SUE GETS A DIVORCE
After breakfast Sue wandered out and found Doris upon the lawn. The
youngest of the Darings was now nearly twelve years old and had
associated so constantly with her elders that she considered herself
quite “grown up” and in no way inferior to Doris Randolph, who, having
an advantage in years, assumed toward Sue the airs of a young lady.
Since she had tipped over the punch bowl and taken a lemonade bath a
good deal of fun had been poked at poor Sue, which she deeply resented.
It was bad enough to have lost all the joy of the party, without being
twitted afterward about her misfortune.
Doris was surely too sedate and practical minded to wish to tease Sue,
so her greeting was wholly innocent when she said:
“Good morning. Is that the lemonade dress which you are wearing?”
“No,” retorted Sue, flushing; “is that the hypocrite’s dress which you
are wearing, Miss Religion?”
Doris was provoked, and with good reason, for she was sincere enough
in her religious sentiments. Also, she was still worldly minded to the
extent of becoming angry. After a cold, stony look at Sue, she said:
“I have submitted to the insolence of you Darings long enough, and
hereafter I forbid you to address me, for I shall not recognize you as
an acquaintance.”
At this instant Cousin Judith appeared upon the scene and hearing
Doris’ speech stopped short in surprise.
“Why, what is the trouble, my dears?” she asked.
“This child, madam,” returned Doris, stiffly, “is still a barbarian,
and unfit to associate with civilized beings.”
“I called her a hypocrite,” flashed Sue, defiantly; “and she is one.”
Miss Eliot was shocked.
“I am surprised, Sue dear; surprised and grieved. You have treated
Doris very badly, and I want you to apologize to her for your rudeness.”
“I won’t!” said Sue, stamping her foot. “I’ll _die_ rather than beg
pardon of Miss Nancy Hypocrite!”
Judith looked at her in amazement.
“Go into the house, my dear,” she said, rather sternly; “I’ll join you
there presently.”
Sue raised her long lashes and swept one rebellious look at the Little
Mother. Doris’ face had a slight sneer upon it, and the angry child
noted it. Turning squarely about she ignored Cousin Judith’s command
and marched down the street toward the village.
Doris gave a little laugh.
“A pleasant mannered young lady, I must say, Miss Eliot,” she tittered.
“But, I assure you I meant what I said. I shall never speak to her
again, unless she apologizes.”
“An apology is your due, I think,” Miss Eliot said soberly, and then
without further remark she continued on her way to the Randolph house
to see Marion, with whom she had an engagement.
At noon Sue did not return to dinner. She had called upon Nannette
Bennett, who was about her own age, and driven with her to a farm out
on the Exeter road.
“Can you stay here to dinner?” asked Nannette.
“Of course,” replied Sue, readily. “There’s no one at home who has the
right to give me orders.”
Nannette did not understand this strange speech, but let it pass
without remark. The two girls spent all day at the farm, although I
am not sure Sue was enjoying herself for a single moment. She did not
reach home until the family was seated at the supper table.
Phil had inquired anxiously for his sister, and Judith quietly
explained that Sue had called Doris bad names and refused to apologize.
“When I asked her to return to the house, where I hoped to be able to
reason with her,” she added, “Sue refused to obey my request and walked
down the street instead. I do not know where she is, now.”
Phil was worried, and even Don looked grave.
“I had intended to practice this evening with the boat crew,” said the
elder brother, “but I think I ought to hunt for Sue instead. She has
been bad and rebellious, I know; but she’s our little sister, just the
same, and I’m afraid something has happened to her.”
Cousin Judith made no reply and the meal was progressing in gloomy
silence when Sue walked in, threw down her hat and quietly took her
seat at the table. She did not look at the Little Mother, nor at anyone
else directly, but helped herself to food and with an assumption of
composure began to eat.
No one spoke. The others had glanced inquiringly at Cousin Judith,
whose face was pale and unrelenting. She did not ask Sue where she had
been, nor chide her for disobedience; but she passed the plate of cold
meat to her and asked Auntie to bring in Miss Sue’s chocolate.
