WHEREIN THE SINTONS ARE DISAPPOINTED, AND MRS. COMSTOCK LEARNS THAT SHE
CAN LAUGH
With the first streak of red above the Limberlost Margaret Sinton was
busy with the gingham and the intricate paper pattern she had
purchased. Wesley cooked the breakfast and worked until he thought
Elnora would be gone, then he started to bring her mother.
“Now you be mighty careful,” cautioned Margaret. “I don’t know how she
will take it.”
“I don’t either,” said Wesley philosophically, “but she’s got to take
it some way. That dress has to be finished by school time in the
morning.”
Wesley had not slept well that night. He had been so busy framing
diplomatic speeches to make to Mrs. Comstock that sleep had little
chance with him. Every step nearer to her he approached his position
seemed less enviable. By the time he reached the front gate and started
down the walk between the rows of asters and lady slippers he was
perspiring, and every plausible and convincing speech had fled his
brain. Mrs. Comstock helped him. She met him at the door.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did Margaret send you for something?”
“Yes,” said Wesley. “She’s got a job that’s too big for her, and she
wants you to help.”
“Of course I will,” said Mrs. Comstock. It was no one’s affair how
lonely the previous day had been, or how the endless hours of the
present would drag. “What is she doing in such a rush?”
Now was his chance.
“She’s making a dress for Elnora,” answered, Wesley. He saw Mrs.
Comstock’s form straighten, and her face harden, so he continued
hastily. “You see Elnora has been helping us at harvest time,
butchering, and with unexpected visitors for years. We’ve made out that
she’s saved us a considerable sum, and as she wouldn’t ever touch any
pay for anything, we just went to town and got a few clothes we thought
would fix her up a little for the high school. We want to get a dress
done to-day mighty bad, but Margaret is slow about sewing, and she
never can finish alone, so I came after you.”
“And it’s such a simple little matter, so dead easy; and all so between
old friends like, that you can’t look above your boots while you
explain it,” sneered Mrs. Comstock. “Wesley Sinton, what put the idea
into your head that Elnora would take things bought with money, when
she wouldn’t take the money?”
Then Sinton’s eyes came up straightly.
“Finding her on the trail last night sobbing as hard as I ever saw any
one at a funeral. She wasn’t complaining at all, but she’s come to me
all her life with her little hurts, and she couldn’t hide how she’d
been laughed at, twitted, and run face to face against the fact that
there were books and tuition, unexpected, and nothing will ever make me
believe you didn’t know that, Kate Comstock.”
“If any doubts are troubling you on that subject, sure I knew it! She
was so anxious to try the world, I thought I’d just let her take a few
knocks and see how she liked them.”
“As if she’d ever taken anything but knocks all her life!” cried Wesley
Sinton. “Kate Comstock, you are a heartless, selfish woman. You’ve
never shown Elnora any real love in her life. If ever she finds out
that thing you’ll lose her, and it will serve you right.”
“She knows it now,” said Mrs. Comstock icily, “and she’ll be home
to-night just as usual.”
“Well, you are a brave woman if you dared put a girl of Elnora’s make
through what she suffered yesterday, and will suffer again to-day, and
let her know you did it on purpose. I admire your nerve. But I’ve
watched this since Elnora was born, and I got enough. Things have come
to a pass where they go better for her, or I interfere.”
“As if you’d ever done anything but interfere all her life! Think I
haven’t watched you? Think I, with my heart raw in my breast, and too
numb to resent it openly, haven’t seen you and Mag Sinton trying to
turn Elnora against me day after day? When did you ever tell her what
her father meant to me? When did you ever try to make her see the wreck
of my life, and what I’ve suffered? No indeed! Always it’s been poor
little abused Elnora, and cakes, kissing, extra clothes, and
encouraging her to run to you with a pitiful mouth every time I tried
to make a woman of her.”
“Kate Comstock, that’s unjust,” cried Sinton. “Only last night I tried
to show her the picture I saw the day she was born. I begged her to
come to you and tell you pleasant what she needed, and ask you for what
I happen to know you can well afford to give her.”
“I can’t!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You know I can’t!”
“Then get so you can!” said Wesley Sinton. “Any day you say the word
you can sell six thousand worth of rare timber off this place easy.
I’ll see to clearing and working the fields cheap as dirt, for Elnora’s
sake. I’ll buy you more cattle to fatten. All you’ve got to do is sign
a lease, to pull thousands from the ground in oil, as the rest of us
are doing all around you!”
“Cut down Robert’s trees!” shrieked Mrs. Comstock. “Tear up his land!
Cover everything with horrid, greasy oil! I’ll die first.”
“You mean you’ll let Elnora go like a beggar, and hurt and mortify her
past bearing. I’ve got to the place where I tell you plain what I am
going to do. Maggie and I went to town last night, and we bought what
things Elnora needs most urgent to make her look a little like the rest
of the high school girls. Now here it is in plain English. You can help
get these things ready, and let us give them to her as we want——”
“She won’t touch them!” cried Mrs. Comstock.
“Then you can pay us, and she can take them as her right——”
“I won’t!”
“Then I will tell Elnora just what you are worth, what you can afford,
and how much of this she owns. I’ll loan her the money to buy books and
decent clothes, and when she is of age she can sell her share and pay
me.”
Mrs. Comstock gripped a chair-back and opened her lips, but no words
came.
