Produced by University of Pennsylvania project "A
Celebration of Women Writers" and by Gardner Buchanan.
HTML version by Al Haines.
Sowing Seeds in Danny
by
Nellie L. McClung
This story is lovingly dedicated to my dear mother.
"SO MANY FAITHS--SO MANY CREEDS,--
SO MANY PATHS THAT WIND AND WIND
WHILE JUST THE ART OF BEING KIND,--
IS WHAT THE OLD WORLD NEEDS!"
People of the Story
MRS. BURTON FRANCIS--a dreamy woman, who has beautiful theories.
MR. FRANCIS--her silent husband.
CAMILLA ROSE--a capable young woman who looks after Mrs. Francis's
domestic affairs, and occasionally helps her to apply her theories.
THE WATSON FAMILY, consisting of--
JOHN WATSON--a man of few words who works on the "Section."
MRS. WATSON--who washes for Mrs. Francis.
PEARL WATSON--an imaginative, clever little girl, twelve years old,
who is the mainstay of the family.
MARY WATSON--a younger sister.
TEDDY WATSON.
BILLY WATSON.
JIMMY WATSON.
PATSEY WATSON.
TOMMY WATSON.
ROBERT ROBLIN WATSON, known as "Bugsey."
DANIEL MULCAHEY WATSON--"Wee Danny."
"Teddy will be fourteen on St. Patrick's Day and Danny
will be four come March."
MRS. McGUIRE--an elderly Irishwoman of uncertain temper who lives
on the next lot.
DR. BARNER--the old doctor of the village, clever man in his
profession, but of intemperate habits.
MARY BARNER--his beautiful daughter.
DR. HORACE CLAY--a young doctor, who has recently come to the village.
REV. HUGH GRANTLEY--the young minister.
SAMUEL MOTHERWELL--a well off but very stingy farmer.
MRS. MOTHERWELL--his wife.
TOM MOTHERWELL--their son.
ARTHUR WEMYSS--a young Englishman who is trying to learn to farm.
JIM RUSSELL--an ambitious young farmer who lives near the Motherwells.
JAMES DUCKER--a retired farmer, who has political aspirations.
CONTENTS
I. Sowing Seeds in Danny
II. The Old Doctor
III. The Pink Lady
IV. The Band of Hope
V. The Relict of the Late McGuire
VI. The Musical Sense
VII. "One of Manitoba's Prosperous Farmers"
VIII. The Other Doctor
IX. The Live Wire
X. The Butcher Ride
XI. How Pearl Watson Wiped out the Stain
XII. From Camilla's Diary
XIII. The Fifth Son
XIV. The Faith that Moveth Mountains
XV. "Inasmuch"
XVI. How Polly Went Home
XVII. "Egbert and Edythe"
XVIII. The Party at Slater's
XIX. Pearl's Diary
XX. Tom's New Viewpoint
XXI. The Crack in the Granite
XXII. Shadows
XXIII. Saved
XXIV. The Harvest
XXV. Cupid's Emissary
XXVI. The Thanksgiving
Conclusion: Convincing Camilla
Sowing Seeds in Danny
CHAPTER I
SOWING SEEDS IN DANNY
In her comfortable sitting room Mrs. J. Burton Francis sat, at peace
with herself and all mankind. The glory of the short winter afternoon
streamed into the room and touched with new warmth and tenderness the
face of a Madonna on the wall.
The whole room suggested peace. The quiet elegance of its furnishings,
the soft leather-bound books on the table, the dreamy face of the
occupant, who sat with folded hands looking out of the window, were all
in strange contrast to the dreariness of the scene below, where the one
long street of the little Manitoba town, piled high with snow,
stretched away into the level, white, never-ending prairie. A farmer
tried to force his tired horses through the drifts; a little boy with a
milk-pail plodded bravely from door to door, sometimes laying down his
burden to blow his breath on his stinging fingers.
The only sound that disturbed the quiet of the afternoon in Mrs.
Francis's sitting room was the regular rub-rub of the wash-board in the
kitchen below.