This condition of affairs was so unusual with the Darings that they
were uncertain how to act. Even Becky looked askance at her small
sister, as if she were some strange, untamed animal, and Don told
himself this escapade deserved a worse punishment than fighting in the
mud. He had “taken his own medicine” with frank courage, knowing he
deserved the Little Mother’s rebuke and telling her he was truly sorry
he had hurt her feelings. But here was little Sue developing a spirit
of defiance hitherto unknown in the Daring family circle. Phil was hurt
and Phœbe distressed, but both voluntarily left the matter in Miss
Eliot’s hands for adjustment.
After supper Cousin Judith said to the culprit in a kindly tone: “Come
to my room, Sue. I wish to have a little talk with you.”
“I’ve nothing to talk about,” replied Sue, sullenly.
Phil went away to his practice on the river and Sue followed her
sisters out upon the porch. Cousin Judith, perhaps hoping the girl
would change her mind, had gone directly to her room.
“You’re acting like a little fool, Sue,” observed Becky. “I’m surprised
at you.”
Sue colored, but did not reply. Presently she went to her room and shut
herself in until bedtime.
At breakfast next morning Cousin Judith said, addressing all the five
Darings, impartially:
“Our contract, the Articles of Adoption, states that if any one of
you proves rebellious to my authority the rebel is to be tried by a
committee of two, and must abide by the committee’s decision. Is it not
so?”
“That’s a fact, Little Mother,” replied Phil, seriously.
“In the case we have now to consider, Sue has disobeyed me more than
once,” continued Miss Eliot. “I, therefore charge her with rebellion,
and it becomes proper for her to select two of you to try her case. If
I am found to be wrong I will ask her pardon and try to make amends.
If she is wrong she must ask my pardon and submit to any penalty I may
impose.”
Sue paled and then flushed. She cast a furtive glance around the table
and then said, in a hard, unyielding tone:
“I’m willing. I choose Phœbe and Don.”
“Very well,” returned Cousin Judith. “The trial shall take place at
once.”
None of them saw anything humorous in the situation. As a rule the
Darings were merry hearted boys and girls, full of fun and good
spirits; but, these Articles of Adoption were regarded by them all as
sacred. Each realized to an extent what a blessing the Little Mother
had already been to them, and was determined to uphold her authority.
For her coming had virtually revolutionized the household and given
them a happy home and a sympathetic, generous friend.
Sue, however, marched into the parlor with her stubborn spirit
unconquered by any feeling of gratitude, and Phœbe and Donald
gravely followed her.
“Tell us the beginning of the trouble, dear,” urged the elder sister.
Sue related her conversation with Doris.
“I’ve put up with her slurs ’n’ sarcasms long enough,” she said. “If
she’s so blessed religious as she tries to make out, why does she pick
on me ev’ry minute? I’m glad I called her a hypocrite, an’ I won’t take
it back--not for a second!”
“Perhaps she did not mean to offend you by speaking of the ‘lemonade
dress’,” suggested Phœbe. “I’ve always found her a good-hearted girl
and quite ladylike.”
“That’s what I object to,” was the answer. “I won’t stand for her
ladylike airs, Phœbe, an’ that’s all there is to it.”
“Sometimes our judgment proves to be wrong,” said Phœbe. “Anyhow,
Cousin Judith knows best.”
“There’s another thing that makes me mad,” cried Sue. “Cousin Judith
takes Doris’ part against me. Isn’t she supposed to stand up for her
own adopted children?”
“Not when they’re wrong, sis,” said Don stoutly.
“Who’s to say whether they’re wrong or not?” Sue demanded.
“She is, of course. She’s older, and knows more.”
“Cousin Judith,” added Phœbe, “tries to be always right and just.
She thought you were impudent to Doris, who is our neighbor and has
been kind to us all, and so she asked you to apologize.”
“I _won’t_ apologize to that stuck-up thing--anyhow, not till she
apologizes for speaking of my lemonade dress.”
