he thinks it will be all right, I can tell
Mother about it when I write to her. I wish you knew Father and Mother
and my darling little twin sisters and dear old Aunt Mandy, their
nurse. But I shall show you their pictures the very first thing. They
are in that kodak book on the table. You will have to know everything
about them if you are going to be my big sister, you know; and some day
when Uncle thinks I am well enough, we shall go out to Maryvale to see
Aunt Mary. She is a Sister, and Maryvale is the name of the convent.
Her name is Sister Madeline." And while Gene helped Mary to dress, the
little girl told her so much about her dear ones that she soon felt she
knew them very well indeed.
Later on, when Gene had seen her dolls and games and books, Mary said,
"There is something very important that I must ask you about, Gene. It
is Christmas presents. Do you know any things that I can make? Of
course, they will have to be easy things. Mother and I always went
shopping early in December and bought some of the presents--things for
Aunt Mandy and Liza and Susie and Tom and for some of the little girls
I know; but ever since I was a little bit of a thing, she helped me
make something for Father and Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary. And Father
helped me with a present for Mother. She says people 'preciate gifts
more when they know we have made them specially for them. The trouble
is, I can't sew very well, and I don't know how to crochet anything but
chain stitch; and there is nothing a person can make out of a long
string of chain stitch."
"Oh, yes, there is, Mary. If you crochet very heavy silk thread in
chain stitch, it makes the loveliest cord for calendars and things like
that."
"I made calendars last year, but we used ribbon for hanging them up.
Mother bought me some cards with holes in them, and I sewed them with
colored silks and pasted a little calendar on each one. Father's card
had a rose on it; and Uncle's a Christmas tree; and Aunt Mary's had
Santa Claus going down a chimney. Then Father went to the very same
store where Mother had bought the cards and got one for her with a
bluebird on it, because Mother calls me her little bluebird. I always
wear blue and white, because I am dedicated to Blessed Mother. Beth
is, too; and Berta, to the Sacred Heart. And one day when Mother was
out, I made her calendar, and she was so s'prised. I just love to
s'prise people, don't you? And the bluebird is for happiness; so it
was just right for Mother, because I want her to be happy every minute
of the whole year. I s'pose it won't do to make calendars again."
"They are very useful things, Mary, and everyone likes a pretty one.
You could make a different kind this year. Do you ever use these
paints? I see you have crayolas, too."
"Yes, Gene, I often try to draw and paint; but I am better at pasting
than anything else."
"The calendars I have in mind will have to be pasted, too. This
afternoon while you are taking your nap, I shall go to a store not far
from here where I can get everything we need; and to-morrow we shall
begin work."
"Oh, goody! Uncle said last evening that the things we are going to
send to Italy must be ready early next week. But what can I make for
the babies? They can't use calendars, you know. Aunt Mandy was going
to teach me to knit something for them, and then I got sick. I even
had some nice, soft, white worsted to begin with."
"Have you any colored worsted?"
"There is a big box of all colors on the shelf of the closet in
Mother's room. I know that it will be all right for us to use it,
because Mother always gave me some of it when I needed it for my dolls."
After a little search, they found the box.
"This is just the thing, Mary, and it is so heavy that it will work up
quickly."
"But please tell me what I am going to make, Gene."
"It is something that the babies cannot use until they are a little
older, but they will have ever so much fun with it then. It is a pair
of horse reins; and we shall sew tiny brass sleigh bells across the
front and over the shoulders. Now, the first thing we need is a large
spool."
"I know where to find one--in the machine drawer."
Into the top of the spool, Gene drove four strong pins, and fastening
the red worsted around them, began the reins. "We shall make about
five inches of each color, and your little sisters----"
"_Our_ little sisters, Gene."
"Yes, of course--our little sisters will have the gayest horse reins
you ever did see."
For the rest of the morning, Mary worked busily while Gene unpacked her
trunk; and when the Doctor came home to luncheon, the little girl had
added five inches of blue and five of yellow to the reins. She took
her work down stairs to show it to him. "And, Uncle, I have something
very important to ask you. Miss Donnelly says it will make her lonely
to be called Miss anybody, and she has asked me to call her Gene. Of
course, Mother told me always to say Miss. But Miss Donnelly thinks it
would be nice to pretend we are sisters, and I wouldn't call my big
sister, Miss."
"I am very sure, dear, that if it will make Miss Donnelly feel more at
home with us, Mother would approve of your calling her Gene."
"Then you will have to call her that, too, Uncle; because if she is my
sister, she is your niece; and you wouldn't call your own niece Miss
somebody."
"Very well, if Miss Donnelly wishes me to call her Gene, I shall do so."
"Thank you, Doctor. I feel very much at home already."
"But----but Gene, if you are my big sister, you ought to say Uncle
Frank, not Doctor."
"We must let Gene please herself about that, Mary," laughed the Doctor.
"I can easily see how she might wish to have you for her little sister
without adopting the whole family."
"W----ell,----but I think she will be sorry if she doesn't adopt you,
Uncle. Oh, that reminds me! We need some ribbon and Christmas tags
and seals and ever so many things for the presents we are going to
make; and Gene says that she will buy them for me this afternoon while
I am taking my nap. I am afraid I haven't money enough in my bank to
pay for them, Uncle."
The Doctor took a bill from his pocket book.
"This will probably cover the cost of your purchases. When you need
more, Gene, let me know."