"Mrs. Watson is slow with the washing to-day," Mrs. Francis murmured
with a look of concern on her usually placid face. "Possibly she is not
well. I will call her and see."
"Mrs. Watson, will you come upstairs, please?" she called from the
stairway.
Mrs. Watson, slow and shambling, came up the stairs, and stood in the
doorway wiping her face on her apron.
"Is it me ye want ma'am?" she asked when she had recovered her breath.
"Yes, Mrs. Watson," Mrs. Francis said sweetly. "I thought perhaps you
were not feeling well to-day. I have not heard you singing at your
work, and the washing seems to have gone slowly. You must be very
careful of your health, and not overdo your strength."
While she was speaking, Mrs. Watson's eyes were busy with the room, the
pictures on the wall, the cosey window-seat with its numerous cushions;
the warmth and brightness of it all brought a glow to her tired face.
"Yes, ma'am," she said, "thank ye kindly, ma'am. It is very kind of ye
to be thinkin' o' the likes of me."
"Oh, we should always think of others, you know," Mrs. Francis replied
quickly with her most winning smile, as she seated herself in a
rocking-chair. "Are the children all well? Dear little Danny, how is
he?"
"Indade, ma'am, that same Danny is the upsettinest one of the nine, and
him only four come March. It was only this morn's mornin' that he sez
to me, sez he, as I was comin' away, 'Ma, d'ye think she'll give ye pie
for your dinner? Thry and remimber the taste of it, won't ye ma, and
tell us when ye come home,' sez he."
"Oh, the sweet prattle of childhood," said Mrs. Francis, clasping her
shapely white hands. "How very interesting it must be to watch their
young minds unfolding as the flower! Is it nine little ones you have,
Mrs. Watson?"
"Yes, nine it is, ma'am. God save us. Teddy will be fourteen on St.
Patrick's Day, and all the rest are younger."
"It is a great responsibility to be a mother, and yet how few there be
that think of it," added Mrs. Francis, dreamily.
"Thrue for ye ma'am," Mrs. Watson broke in. "There's my own man, John
Watson. That man knows no more of what it manes than you do yerself
that hasn't one at all at all, the Lord be praised; and him the father
of nine."
"I have just been reading a great book by Dr. Ernestus Parker, on
'Motherhood.' It would be a great benefit to both you and your husband."
"Och, ma'am," Mrs. Watson broke in, hastily, "John is no hand for books
and has always had his suspicions o' them since his own mother's
great-uncle William Mulcahey got himself transported durin' life or
good behaviour for havin' one found on him no bigger'n an almanac, at
the time of the riots in Ireland. No, ma'am, John wouldn't rade it at
all at all, and he don't know one letther from another, what's more."
"Then if you would read it and explain it to him, it would be so
helpful to you both, and so inspiring. It deals so ably with the
problems of child-training. You must be puzzled many times in the
training of so many little minds, and Dr. Parker really does throw
wonderful light on all the problems that confront mothers. And I am
sure the mother of nine must have a great many perplexities."
Yes, Mrs. Watson had a great many perplexities--how to make trousers
for four boys out of the one old pair the minister's wife had given
her; how to make the memory of the rice-pudding they had on Sunday last
all the week; how to work all day and sew at night, and still be brave
and patient; how to make little Danny and Bugsey forget they were cold
and hungry. Yes, Mrs. Watson had her problems; but they were not the
kind that Dr. Ernestus Parker had dealt with in his book on
"Motherhood."
"But I must not keep you, Mrs. Watson," Mrs. Francis said, as she
remembered the washing. "When you go downstairs will you kindly bring
me up a small red notebook that you will find on the desk in the
library?"
"Yes ma'am," said Mrs. Watson, and went heavily down the stairs. She
found the book and brought it up.
While she was making the second laborious journey down the softly
padded stairs, Mrs. Francis was making an entry in the little red book.
Dec. 7, 1903. Talked with one woman to-day RE Beauty
of Motherhood. Recommended Dr. Parker's book. Believe
good done.