“Now, that’s the real question before the board,” asserted Don. “You’re
under trial, Sue, and if we decide you’re in the wrong, and you don’t
apologize to Doris and do as Cousin Judith says, you’ll be divorced
from our Articles of Adoption.”
Sue was white and frightened, but she held her ground.
“All right,” she said. “It’s up to you. I don’t want any adoption by
anyone who won’t stand by me in a fight. And I’ll never--_never_--beg
Doris’ pardon!”
They tried to argue with her, and explained the disgrace of being
divorced and having no Little Mother. The divorce would separate her
not only from association with Cousin Judith, but from that of her
brothers and sisters, who would all hold strictly to the letter of the
agreement they had signed.
Sue listened to it all and remained obstinate.
“It’s for you to say whether I’m right or wrong,” she avowed at the
last, “and if I’m divorced I don’t care a rap. I won’t stand for any
adoption that makes me apologize to a silly fool like Doris Randolph.”
Donald and Phœbe withdrew from the conference and talked it over
between themselves. They decided that Sue, having defied Cousin
Judith’s authority and broken the signed agreement, must submit to the
penalty of divorce.
Phœbe drew up the paper and made an imposing looking copy on her
typewriter. It read as follows:
“Whereas Sue Daring signed, under date of June 14th, 1908, a document
known as the ARTICLES OF ADOPTION, whereby she promised and
covenanted to support and acknowledge the authority of MISS JUDITH
ELIOT and to Adopt her as a Mother, and Whereas the said Sue
Daring has broken that covenant and agreement and refuses longer to
abide by it, THEREFORE the undersigned, chosen by her as a
Committee to decide her case, hereby declares the said Sue Daring has
been guilty of a violation of the terms of the said signed agreement
and is therefore released from all its pledges and DIVORCED
from any further participation in its benefits. Signed this 12th day of
July, 1908.
PHŒBE DARING,
DONALD DARING,
_Committee_.”
This paper was made out in duplicate and a copy given to Sue and one to
Cousin Judith. Sue promptly tore up her paper and scattered the pieces
over the hall floor. Then she left the house and went away to play with
some of her girl friends.
Cousin Judith asked the others not to taunt or reproach the girl, but
to treat her as pleasantly and cordially as before. After supper that
evening, they all strolled down to the river to watch the boat crew
practice; but Sue was not asked to accompany them. On their return Don
told the divorced one of the jolly time they had had, and how Cousin
Judith bought them each an ice cream soda at the drug store; but Sue
made no reply. When she went to bed she did not, like the others, go
to the Little Mother for a good night kiss. In her room she noticed
that the covers of her bed had not been turned down, as usual, or her
night robe laid out. Becky’s bed, across the room, had been remembered
with loving care by Judith, but Sue was no longer her adopted daughter.
This little lack of attention sent the first real pang to the girl’s
heart. Silently, she got down her gown from the closet and turned back
the covers of her own bed. In the morning she was about to call to
Cousin Judith to ask what dress to put on, but remembered in time that
she must now choose for herself.
The dressmaker still came to the house every day to sew busily for the
needy family. Judith was paying for all the new things with her own
money, which she had saved from the sale of her pictures, and therefore
Sue was not surprised when her pretty pink challis was laid aside and
put into a drawer unfinished, while a gown of Becky’s was brought out
and given the dressmaker to work upon. Sue told herself she must expect
such things to happen under the new order of things; only--only she
_would_ have liked that pink dress; it was so soft and pretty.
The divorced one made no complaint, however she might feel the
difference between her position and that of her brothers and sisters.
Sue was old enough to understand that she must pay the penalty for
her rebellion, and if at times she repented her stubbornness it was in
secret and no word of regret passed her lips. Judith spoke to her with
uniform kindliness and so did the other members of the family; yet Sue
realized she was an outcast, and no longer entitled to a place in the
inner circle.
This ostracism was more acutely defined when the Little Mother one
morning called her flock into her room for a conference. Sue stayed
away, being an outsider, and listened to the merry laughter that at
times penetrated the closed doors and saluted her ears. Undoubtedly
it was a trial to the younger girl to be debarred from such good
fellowship, and as she sat in her lonely corner she sadly recalled the
jolly times she had once had in Cousin Judith’s pleasant room.
