OFF TO THE NAVY
PHOEBE was glad when David came to her with the news that he had been
accepted for the navy and was going to Norfolk.
"That's so far away he won't come home soon," she thought. "It'll give
me a chance to arrange for the operation. I hope he goes soon. That's a
dreadful thing to say! The days are all too short for Mother Bab, I
know."
If the days seemed Mercury-shod to the blind mother she did not
complain.
"It's hard to let you go," she said to her boy, "but it would be harder
to see you a slacker. Phoebe is going to read to me now when you go.
She'll be up here often."
"Yes, that makes it easier for me to go, mommie."
"Don't you worry about me. Phoebe will be good company for me and she'll
write my letters for me. We'll send you so many you'll be busy reading
them."
"I'm going to make her promise that," he declared with a laugh.
He exacted the promise as Mother Bab and Phoebe stood with him and
waited for the train to carry him away. "Mother, you and Phoebe must
take me to the train," he had said. "I want you to be the last picture
I see as the train pulls out." Phoebe had assented, though she thought
ruefully of the deficiency of the English language, which has but one
form for singular _you_ and plural _you_. She wondered whether he
included her in the picture he wanted to cherish in his memory. Now,
when he was going away from her she knew that she loved her old
playmate, that he was the one man in the world for her. She loved David,
she would always love him! She wanted to run to him and tell him so, but
centuries of restriction had bequeathed to her the universal fear of
womanhood to reveal a love that has not been sought. She felt that in
all her life she had never wanted anything so keenly as she wanted to
hear David Eby tell her that he loved her, that her face would be with
him in whatever circumstances the future should place him. But David
could not read the heart of his old playmate, and while his own heart
cried out for its mate his words were commonplace.
"Mother has promised that I'm to have so many letters that I can't read
them all. As you're to be private secretary, you'll have to promise to
carry out her promise."
"David," she met him with equal jest, "you have as many promises in that
sentence as a candidate for political office."
"But I want them better kept than that," he said, laughing. "Will you
promise, Phoebe?"
"Promise what?" she asked, the levity fading suddenly.
"To write often for mother."
"Yes--I promise to write often for Mother Bab," she said, and the man
could not know the effort the simple words cost her. "Oh, Davie," she
thought, "it's not for Mother Bab alone I want to write to you! I want
to write you _my_ letters, letters of a girl to the man she loves. How
blind you are!"
The moment was becoming tense. It was Mother Bab who turned the tide
into a normal channel. "Now, don't you worry, Davie. I can make Phoebe
mind me."
The train whistled. Phoebe drew a long breath and prayed that the train
would make a short stop and speed along for she could not endure much
more. She looked at Mother Bab. The hysteria was turned from her. She
knew she would have to be brave for the sake of the dear mother.
"I'll take care of Mother Bab, David," she promised as the train drew
in, "and I'll write often."
"Phoebe, you're an angel!" He grasped both hands in his for a long
moment. Then he turned to his mother, folded her in his arms and kissed
her.
"There he is," Phoebe cried as the train moved. She was eyes for Mother
Bab. "Turn to the right a bit and wave; that's it! He's waving back----
Oh, Mother Bab, he's waving that box of sand-tarts Aunt Maria gave him!
They'll be in pieces!"
"Sand-tarts," said the other, still waving to the boy she could not see.
"Well, he'll eat them if they are broken. Davie is crazy for cookies."
"I'm going to need you more than ever now, Phoebe," Mother Bab said as
they started home. "Aunt Mary and Phares are so busy and I feel it's so
lovely of them to have me there when I can do so little to help, that I
don't want to make them more trouble than I must. So if you'll take care
of the writing to David for me I'll be glad." Ah, blind Mother Bab, you
had splendid vision just then!
"I'll write for you. I'll love to do it. Mother Bab----" She hesitated.
Should she broach the subject of the operation now? Perhaps it would be
kind to divert the thoughts of the mother from the recent parting.
"Mother Bab, I've thought about what you said, and I think you should
have that operation. The doctor said there was a chance."
"Ach, a very slim one. One chance in--I don't know how many!"
"But a chance!"
"Yes"--the woman thought a moment--"but it would cost lots of money, I
guess. I didn't ask the doctor, but I know operations are dear. I have
fifty dollars saved, but that wouldn't go far."
"But don't you know," the girl said guilelessly, "that all big hospitals
have free rooms and do lots of work for nothing? Many rich people endow
rooms in hospitals. If you could get into one like that and pay just a
little, would you go?"
A light seemed to settle upon the face of the blind woman. "Why," she
answered slowly, "why, Phoebe, I never thought of that! I didn't
remember--why, I guess I would--yes, of course! I'd go and make a fight
for that one chance!"
"I knew you'd be brave! You'll have that operation, Mother Bab! I'll
write to Dr. Munster right away. But don't you let Phares write and tell
David. We'll surprise him!"
"Ach, but won't he be glad if I can see when he comes home!"
"Won't he though! I'll make all the arrangements; don't you worry about
it at all."
"My, you're good to me, Phoebe!"
"Good--after all you've done for me!"
"_Good_," she thought after Mother Bab had been left at the home of
Phares and Phoebe turned homeward. "She calls me good the first time I
deceive her. I've begun that tangled web and I know I'll have to tell a
whole pack of lies before I'm through with it."