Then she closed the book with a satisfied feeling. She was going to
have a very full report for her department at the next Annual
Convention of the Society for Propagation of Lofty Ideals.
In another part of the same Manitoba town lived John Watson,
unregenerate hater of books, his wife and their family of nine. Their
first dwelling when they had come to Manitoba from the Ottawa Valley,
thirteen years ago, had been C. P. R. box-car No. 722, but this had
soon to be enlarged, which was done by adding to it other car-roofed
shanties. One of these was painted a bright yellow and was a little
larger than the others. It had been the caboose of a threshing outfit
that John had worked for in '96. John was the fireman and when the
boiler blew up and John was carried home insensible the "boys" felt
that they should do something for the widow and orphans. They raised
one hundred and sixty dollars forthwith, every man contributing his
wages for the last four days. The owner of the outfit, Sam Motherwell,
in a strange fit of generosity, donated the caboose.
The next fall Sam found that he needed the caboose himself, and came
with his trucks to take it back. He claimed that he had given it with
the understanding that John was going to die. John had not fulfilled
his share of the contract, and Sam felt that his generosity had been
misplaced.
John was cutting wood beside his dwelling when Sam arrived with his
trucks, and accused him of obtaining goods under false pretences. John
was a man of few words and listened attentively to Sam's reasoning.
From the little window of the caboose came the discordant wail of a
very young infant, and old Sam felt his claims growing more and more
shadowy.
John took the pipe from his mouth and spat once at the woodpile. Then,
jerking his thumb toward the little window, he said briefly:
"Twins. Last night."
Sam Motherwell mounted his trucks and drove away. He knew when he was
beaten.
The house had received additions on every side, until it seemed to
threaten to run over the edge of the lot, and looked like a section of
a wrecked freight train, with its yellow refrigerator car.
The snow had drifted up to the windows, and entirely over the little
lean-to that had been erected at the time that little Danny had added
his feeble wail to the general family chorus.
But the smoke curled bravely up from the chimney into the frosty air,
and a snug pile of wood by the "cheek of the dure" gave evidence of
John's industry, notwithstanding his dislike of the world's best
literature.
Inside the floor was swept and the stove was clean, and an air of
comfort was over all, in spite of the evidence of poverty. A great
variety of calendars hung on the wall. Every store in town it seems had
sent one this year, last year and the year before. A large poster of
the Winnipeg Industrial Exhibition hung in the parlour, and a
Massey-Harris self-binder, in full swing, propelled by three maroon
horses, swept through a waving field of golden grain, driven by an
adipose individual in blue shirt and grass-green overalls. An enlarged
picture of John himself glared grimly from a very heavy frame, on the
opposite wall, the grimness of it somewhat relieved by the row of
Sunday-school "big cards" that were stuck in around the frame.
On the afternoon that Mrs. Watson had received the uplifting talk on
motherhood, and Mrs. Francis had entered it in the little red book,
Pearlie Watson, aged twelve, was keeping the house, as she did six days
in the week. The day was too cold for even Jimmy to be out, and so all
except the three eldest boys were in the kitchen variously engaged.
Danny under promise of a story was in the high chair submitting to a
thorough going over with soap and water. Patsey, looking up from his
self-appointed task of brushing the legs of the stove with the
hair-brush, loudly demanded that the story should begin at once.
"Story, is it?" cried Pearlie in her wrath, as she took the hair-brush
from Patsey. "What time have I to be thinkin' of stories and you that
full of badness. My heart is bruck wid ye."
"I'll be good now," Patsey said, penitently, sitting on the wood-box,
and tenderly feeling his skinned nose. "I got hurt to-day, mind that,
Pearlie."
"So ye did, poor bye," said Pearlie, her wrath all gone, "and what will
I tell yez about, my beauties?"
"The pink lady where Jimmy brings the milk," said Patsey promptly.
"But it's me that's gettin' combed," wailed Danny. "I should say what
ye'r to tell, Pearlie."
"True for ye," said Pearlie, "Howld ye'r tongue, Patsey. What will I
tell about, honey?"
