SURPRISES
"Why, Gail, what are you doing?" asked Faith one cold, dull November
day, as she hurried into the kitchen from her village trip, and found
the older sister picking two plump hens.
"Can't you see?" smiled the girl, glancing up from her task with an
excited, happy sparkle in her eyes.
"Yes, I can see, but what is the occasion? Has Peace made another raid
on the hen-house with poison or rat-traps? I shouldn't suppose we could
afford chicken unless by accident. Thanksgiving is more than two weeks
off."
"What day is tomorrow? Am I the only one who remembers?"
"November tenth--your birthday! Oh, Gail, it had slipped my mind for the
minute! No wonder you are getting up a celebration if everyone forgets
like that."
"Oh, it isn't on account of the birthday, Faith; that just happened.
It's the mortgage--"
"Of course, I knew it was due soon, but the relief at being able to get
the money made me overlook the exact date, I guess. So that is the cause
of your excitement!"
"Partly, and then we are to have company for dinner, too."
"Who?" demanded Faith, again surprised.
"Mr. and Mrs. Strong and Glen and Mrs. Grinnell."
"What in the world will we do with them all? Eight is a tight fit for
our dining-room."
"It will crowd us a little, but I have it all planned nicely. Glen must
sit in his daddy's lap--he often does at home when they have company and
haven't room at the table for his high-chair--and of course I will wait
on the people, so there will be room for all."
"Of course you _won't_ wait on the people! What waiting there is to
attend to I shall look after. You are mistress of this house. Oh, I
can't help hugging myself every other minute to think Mr. Strong was
able to get the money for the mortgage and we won't have to leave this
dear little brown house after all."
"Do you care so much?" asked Gail, with such a curious wistfulness in
her voice that Faith stopped her ecstatic prancing to study the thin,
flushed face.
"I should say I do!" she exclaimed emphatically. "Someway, in these last
six months it has grown ever so much dearer than I ever dreamed it
could. I used to think I hated farm life, and it fretted me because we
couldn't live in Pendennis or Martindale, and have things like other
folks. I did want a piano so much, instead of a worn-out, wheezy old
organ."
"Wouldn't you still like all that?" questioned the older girl, keeping
her eyes fixed on the half-picked fowl in her lap, as if afraid of
betraying some delightful secret.
"Oh, yes, indeed! But I gave up thinking about such things a long time
ago. The farm is all we have, and there is the mortgage to pay on that;
so I just shut up my high-falutin notions, as Mrs. Grinnell calls them,
and mean to be happy doing my part in the home. I have wasted too much
time already."
"You have done your part splendidly," cried Gail with brimming eyes,
letting the chicken slip unnoticed from her hands as she threw one arm
around Faith's waist; "and now that--" She bit her tongue just in time
to keep the wonderful secret from tumbling off, and flushed furiously.
"And now that what?" questioned the other girl, without the faintest
trace of suspicion in her voice.
"Now that this hard year is over, we are going to do a little
celebrating even if we can't afford it," answered Gail, thinking
rapidly. "Will you make a caramel cake for our dinner? Mrs. Grinnell is
so fond of it, and I know it will hit the right spot with the minister.
It was his suggestion that he tell--" Again she stopped in confusion.
"About the mortgage money," Faith finished. "Well, he certainly has
earned the right. We have a lot to thank him for. Do you know who is
loaning the money, or is that still a secret from you, too?"
"No, Mr. Strong told me, but he wants the privilege of telling the rest
of you, so I promised to keep still."
"Oh!" There was a long pause, during which both girls busied themselves
with the chickens; and then Faith ventured the question, "Is it Judge
Abbott?" Gail smilingly shook her head. "Nor Dr. Bainbridge?" Again the
brown head shook. "Then it is Mrs. Grinnell. I thought of her in the
first place--"
"You are wrong again. All the money she has is tied up in her farm and
in the house in Martindale."
"Is it anyone in town?"
"No."
Faith was plainly puzzled. "Man or woman?"
"Both," answered Gail after a slight hesitation.
"Do I know them?"
"About as well as I do."
"Where do they live?"
"In Martindale."
"Who can it be?" pondered the girl.
"You might guess all night and never get it right," laughed Gail. "You
better give it up. Tomorrow is time enough for little girls to know."