“So you’s a orfin ag’in, is yo’?” remarked Aunt Hyacinth, coming upon
her as Sue sat nursing her gloomy thoughts. “Ain’t yo’ got no sense
a’tall, Miss Sue, to go a-flyin’ in de face o’ Prov’dence dis a-way?”
“You mind your own business, Aunt Hy.”
“Dat’s what I’m doin’, honey. Mah bus’ness is to see you all happy, an’
here yo’ goes an’ makes yo’se’f a outcast an’ a orfin, when yo’ had a
good Li’l Motheh to tek care o’ yo’. Ain’ dere no way to divohce dat
divohce, an’ git back in de sunshine ag’in’?”
Sue sulked and did not reply. That suggestion of getting back into the
fold again had already occurred to her, but the Articles of Adoption
had made no provision for such a thing. Much of the child’s stubborn
mood had vanished by this time, but there seemed no way of retreat
open. She began to wonder if she must pass all her life an “outcast an’
a orfin,” as Aunty had tersely described it.
Judith, who had a shrewd idea of what was passing in the girl’s mind,
was content to let matters take their course. Often she longed to take
Sue in her arms and comfort her, but dared not. Judith Eliot was only
a young girl herself, loving and tender hearted, but she was rarely
sagacious in her understanding of human nature and believed that Sue’s
divorce would tend to benefit all her charges, and finally strengthen
her own position. One gains experience not only personally, but from
the experiences of others, and it was noticeable that both Becky and
Don had been unusually meek and circumspect since Sue’s rebellion.
Becky, indeed, did a queer thing. Going to the Little Mother privately
she said in her earnest way:
“I’d like to get halter-broke, Cousin Judith, and I wish you’d help me.
Whenever I buck the rules of propriety and cease to be a lady, you just
step on my corns an’ yell ‘time.’ I know I’m awful slangy sometimes,
but by jooks I’ll cure myself of the habit if I bu’st a surcingle!”
Judith smiled and kissed her.
“I wonder where you pick up such expressions,” she said. “But I assure
you, Becky dear, it won’t be at all difficult to cultivate a choicer
language, if you make the attempt. Pay attention to the conversation of
Phœbe and Marion, and listen to your Little Mother’s mode of speech.
I assure you there is nothing either winning or clever in the use of
slang phrases. A street gamin is able to employ them as readily as you
do, yet may never aspire to refined speech. To cast your lot with the
ignorant and uncultured, rather than with those of your own class, is
to abandon the advantages of birth and refined associations.”
“I used to think it was smart,” admitted Becky, gloomily; “but now
I see I was off my base and shinning up the wrong tree. But I’ll be
careful, after this, Cousin Judith; see if I’m not. And I hope you’ll
call me down if I forget I’m a lady and talk like a female she.”
It was well-nigh impossible to cure herself of vulgar expressions
all at once; but Becky sincerely tried to improve, and met with a
measure of success. Judith never reproached her if at times she lapsed
unwittingly into slang, for Becky was quick to realize her fault and a
sudden flush of shame would often suffuse her face before the unseemly
words were well out of her mouth.
Don and Allerton had now become fast friends, being together much of
the time. Don, as well as Becky, had softened perceptibly since the
advent of Cousin Judith, and having acquired a hearty respect for
Allerton, who had proved no “mollycoddle,” the boys became congenial
associates.
The coming boat race had by this time begun to excite the good people
of Riverdale and was a general topic of conversation among the
villagers. Nearly every town on the river bank had a boat crew, and a
sharp rivalry had for some years been maintained between Bayport, nine
miles away, and Riverdale. For many seasons Bayport had won the prize,
being practically invincible, but for the last two years fortune had
deserted them and their crew lost to Riverdale. Bayport was naturally
eager to regain its lost prestige, and its adversary was equally
anxious to retain the honors so hardily won. Therefore, an exciting
race was in prospect.