"What Patsey said'll do" said Danny with an injured air, "and don't
forget the chockalut drops she had the day ma was there and say she
sent three o' them to me, and you can have one o' them, Pearlie."
"And don't forget the big plate o' potatoes and gravy and mate she gave
the dog, and the cake she threw in the fire to get red of it," said
Mary, who was knitting a sock for Teddy.
"No, don't tell that," said Jimmy, "it always makes wee Bugsey cry."
"Well," began Pearlie, as she had done many times before. "Once upon a
time not very long ago, there lived a lovely pink lady in a big house
painted red, with windies in ivery side of it, and a bell on the front
dure, and a velvet carpet on the stair and--"
"What's a stair?' asked Bugsey.
"It's a lot of boxes piled up higher and higher, and nailed down tight
so that ye can walk on them, and when ye get away up high, there is
another house right farninst ye--well anyway, there was a lovely pianny
in the parlow, and flowers in the windies, and two yalla burds that
sing as if their hearts wud break, and the windies had a border of
coloured glass all around them, and long white curtings full of holes,
but they like them all the better o' that, for it shows they are owld
and must ha' been good to ha' stood it so long. Well, annyway, there
was a little boy called Jimmie Watson"--here all eyes were turned on
Jimmy, who was sitting on the floor mending his moccasin with a piece
of sinew. "There was a little boy called Jimmy Watson who used to carry
milk to the lady's back dure, and a girl with black eyes and white
teeth all smiley used to take it from him, and put it in a lovely
pitcher with birds flying all over it. But one day the lady, herself,
was there all dressed in lovely pink velvet and lace, and a train as
long as from me to you, and she sez to Jimmy, sez she, 'Have you any
sisters or brothers at home,' and Jim speaks up real proud-like, 'Just
nine,' he sez, and sez she, swate as you please, 'Oh, that's lovely!
Are they all as purty as you?' she sez, and Jimmy sez, 'Purtier if
anything,' and she sez, 'I'll be steppin' over to-day to see yer ma,'
and Jim ran home and told them all, and they all got brushed and combed
and actin' good, and in she comes, laving her carriage at the dure, and
her in a long pink velvet cape draggin' behind her on the flure, and
wide white fer all around it, her silk skirts creakin' like a bag of
cabbage and the eyes of her just dancin' out of her head, and she says,
'These are fine purty childer ye have here, Mrs. Watson. This is a rale
purty girl, this oldest one. What's her name?' and ma ups and tells her
it is Rebecca Jane Pearl, named for her two grandmothers, and Pearl
just for short. She says, 'I'll be for taking you home wid me, Pearlie,
to play the pianny for me,' and then she asks all around what the
children's names is, and then she brings out a big box, from under her
cape, all tied wid store string, and she planks it on the table and
tearin' off the string, she sez, 'Now, Pearlie, it's ladies first,
tibby sure. What would you like to see in here?' And I says up
quick--'A long coat wid fer on it, and a handkerchief smellin' strong
of satchel powder,' and she whipped them out of the box and threw them
on my knee, and a new pair of red mitts too. And then she says, 'Mary,
acushla, it's your turn now.' And Mary says, 'A doll with a real head
on it,' and there it was as big as Danny, all dressed in green satin,
opening its eyes, if you plaze."
"Now, me!" roared Danny, squirming in his chair.
"'Daniel Mulcahey Watson, what wud you like?' she says, and Danny ups
and says, 'Chockaluts and candy men and taffy and curren' buns and
ginger bread,' and she had every wan of them."
"'Robert Roblin Watson, him as they call Bugsey, what would you like?'
and 'Patrick Healy Watson, as is called Patsey, what is your choice?'
says she, and--"
In the confusion that ensued while these two young gentlemen thus
referred to stated their modest wishes, their mother came in, tired and
pale, from her hard day's work.
"How is the pink lady to-day, ma?" asked Pearlie, setting Danny down
and beginning operations on Bugsey.
"Oh, she's as swate as ever, an' can talk that soft and kind about
children as to melt the heart in ye."