"For little girls to know what?" demanded Peace, as the noisy quartette
burst breathlessly in from school.
"What we are to have for dinner tomorrow night," answered Gail, glancing
warningly at Faith.
"Tomorrow night? We have dinner at noon."
"Tomorrow we don't. We'll have lunch at noon and dinner in the evening."
"Bet there's comp'ny coming!" shouted the smaller girls.
"Who?" asked Hope, almost as much excited.
"The minister and his family, and Mrs. Grinnell."
"What for?" questioned Cherry, for company was rare at the little brown
house.
"Why, to eat up those chickens, of course," answered Peace. "Will there
be enough to go around? Hadn't I better hack the head off from another?"
"Don't you fret! Mike weighed the hens after he killed them, and one is
a seven-pounder, and the other weighs eight. That surely ought to be
enough to satisfy your appetites."
"Well, I bony a drumstick! There'll be four this time."
"Yes, but suppose we have to wait," suggested Cherry. "The others may
eat them all up."
"Oh, Gail, must we wait?" cried Peace in alarm, suddenly remembering how
tiny the dining-room was.
"No, dear, there will be room for all," answered the mother-sister. "But
I shall expect all of you to be little ladies and not quarrel over
drumsticks or wishbones. One's guests must always be served first, you
know."
"Isn't it too bad," sighed the child pensively, "that we can't be our
own guests sometimes and have just the piece we want?"
"You ought to be thankful to have any part of it," Faith spoke up. "If
company wasn't coming, we shouldn't have killed the hens."
"I _am_ as thankful as I can be," answered Peace, brightening visibly.
"Cherry, come help me scour the silver. I forgot it last night, and if
comp'ny is coming, we want everything fine. Besides, the time goes
faster when you're busy, and already I can hardly wait for tomorrow
night to come. Seems 's if it never would get here with those roasted
hens."
But in due time the eventful night arrived, and with it the select
company who were to join in the little celebration. With eager, shining
eyes, Peace ushered in the guests, who chanced to come all together, and
as she relieved them of their wraps and led them into the shabby parlor,
she chattered excitedly.
"You don't like drumsticks the best, do you, Mr. Strong? And neither
does Mrs. Grinnell. I heard her say so lots of times. She likes the
wings. I want something that ain't so skinny. That's why I always choose
drumsticks. There are four in this affair--four drumsticks, I mean. You
didn't think I meant comp'ny, did you? Each hen had two legs, you know;
but there are nine people to eat, counting Glen, though, of course, he
is too little for such things yet; and the drumsticks won't anywhere
near go around, s'posing every one of you should want one. When we have
only one hen, Cherry and Allee and me always fight over who is to have
the drumsticks. Last time Gail settled it by eating one herself, and
giving the other to Hope. That won't happen today, though, 'cause there
is company."
"Aren't you giving away family secrets?" interrupted Mrs. Grinnell,
trying to look severe.
"Oh, no! You already know about it, and the minister ain't s'prised at
anything. I just thought I'd speak about it, 'cause I've bonied one
drumstick myself, if someone else doesn't eat them all up first. And
say, folks, if any of you get a wishbone in your meat, will you save it
for me? Cherry's making a c'lection and has six already. I haven't but
the one I asked Mr. Hartman for, and they make the cutest penwipers for
Christmas. Supper--dinner is 'most ready, I guess. Gail made _lots_ of
stuffing--dressing, I mean. And Faith's cake is just fine, and the
custard pies are the beautifulest she ever made. They are all extra,
'cause you are here. We don't often get such nice things to eat, but
this is a special 'casion. When supper is over the rest of the girls
will help me do the talking, but now they are every one busy except
Allee and me, and Allee's getting dressed. There's someone at the door.
I hope it ain't more comp'ny. S'posing it is, wouldn't that be the worst
luck,--the very night we have roast chicken!"
Before Peace could reach the door to see who was there, however, Mr.
Strong swung it wide open, and reaching out into the dusk, drew in a
sweet-faced, motherly, old lady with silvery hair, and the familiar
tall, gray man of the broker's office, exclaiming in his hearty, boyish
fashion, "Mrs. Campbell, Doctor, I am so glad you have come! I was
beginning to fear you had missed the place."
