The next day the flood-tide of the Jenkins's fortunes bid fair to flow
to fullness. Word came to the little home that Mr. Meredith had returned
to the city and desired the laundry work to be resumed. Bud was summoned
to choir practice the following Friday, and Miss King sent her chauffeur
with a fair-sized washing.
"Everything comes so to onct, it takes your breath away," said Amarilly,
quite overcome by this renewal of commercial activity, "and next thing I
know,"--there her heart gave a deer-like leap--"Mr. Derry'll be hum, and
sendin' fer me. Then we'll all be earnin' excep' Gus."
At the end of the week Amarilly eagerly went to deliver the washings at
the rectory and Miss King's, but in both instances she was doomed to
disappointment, as her friends were not in.
"I'll go to church and see 'em," she resolved.
This time her raiment was very simple, but more effective than upon the
occasion of her previous attendance.
Before Amarilly's artistic temperament was awakened by the atmosphere of
the studio, she had been wont to array herself in things convenient
without regard to color or style, believing herself to be hopelessly
homely and beyond the aid of personal adornment; but since Derry had
praised her hair, she had scrupulously cared for it and allowed no
conflicting color in proximity thereto. On this occasion she fastened it
with the black velvet bows, and arrayed herself in the white dress Mrs.
Jimmels had given her.
"I declar, Amarilly," exclaimed her mother, "I believe you're agrowin'
purty!"
Amarilly's eyes danced, and she gave her mother a spontaneous and
rewarding hug.
She didn't do her own ushering this time, and was consequently seated
most inconspicuously near the entrance. Her heart beat rapturously at
the sight of John Meredith in the pulpit.
"His vacation didn't freshen him up much," she thought, after a shrewd
glance. "He's paler and don't look real peart. Sorter like Bud arter he
got up from the fever."
Her attention was diverted from the rector by the vision of Colette
coming down the aisle. The change in her appearance was even more
startling to the little anxious-eyed girl than in John's case. There
were violet shadows under the bright eyes, a subtle, subdued air about
her fresh young beauty that had banished the little touch of wilfulness.
As soon as she was seated, which was after the service had begun, she
became entirely absorbed in her prayer-book.
"Vacation ain't agreed with her, nuther," pondered Amarilly perplexedly.
She turned her gaze again to John, who was sitting back of the choir,
while his "understudy" conducted the service. His face was shaded by his
hand, but Amarilly's gimlet glance noted that he frequently sent a
fleeting, troubled look toward the King pew.
"Thar's something up atwixt 'em," deduced Amarilly, "and they air both
too proud to say nuthin' about it to the other."
John's sermon was on the strength that renunciation brings, and the duty
of learning resignation. There was a pervasive note of sadness in his
deliverance of the theme, and Amarilly felt her joyousness in the return
of her friends slipping from her.
She went out of church somewhat depressed, but was cheered by the
handclasp of the rector and his earnest assurance that he would see her
very soon. While he was saying this, Colette slipped past without
vouchsafing so much as a glance in their direction. Hurt through and
through, the little girl walked sadly to the pavement with head and eyes
downcast.
"Amarilly," dulcetly spoke a well-loved voice.
Her eyes turned quickly. Colette stood at the curb, her hand on the door
of the electric.
"I waited to take you home, dear. Why, what's the matter, Amarilly?
Tears?"
"I thought you wan't goin' to speak to me," said Amarilly, as she
stepped into the brougham and took the seat beside Colette.
"I didn't want to interrupt you and Mr. Meredith, but it's a wonder I
knew you. You look so different. You have grown so tall, and what a
beautiful dress! Who showed you how to fix your hair so artistically? I
never realized you had such beautiful hair, child!"
"I didn't nuther, till he told me."
"Who, Amarilly? Lord Algernon?"
"No!" scoffed Amarilly, suddenly realizing that her former hero had
toppled from his pedestal in her thoughts. "'Tain't him. It's a new
friend I have made. An artist."
"Oh, Amarilly, you have such distinguished acquaintances! All in the
profession, too. Tell me who the artist is."
"Mr. Derry Phillips. I cleaned his rooms, and he took me to lunch. We
ate things like we had to your house."
"Derry Phillips, the talented young artist! Why, Amarilly, girls are
tumbling over each other trying to get attention from him, and he took
you to luncheon! Where?"
"To Carter's, and I'm to serve his breakfast and take care of his rooms,
and he showed me how to fix my hair and to say 'can' and 'ate.' He's
fired the woman what red his rooms."
"'Merely Mary Ann,'" murmured Colette.
"No," said Amarilly positively. "Her name is Miss O'Leary, and she
didn't clean the mopboards."
Colette's gay laughter pealed forth.
"Amarilly, this is the first time, I've laughed this summer, but I must
explain something to you. The housekeeper told me that all the children
had scarlet fever and were quarantined a long time after we left. I wish
I had known it and thought more about you, but--I've had troubles of my
own. How did you manage so long with nothing coming in?"
"It was purty hard, but we fetched it," sighed Amarilly, thinking of the
struggles, "We're doin' fine now again."
"But, tell me; how did you buy food and things when none of you were
working?"
"When your ten dollars was gone, we spent his'n."
"Whose?"
"Mr. Meredith's. He sent us a ten, too."
"Oh!" replied Colette frigidly.
"Then the Boarder give us all he hed. Arterwards come dark days until
Mr. Vedder sent us a fiver.--Then thar was an orful day when thar wa'n't
a cent and we didn't know whar to turn, and then--It saved us."
"It? What?"
"The surplus. Mr. St. John's surplus. It brung in lots."
"Why, what do you mean, Amarilly?"
"You see 'twas at our house when Iry was fust took sick--same as the
waist you gimme was. They couldn't nuther on 'em be sent hum till they
was fumygated. Then Mrs. Winders said as how he, Mr. St. John, said as
how we was to keep it and cut it up fer the chillern, but we didn't."
"Oh, Amarilly," asked Colette faintly, "do you mean to tell me that the
surplice was never delivered to Mr. Meredith?"
"No. Gus didn't take it that night, and in the mornin' when Iry was took
it was too late. And then when it got fumygated, Mr. St. John had gone
away and he left word we was to keep it."
The transformation in Colette's mobile face during this explanation was
rapid and wonderful. With a radiant smile she stopped the brougham and
put her arms impulsively about Amarilly.
"Oh, Amarilly, I'm so happy, and I've had such a wretched summer! Now,
we will go right to your house and you'll let me see the surplice."
Amarilly looked surprised.
"Why, yes, you can see it, of course, though it ain't no diffrent from
his other ones."
"Oh yes it is! Far, far different, Amarilly. It has a history."
"Yes, I guess it has," laughed Amarilly, "It's been goin' some these
last two months!"
"Why, what do you mean, Amarilly? and I forgot in my excitement to ask
how it helped you. But first tell me. You know there is a pocket in it?"
"Yes, Miss King."
"Have you noticed anything in the pocket?"
"Never looked onct. But then if thar was 'twould hev come out in the
wash. It's been did up heaps of times. You see, rentin' it out so
much--"
"Renting it out!"
Amarilly gave a graphic account of the adventures of the errant garment
to date. Meanwhile Colette's countenance underwent kaleidoscopic
changes.
"Amarilly," she asked faintly, "have you the addresses of all those
people to whom you rented it?"
"Yes; I keep books now, and I put it down in my day ledger the way the
Boarder showed me."
"There was something--of mine--in--that pocket. Will you ask your mother
to look for it, and hunt the house over for it?"
Amarilly, greatly distressed at the loss, promised faithfully to do so.