Danny crept up on his mother's knee "Ma, did she give ye pie?" he
asked, wistfully.
"Yes, me beauty, and she sent this to you wid her love," and Mrs.
Watson took a small piece out of a newspaper from under her cape. It
was the piece that had been set on the kitchen table for Mrs. Watson's
dinner. Danny called them all to have a bite.
"Sure it's the first bite that's always the best, a body might not like
it so well on the second," said Jimmy as he took his, but Bugsey
refused to have any at all. "Wan bite's no good," he said, "it just
lets yer see what yer missin."
"D'ye think she'll ever come to see us, ma?" asked Pearlie, as she set
Danny in the chair to give him his supper. The family was fed in
divisions. Danny was always in Division A.
"Her? Is it?" said Mrs. Watson and they all listened, for Pearlie's
story to-day had far surpassed all her former efforts, and it seemed as
if there must be some hope of its coming true. "Why och! childer dear,
d'ye think a foine lady like her would be bothered with the likes of
us? She is r'adin' her book, and writin' letthers, and thinkin' great
thoughts, all the time. When she was speakin' to me to-day, she looked
at me so wonderin' and faraway I could see that she thought I wasn't
there at all at all, and me farninst her all the time--no childer,
dear, don't be thinkin' of it, and Pearlie, I think ye'd better not be
puttin' notions inter their heads. Yer father wouldn't like it. Well
Danny, me man, how goes it?" went on Mrs. Watson, as her latest born
was eating his rather scanty supper. "It's not skim milk and dhry bread
ye'd be havin', if you were her child this night, but taffy candy
filled wid nuts and chunks o' cake as big as yer head." Whereupon Danny
wailed dismally, and had to be taken from his chair and have the
"Little Boy Blue" sung to him, before he could be induced to go on with
his supper.
The next morning when Jimmy brought the milk to Mrs. Francis's back
door the dark-eyed girl with the "smiley" teeth let him in, and set a
chair beside the kitchen stove for him to warm his little blue hands.
While she was emptying the milk into the pitcher with the birds on it,
Mrs. Francis, with a wonderful pink kimono on, came into the kitchen.
"Who is this boy, Camilla?" she asked, regarding Jimmy with a critical
gaze.
"This is Master James Watson, Mrs. Francis," answered Camilla with her
pleasant smile. "He brings the milk every morning."
"Oh yes; of course, I remember now," said Mrs. Francis, adjusting her
glasses. "How old is the baby, James?"
"Danny is it?" said Jim. "He's four come March."
"Is he very sweet and cunning James, and do you love him very much?"
"Oh, he's all right," Jim answered sheepishly.
"It is a great privilege to have a little brother like Daniel. You must
be careful to set before him a good example of honesty and sobriety. He
will be a man some day, and if properly trained he may be a useful
factor in the uplifting and refining of the world. I love little
children," she went on rapturously, looking at Jimmy as if he wasn't
there at all, "and I would love to train one, for service in the world
to uplift and refine."
"Yes ma'am," said Jimmy. He felt that something was expected of him,
but he was not sure what.
"Will you bring Daniel to see me to-morrow, James?" she said, as
Camilla handed him his pail. "I would like to speak to his young mind
and endeavour to plant the seeds of virtue and honesty in that fertile
soil."
When Jimmy got home he told Pearlie of his interview with the pink
lady, as much as he could remember. The only thing that he was sure of
was that she wanted to see Danny, and that she had said something about
planting seeds in him.
Jimmy and Pearlie thought it best not to mention Danny's proposed visit
to their mother, for they knew that she would be fretting about his
clothes, and would be sitting up mending and sewing for him when she
should be sleeping. So they resolved to say "nothin' to nobody."
The next day their mother went away early to wash for the Methodist
minister's wife, and that was always a long day's work.
Then the work of preparation began on Danny. A wash-basin full of snow
was put on the stove to melt, and Danny was put in the high chair which
was always the place of his ablutions.