"Missed the place? Now, Brother Strong, I am insulted,--after the number
of times I have been here! Good evening, ladies. Mother, I want you to
meet Mrs. Strong and Mrs. Grinnell. Hello, Peace, where is--"
"Have you come for dinner?" demanded that young lady, with frigid
dignity, wondering where she had seen that kindly face before, and
secretly wishing they had delayed their coming until a more convenient
time.
"Yes, I have," he answered decidedly, "and I am as hungry as a bear!"
"Oh, dear," thought Peace, "there goes a drumstick! Hungry folks always
want them." But though her face lengthened, she did not voice such
sentiments, and started for the kitchen, saying, "I must tell Gail, so's
she'll set you a plate for sup--dinner. Is that lady going to stay?"
"That lady is my wife. If you have any fault to find with us for
dropping in unannounced, just scrap it out with Brother Strong, for he
invited us."
"_I'm_ not finding fault," Peace answered haughtily, turning once more
toward the door, "but there's no telling what Faith will do. I better
warn them now."
"And at the same time you might tell Abigail that someone in the parlor
wants to see her," laughed the genial voice.
Peace disappeared through the door like a flash, and they heard her
shrill voice call, "Oh, Gail, Faith, there are some folks here for
supper what weren't invited. Do you s'pose there is hen enough now? And,
oh, yes, he wants to see you right away, Gail!"
The oldest sister paused in the act of lifting the beautifully browned
birds from their nest of dressing, dropped the carving set, shoved the
pan back into the oven, and with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes,
hurried for the parlor with such a buoyant step that the other sisters
followed wonderingly. She paused an instant in the doorway, smiled at
the little company within, and then straight to the white-haired lady
she went, and kissed her, saying happily, "I have never seen you before,
Mrs. Campbell, but I shall love you dearly."
"Not that, Gail," tenderly answered the stranger, holding the tall girl
close. "Call me Grandma."
"And me Grandpa," added the gray man, drawing Gail out of the woman's
arms and kissing her blushing cheek.
"Now she'll give him a drumstick sure," sighed Peace; "and s'posing he
should ask for four!"
"This is Faith, the baker and my right-hand man," she heard Gail saying,
"and Hope, our sunbeam; Charity, the scholar; and Peace, the--"
"Mischief-maker, heart captivator, and worth her weight in gold,"
finished the familiar voice which Peace could not quite place in her
memory. "Kiss me!"
Passively she allowed him to embrace her as he had greeted the other
sisters, and then squirming out of his arms, she backed into a corner,
where she frowned impartially on the excited group, all talking at once,
while she tried to puzzle out how this man could be "Grandpa" when all
her own relatives had long since been carried away by the angels.
"I'll bet he is a make-believe," she told herself; "and he's got them
all fooled proper. Maybe he wants the farm, seeing old Skinflint didn't
get it. I am going to ask Mrs. Grinnell. She had sense enough to run
when the kissing began."
Peace slipped noiselessly through the nearby door, and fled to the
kitchen, where their kind neighbor was busy dishing up the forgotten
dinner, demanding, "Is he really a grandpa we didn't know anything
about, or is he a make-believe _frog_?"
"Make-believe frog!" echoed matter-of-fact Mrs. Grinnell. "Do you mean
fraud? Well, he certainly ain't a fraud, Peace Greenfield! He's a big
man. Everyone in the state knows him, pretty near. He is Dr. Campbell of
the University. 'Tisn't every little girl that can have an
adopted--Peace, I am afraid you and Cherry will have to wait until the
rest are through eating."
"That's where you are mistaken," returned Peace with energy. "Gail said
only last night that there was room for all."
"But she wasn't expecting the Campbells for supper."
"Oh, dear, if that ain't always the way! Gail, must I wait?"
Gail had just hurriedly entered the kitchen, fearful lest the forgotten
dinner was spoiled, but seeing the great bowl of gravy on the table, and
Mrs. Grinnell busy mashing the potatoes, she sighed in relief and
stopped to answer, "I am afraid you must, dear."
"After you said we wouldn't have to?"
"I didn't look for Grandpa and Grandma Campbell until later, Peace. We
can't ask _them_ to wait."
"Faith and Hope might for once. They _never_ have to!"
"Faith is to serve dinner, and Hope is needed at the table."
"Which I s'pose means Cherry and me ain't needed," cried the
disappointed child.
"Peace! I am ashamed of such a little pig."
"It ain't piggishness, Gail. I don't want a whole hen, I want just a
drumstick," protested Peace, with two real tears in her eyes.
"Oh, dear, now we are in for a scene," sighed the older girl, anxious to
avert the storm. "Now be reasonable, Peace. If you will wait like a good
little girl, you shall have a drumstick. Look at Cherry,--she doesn't
make a fuss at all. You will be sorry by and by if you cry and get your
eyes all red."
"Is there to be a s'prise?" asked Peace in animated curiosity.
"Yes, _such_ a splendid one!"
"I'm not going to cry, Gail. Those two tears just got loose 'fore I knew
it. I will stay in the parlor with Cherry all right, but don't take too
long a time eating dinner, and _don't_ forget my drumstick."
With this parting warning she flew back into the front room and
announced, "Dinner is ready, folkses! Faith, tell them where to sit; and
say, you all better eat fast, 'cause Gail says there is a big s'prise
coming."
Slamming the door behind them as they filed out into the dining-room,
she sat down in the nearest chair and faced Cherry with a droll look of
resignation, saying, "Well, Charity Greenfield, how do you like being
one of the children and having to wait every time we have comp'ny? When
I have a family of my own, I'll make the visitors do the waiting."
"I don't mind it much," answered Cherry, serenely. "There is a heap of
victuals cooked. Mrs. Grinnell said she guessed we must have been
expecting a regiment."
Peace sniffed the air hungrily, rose with deliberation from the rocker,
tiptoed to the door, opened it a crack and peeked out at the merry
diners. Then she let go of the knob with a jerk, wheeled toward Cherry
and whispered, "Just as I 'xpected! That man _has_ got a drumstick and
he just gave Allee one. He's stuffing her for all he's worth. First
thing we know, she will be sick."
"Yes, and you banged that door, too, so they must have heard you," said
Cherry indignantly.
"Maybe 'twill hurry them up. I don't see _how_ I can wait."
"Get a book and read. Then the time will seem shorter."
Peace rocked idly back and forth a few turns, patching her companion in
misery, who seemed so absorbed in her story that even the thoughts of no
dinner did not disturb her; then she stalked over to the battered
bookcase, drew out a big, green-covered book which evidently had been
often read, for the binding was in rags, and sat down on the rug to
digest its contents.
"'Bright was the summer of 1296. The war which had desolated Scotland
was then at an end,'" read Peace slowly, spelling out the long,
unfamiliar words and finding it dry reading. She turned the yellowed
pages rapidly in search of pictures, but found none. She skipped several
lines and began again to read, "'But while the courts of Edward, or of
his representatives, were crowded--' oh, dear, what does it mean? There
ain't a mite of sense in using such long words. Cherry, what is this
book about?"
"'Scottish Chiefs?'" said the sister, looking up indifferently. "I don't
know. Ask Hope. She had to read it last year when they studied English
history."
"I thought maybe 'twas about Indians. I didn't know other things were
called chiefs. My, I can smell dinner awfully plain! They've been at it
long enough to have finished, seems to me. I'm going to peek again."
"You better not let that door slam," warned Cherry, "or Gail will be
getting after you."
"I don't intend to. It slipped the other time. There goes another
drumstick!" she wailed dismally, forgetting to speak in whispers; and
the amazed guests beheld a flushed, distressed face popped through the
wide crack of the door, as rebellious Peace called in bitter
indignation, "Remember, all the family haven't had dinner yet, and
chickens don't grow on every bush!"
"Peace!" gasped poor, mortified Gail.
"Ha-ha-ha!" roared the minister, and President Campbell called after the
little figure which had vanished behind the closed door once more, "That
is right, Peace! You needn't stay in there another minute. Here is
plenty of room for you and Cherry in my lap."
The only answer was the sound of a choking sob from the adjoining room,
and the college president started to his feet with remorse in his heart,
pleading, "Let me get her! It's too bad to shut them off there to wait
for us older folks to eat dinner. I know from experience."