Pearlie began to think aloud. "Bugsey, your stockin's are the best. Off
wid them, Mary, and mend the hole in the knees of them, and, Bugsey,
hop into bed for we'll be needin' your pants anyway. It's awful stylish
for a little lad like Danny to be wearin' pants under his dresses, and
now what about boots? Let's see yours, Patsey. They're all gone in the
uppers, and Billy's are too big, even if they were here, but they're
off to school on him. I'll tell you what Mary, hurry up wid that sock
o' Ted's and we'll draw them on him over Bugsey's boots and purtind
they're overstockin's, and I'll carry him all the way so's not to dirty
them."
Mary stopped her dish-washing, and drying her hands on the thin towel
that hung over the looking glass, found her knitting and began to knit
at the top of her speed.
"Isn't it good we have that dress o' his, so good yet, that he got when
we had all of yez christened. Put the irons on there Mary; never mind,
don't stop your knittin'. I'll do it myself. We'll press it out a bit,
and we can put ma's handkerchief, the one pa gev her for Christmas,
around his neck, sort o' sailor collar style, to show he's a boy. And
now the snow is melted, I'll go at him. Don't cry now Danny, man, yer
going' up to the big house where the lovely pink lady lives that has
the chocaklut drops on her stand and chunks of cake on the table wid
nuts in them as big as marbles. There now," continued Pearlie, putting
the towel over her finger and penetrating Danny's ear, "she'll not say
she can plant seeds in you. Yer ears are as clean as hers," and Pearlie
stood back and took a critical view of Danny's ears front and back.
"Chockaluts?" asked Danny to be sure that he hadn't been mistaken.
"Yes," went on Pearlie to keep him still while she fixed his shock of
red hair into stubborn little curls, and she told again with ever
growing enthusiasm the story of the pink lady, and the wonderful things
she had in the box tied up with store string.
At last Danny was completed and stood on a chair for inspection. But
here a digression from the main issue occurred, for Bugsey had grown
tired of his temporary confinement and complained that Patsey had not
contributed one thing to Danny's wardrobe while he had had to give up
both his stockings and his pants.
Pearlie stopped in the work of combing her own hair to see what could
be done.
"Patsey, where's your gum?" she asked. "Git it for me this minute," and
Patsey went to the "fallen leaf" of the table and found it on the
inside where he had put it for safe keeping.
"Now you give that to Bugsey," she said, "and that'll make it kind o'
even though it does look as if you wuz gettin' off pretty light."
Pearlie struggled with her hair to make it lie down and "act dacint,"
but the image that looked back at her from the cracked glass was not
encouraging, even after making allowance for the crack, but she
comforted herself by saying, "Sure it's Danny she wants to see, and she
won't be lookin' much at me anyway."
Then the question arose, and for a while looked serious-- What was
Danny to wear on his head? Danny had no cap, nor ever had one. There
was one little red toque in the house that Patsey wore, but by an
unfortunate accident, it had that very morning fallen into the milk
pail and was now drying on the oven door. For a while it seemed as if
the visit would have to be postponed until it dried, when Mary had an
inspiration.
"Wrap yer cloud around his head and say you wuz feart of the earache,
the day is so cold."
This was done and a blanket off one of the beds was pressed into
service as an outer wrap for Danny. He was in such very bad humour at
being wrapped up so tight that Pearlie had to set him down on the bed
again to get a fresh grip on him.
"It's just as well I have no mitts," she said as she lifted her heavy
burden. "I couldn't howld him at all if I was bothered with mitts. Open
the dure, Patsey, and mind you shut it tight again. Keep up the fire,
Mary. Bugsey, lie still and chew your gum, and don't fight any of yez."
When Pearlie and her heavy burden arrived at Mrs. Francis's back door
they were admitted by the dark-haired Camilla, who set a rocking-chair
beside the kitchen stove for Pearlie to sit in while she unrolled
Danny, and when Danny in his rather remarkable costume stood up on
Pearlie's knee, Camilla laughed so good humouredly that Danny felt the
necessity of showing her all his accomplishments and so made the face
that Patsey had taught him by drawing down his eyes, and putting his
fingers in his mouth. Danny thought she liked it very much, for she
went hurriedly into the pantry and brought back a cookie for him.