But Gail stopped him, saying firmly, "No, it was very naughty of her to
do that, and she can't have any dinner at all now until she has
apologized."
"You are hard on her."
"She must remember her manners. I resign my authority to you and Grandma
in a few hours," she answered laughingly, "but until then she must mind
me."
"_Please_ let me bring them out here with us, anyway," he urged. "She
will apologize; and around the table is a good place for the big
's'prise' she is expecting."
"Very well," she answered reluctantly.
Excusing himself to the little dinner party, he disappeared behind the
parlor door, whispered a few words to the conscience-stricken culprit in
the corner, and in a surprisingly short time reappeared with two smiling
little girls.
Peace's eyes were red, and one lone tear stood on the rosy cheek, but
she marched up to the table, bowed, and said with some embarrassment,
but in all sincerity, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've already told Grandpa,
and he said it was all right--I apologize. I s'pose you are hungry, same
as I, and that's what has kept you busy eating for so long. I shouldn't
have hollered at you from the door like I did, but if you wanted that
drumstick as bad as I do, you'd have hollered, too. Now can I have my
dinner? Cherry, you sit in half of Allee's chair. Faith, Hope will give
you a piece of her place, and I am to have half of Grandpa's. That's all
his plan, so come along, Faith. Please pass me my drumstick. You've
already blessed it, haven't you?"
"Peace!"
"Now, Gail, please don't scold! This is the last day in the little brown
house, you know--"
"What!" burst forth, a chorus of dismayed voices.
"Ain't that _mordige_ settled yet?" demanded Peace.
"Oh, yes. I had a long talk with Mr. Strong, and we settled that
question forever and all time, I hope. Nevertheless, you aren't going to
stay here any longer."
A hush fell over the five younger girls, though Gail was smiling happily
with the rest of the little company, and even Baby Glen seemed to
appreciate the situation, and cooed gleefully, as he pounded the table
with his spoon.
"It's just as I 'xpected," Peace blurted out at length. "I said I bet
you wanted the farm yourself, seeing that old Skin--Mr. Skinflint didn't
get it."
He threw back his head and laughed loud and long; then the old face
sobered, and he said, "No, it isn't that, Peace. We--Grandma and I--want
you to come and live with us. Gail says yes. What is your answer?"
"All of us?" whispered Hope in awestruck tones, remembering with fresh
fear the midnight conference of a few weeks before.
"All of you!"
"Gail, too?"
"Yes, indeed!"
"Haven't you any children yourself?" asked Allee, not exactly
understanding the drift of remarks.
"No, dear. The angels came and took away our two little girlies before
they were as big as you are."
"But six is an awful many to raise at once," sighed Peace. "Do you think
you can do it?"
"I will try if you will come."
"Do you live in Martindale?"
"Yes."
"Is your house big enough?"
"It has ten big rooms and an attic. Won't that do?"
"Y--es. Do you lick?"
"Do I lick?" he echoed in surprise.
"When we are bad, you know."
"Oh! Well, I can, but I don't very often. I am pretty easy to get along
with; but folks have to mind. I am fond of _good_ children."
"I'm _usually_ good. I have been bad today, but I am ever so sorry now.
I always am when it's too late to mend matters. But I don't want you to
think I am always such a pig and have to 'pologize for my dinner. Yes,
I'll come to live with you, and of course the others will. Mrs. Grinnell
says you are an awfully nice man."
"I am sure I thank Mrs. Grinnell," he answered with twinkling eyes,
bowing gravely to the embarrassed lady across the table.
"But what I can't see is how you came to pick us out to take home with
you,--_Mr. Tramp!_" She started to her feet in astonishment, having
suddenly fitted the familiar face into its place in her memory.
"At your service, ma'am."
"Ain't you my tramp?"
"Yes."
"Then you are just fooling about our going to live with, you."
"Not at all. I mean every word of it. Ask Grandma, ask Brother Strong,
ask Gail, any of them."
"But what about the tramp?" she half whispered, still too dazed to
understand.
"That is rather a long story," he smiled, stroking the tight ringlets of
brown on one side of him, and the bright, golden curls on the other. "A
year ago last spring I tried to be ill--play sick, you know; and the
doctor told me a vacation of tramping was what I needed to put me in
tune again. Having some pet theories in regard to the tramp problem of
this country, I decided to take his words literally, so I turned tramp
myself--just for a little time, you see. That is how you saw me first. I
told my wife it was a case of love at first sight, and I became so much
interested in this brave little family that I have kept watch ever
since.
"Here was a family without any father and mother, and there were a
father and mother without any family. You needed the one and we needed
the other. But at first the way didn't seem clear. I was given to
understand that you didn't want to be adopted, and as I found that Gail
was legally old enough to take care of the family, I was just on the
point of preparing to play guardian angel instead of grandfather, when I
chanced upon some old church records telling about your own
grandfather's death. It gave a brief account of his life, and I was
astonished to find that I knew him well,--in fact, as my big brother."
"Tell us about it," pleaded Hope, as he paused reminiscently.
"When I was a little shaver my father was a seaman, captain of a ship;
but his whole fortune consisted of his vessel, his wife and son. Mother
and I often used to go with him on his trips, but for some reason he
left me at home the last time he set sail, and he never came back. New
Orleans was his port. Yellow fever broke out while he was there, and so
far as I have been able to find out, every soul of his crew died of it.
I had been left with a neighbor who had her hands full looking after her
own children; so, when word came that my parents were both dead, she
sent for the town officers, and told them I must go to the poor-farm. I
was only about the size of Allee, here, but I knew that the poor-farm
was a place much dreaded, and rather than be taken there, I tried to run
away. Your grandfather found me. He was one of our nearest neighbors and
knew me well, so when I sobbed out the whole terrible story into his
sympathetic ears, he adopted me on the spot. He wasn't more than a
dozen years old himself, but he had a heart big enough to take in the
whole world, and when he had coaxed me home with him and told his mother
about my misfortune, I knew I was safe. They would never send me away
again. So Hiram Allen became my big brother, and the Allen home was mine
for ten long years. Then an uncle of mine whom everyone had thought was
dead put in appearance and took me to sea on a long voyage which covered
the greater part of four years. When I returned, Mother and Father Allen
were dead and the younger fry had gone West,--no one seemed to know
where. Then and there I completely lost sight of them, and it was only
by chance that I--"
"Grandpa's name wasn't Hi Allen," mused Faith aloud, with a puzzled look
in her eyes. "It was Greenfield, just like ours."
"Yes; that is one reason, I suppose, why I never found my big brother of
my boyhood days. You see, he had a stepfather. His own parent was
drowned at sea when he was a tiny baby, and his mother married again; so
he was known all over the place as Hi Allen instead of Hi Greenfield,
which was his real name. When he grew to manhood and entered the
ministry he decided to take his own name. But, though I dimly remembered
having heard people say that Mr. Allen wasn't Hi's own father, I never
heard his real name spoken, to my knowledge, and I never once thought
of the possibility of his assuming it in place of his stepfather's.
"When I discovered your grandfather's identity only a few days ago, the
way seemed suddenly open to me. Hi Allen had shared his home with me
when I was an orphan; I would share my home with his little
granddaughters, alone in the world and in trouble,--for by this time I
had heard about the mortgage and the battle being fought in the little
brown house to keep the family together. Mothering this big brood is too
great a task for Gail. She needs mothering herself. We want to adopt
you, mother and I. Will you let us; for the sake of the dear grandfather
who did so much for me?"
His face was so full of yearning tenderness that tears came to the eyes
of the older members of the queer little party, and even the children
had to swallow hard.
"I have talked the matter over with Gail, and she agrees if the rest of
you will consent. I am not a millionaire, but we are pretty well fixed
in a material way and can give you a great many pleasures and advantages
that the little town of Parker can never offer. There are fine schools
in the city, and college for Gail. We have a piano and violin and all
sorts of music, a horse and buggy, a big barn, and a splendid yard in a
nice locality, with plenty of room for tennis or any other kind of
gymnastics. Maybe some day there will be an automobile--"
"I don't care about pianos and nautomobiles," interrupted Peace. "It's
the kind of people you are that I am thinking about. Mrs. Grinnell says
you're the president of a big college and everyone knows you. If that's
so, you ought to be pretty nice, I sh'd think. _I_ like you, anyhow, and
I b'lieve you'll like us, too. But I'm an awful case, even when I don't
mean to be. Maybe you would rather--didn't I--weren't you--I saw you in
Swift & Smart's store!"