The savoury smell of fried salmon, for it was near lunch time,
increased Danny's interest in his surroundings, and his eyes were big
with wonder when Mrs. Francis herself came in.
"And is this little Daniel!" she cried rapturously. "So sweet; so
innocent; so pure! Did Big Sister carry him all the way? Kind Big
Sister. Does oo love Big Sister?"
"Nope," Danny spoke up quickly, "just like chockaluts."
"How sweet of him, isn't it, really?" she said, "with the world all
before him, the great untried future lying vast and prophetic waiting
for his baby feet to enter. Well has Dr. Parker said; 'A little child
is a bundle of possibilities and responsibilities.'"
"If ye please, ma'am," Pearlie said timidly, not wishing to contradict
the lady, but still anxious to set her right, "it was just this blanket
I had him rolled in."
At which Camilla again retired to the pantry with precipitate haste.
"Did you see the blue, blue sky, Daniel, and the white, white snow, and
did you see the little snow-birds, whirling by like brown leaves?" Mrs.
Francis asked with an air of great childishness.
"Nope," said Danny shortly, "didn't see nothin'."
"Please, ma'am," began Pearlie again, "it was the cloud around his head
on account of the earache that done it."
"It is sweet to look into his innocent young eyes and wonder what
visions they will some day see," went on Mrs. Francis, dreamily, but
there she stopped with a look of horror frozen on her face, for at the
mention of his eyes Danny remembered his best trick and how well it had
worked on Camilla, and in a flash his eyes were drawn down and his
mouth stretched to its utmost limit.
"What ails the child?" Mrs. Francis cried in alarm. "Camilla, come
here."
Camilla came out of the pantry and gazed at Danny with sparkling eyes,
while Pearlie, on the verge of tears, vainly tried to awaken in him
some sense of the shame he was bringing on her. Camilla hurried to the
pantry again, and brought another cookie. "I believe, Mrs. Francis,
that Danny is hungry," she said. "Children sometimes act that way," she
added, laughing.
"Really, how very interesting; I must see if Dr. Parker mentions this
strange phenomenon in his book."
"Please, ma'am, I think I had better take him home now," said Pearlie.
She knew what Danny was, and was afraid that greater disgrace might
await her. But when she tried to get him back into the blanket he lost
every joint in his body and slipped to the floor. This is what she had
feared--Danny had gone limber.
"I don't want to go home" he wailed dismally. "I want to stay with her,
and her; want to see the yalla burds, want a chockalut."
"Come Danny, that's a man," pleaded Pearlie, "and I'll tell you all
about the lovely pink lady when we go home, and I'll get Bugsey's gum
for ye and I'll--"
"No," Danny roared, "tell me how about the pink lady, tell her, and
her."
"Wait till we get home, Danny man." Pearlie's grief flowed afresh.
Disgrace had fallen on the Watsons, and Pearlie knew it.
"It would be interesting to know what mental food this little mind has
been receiving. Please do tell him the story, Pearlie."
Thus admonished, Pearlie, with flaming cheeks began the story. She
tried to make it less personal, but at every change Danny screamed his
disapproval, and held her to the original version, and when it was
done, he looked up with his sweet little smile, and said to Mrs.
Francis nodding his head. "You're it! You're the lovely pink lady."
There was a strange flush on Mrs. Francis's face, and a strange feeling
stirring her heart, as she hurriedly rose from her chair and clasped
Danny in her arms.
"Danny! Danny!" she cried, "you shall see the yellow birds, and the
stairs, and the chocolates on the dresser, and the pink lady will come
to-morrow with the big parcel."
Danny's little arms tightened around her neck.
"It's her," he shouted. "It's her."
When Mrs. Burton Francis went up to her sitting-room, a few hours later
to get the "satchel" powder to put in the box that was to be tied with
the store string, the sun was shining on the face of the Madonna on the
wall, and it seemed to smile at her as she passed.
The little red book lay on the table forgotten. She tossed it into the
waste-paper basket.