"Yes, my lady! Twice in the city I have seen you and Allee, and both
times I thought surely you knew me, but I don't believe you did."
"No, I didn't. I 'member now. It was you who gave us that gold money
when we were selling flowers. But you look different with new clothes on
and a clean face."
"Why, you little rascal! Wasn't my face clean when I came here to get
something to eat?"
"It might have been, but it was prickly looking with the mustache all
over your chin, and I like you lots better this way. I almost didn't
know you the night you got supper for us, either."
"And the rice burned."
"And I broke Bossy's leg and you sent us Queenie to take her place, and
Faith said I was worse than Jack of the Bean Stalk, and--I bet you _are_
the fellow that pinned the money to the gatepost and grain sacks! Now,
aren't you?"
"I am afraid I am."
"You told me once before that you weren't."
"No, I didn't. I just asked you if it wouldn't be a queer kind of
_tramp_ who could do such a thing. Isn't that what I said?"
"Y--es," she finally acknowledged. Then the puzzled frown in her
forehead smoothed itself away and she wheeled toward the oldest sister
with the triumphant shout, "There, Gail, didn't I tell you he was a
prince in disgus--disguise? Now ain't you sorry you didn't spend the
money? She has got it all saved away yet. I must kiss you for that,
Grandpa, even if it didn't do us any good." She threw her arms,
drumstick and all, about his neck and gave him a greasy smack,
immediately rubbing her lips with the back of one hand.
"Aha! That's no fair," he protested. "You rubbed that off."
"No, I didn't. I just rubbed it in. Thank you, I don't care for any pie
tonight. Somehow this drumstick filled me up full. I can't eat a bite
more. Have you been waiting all this time for me? Well, let's go back
into the parlor then, and do the rest of our talking. I've sat on the
tip edge of nothing until I am tired. There's more space in the front
room."
"Do you know, Peace Greenfield," cried Mr. Campbell, pretending to feel
insulted at her intimation that he had not given her a large enough
share of his chair, "the first time I ever called at your house, I
found you sitting on the gatepost,--the _gatepost_, mind you,--about so
square," measuring with his hands; "and just as I turned in from the
road, you began to sing, 'The Campbells are coming, oho, oho!' What kind
of a reception do you call that? And tonight you weren't even going to
give me any supper."
"Oh," she hastily assured him, "I didn't mean you by that song. I used
to think that the Campbells were little striped bugs that eat up the
cucumber plants, and the very morning that you came here for breakfast I
found two in the garden. What are you laughing at? I know better now,
but I truly didn't have a notion what your name was then. You must have
known I didn't. But I am awfully glad you came and that you kept coming
even when I was bad and made you work so hard. I am sorry, but never
mind, I am _deformed_ now."
"Deformed, child? Where?"
"Right here in my heart! I am going to be as good as gold all the time
after this. I think the angels must have sent you. We've always wanted a
first-class grandfather and grandmother, but we never 'xpected to get
'em until we found our own inside the Gates some day. Just the same, I
spoke to God about it, and He probably had the angels hunt you up. So I
have _deformed_ and now I'll be real good. I'm truly sorry I was such a
selfish pig about wanting a drumstick tonight. I s'pose that's why the
drumstick filled me up so quick and didn't leave any room for pie.
Custard is my favorite."
"Perhaps that is the reason," he agreed, quite as serious as she. "We
always are happiest when we are unselfish. Now, let's forget all about
the badness and just remember the goodness. I have some of the most
splendid plans for what we shall do when I have my six girls at home
with me. What beautiful times we shall have, mother!"
"How can we ever thank them?" whispered bright-eyed Gail to Mrs. Strong,
under cover of the lively conversation at the other end of the table.
"By loving them," promptly answered the little woman, offering up a
prayer of thanksgiving that the brave little orphan band had found such
a beautiful home. "They are noble people and have hungered all their
lives for just that very thing."
"But love seems such a little thing to give for the blessings we shall
enjoy from their hands."
"Ah, my dear, that is where you are mistaken, Love is _everything_."
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's At the Little Brown House, by Ruth Alberta Brown