“And,” Sinton continued, “if she is so much like you that she won’t do
that, I’ll go to the county seat and lay complaint against you as her
guardian before the judge. I’ll swear to what you are worth, and how
you are raising her, and have you discharged, or have the judge appoint
some man who will see that she is comfortable, educated, and decent
looking!”
“You—you wouldn’t!” gasped Kate Comstock.
“I won’t need to, Kate!” said Sinton, his heart softening the instant
the hard words were said. “You won’t show it, but you do love Elnora!
You can’t help it! You must see how she needs things; come help us fix
them, and be friends. Maggie and I couldn’t live without her, and you
couldn’t either. You’ve got to love such a fine girl as she is; let it
show a little!”
“You can hardly expect me to love her,” said Mrs. Comstock coldly. “But
for her a man would stand back of me now, who would beat the breath out
of your sneaking body for the cowardly thing with which you threaten
me. After all I’ve suffered you’d drag me to court and compel me to
tear up Robert’s property. If I ever go they carry me. If they touch
one tree, or put down one greasy old oil well, it will be over all I
can shoot, before they begin. Now, see how quick you can clear out of
here!”
“You won’t come and help Maggie with the dress?”
For answer Mrs. Comstock looked around swiftly for some object on which
to lay her hands. Knowing her temper, Wesley Sinton left with all the
haste consistent with dignity. But he did not go home. He crossed a
field, and in an hour brought another neighbour who was skilful with
her needle. With sinking heart Margaret saw them coming.
“Kate is too busy to help to-day, she can’t sew before to-morrow,” said
Wesley cheerfully as they entered.
That quieted Margaret’s apprehension a little, though she had some
doubts. Wesley prepared the lunch, and by four o’clock the dress was
finished as far as it possibly could be until it was fitted on Elnora.
If that did not entail too much work, it could be completed in two
hours.
Then Margaret packed their purchases into the big market basket. Wesley
took the hat, umbrella, and raincoat, and they went to Mrs. Comstock’s.
As they reached the step, Margaret spoke pleasantly to Mrs. Comstock,
who sat reading just inside the door, but she did not answer and
deliberately turned a leaf without looking up.
Wesley Sinton opened the door and went in followed by Margaret.
“Kate,” he said, “you needn’t take out your mad over our little racket
on Maggie. I ain’t told her a word I said to you, or you said to me.
She’s not so very strong, and she’s sewed since four o’clock this
morning to get this dress ready for to-morrow. It’s done and we came
down to try it on Elnora.”
“Is that the truth, Mag Sinton?” demanded Mrs. Comstock.
“You heard Wesley say so,” proudly affirmed Mrs. Sinton.
“I want to make you a proposition,” said Wesley. “Wait till Elnora
comes. Then we’ll show her the things and see what she says.”
“How would it do to see what she says without bribing her,” sneered
Mrs. Comstock.
“If she can stand what she did yesterday, and will to-day, she can bear
’most anything,” said Wesley. “Put away the clothes if you want to,
till we tell her.”
“Well, you don’t take this waist I’m working on,” said Margaret, “for I
have to baste in the sleeves and set the collar. Put the rest out of
sight if you like.”
Mrs. Comstock picked up the basket and bundles, placed them inside her
room and closed the door.
Margaret threaded her needle and began to sew. Mrs. Comstock returned
to her book, while Wesley fidgeted and raged inwardly. He could see
that Margaret was nervous and almost in tears, but the lines in Mrs.
Comstock’s impassive face were set and cold. So they sat while the
clock ticked off the time—one hour, two, dusk, and no Elnora. Just when
Margaret and Wesley were discussing whether he had not better go to
town to meet Elnora, they heard her coming up the walk. Wesley dropped
his tilted chair and squared himself. Margaret gripped her sewing, and
turned pleading eyes toward the door. Mrs. Comstock closed her book and
grimly smiled.
“Mother, please open the door,” called Elnora.
Mrs. Comstock arose, and swung back the screen. Elnora stepped in
beside her, bent half double, the whole front of her dress gathered
into a sort of bag filled with a heavy load, and one arm stacked high
with books. In the dim light she did not see the Sintons.
“Please hand me the empty bucket in the kitchen, mother,” she said. “I
just had to bring these arrow points home, but I’m scared for fear I’ve
spoiled my dress and will have to wash it. I’m to clean them, and take
them to the banker in the morning, and oh, mother, I’ve sold enough
stuff to pay for my books, my tuition, and maybe a dress and some
lighter shoes besides. Oh, mother I’m so happy! Take the books and
bring the bucket!”
Then she saw Margaret and Wesley. “Oh, glory!” she exulted. “I was just
wondering how I’d ever wait to tell you, and here you are! It’s too
perfectly splendid to be true!”
“Tell us, Elnora,” said Sinton.
“Well sir,” said Elnora, doubling down on the floor and spreading out
her skirt, “set the bucket here, mother. These points are brittle, and
should be put in one at a time. If they are chipped I can’t sell them.
Well sir! I’ve had a time! You know I just had to have books. I tried
three stores, and they wouldn’t trust me, not even three days, I didn’t
know what in this world I could do quickly enough. Just when I was
almost frantic I saw a sign in a bank window asking for caterpillars,
cocoons, butterflies, arrow points, and everything. I went in, and it
was this Bird Woman who wants the insects, and the banker wants the
stones. I had to go to school then, but, if you’ll believe it”—Elnora
beamed on all of them in turn as she talked and slipped the arrow
points from her dress to the pail—“if you’ll believe it—but you won’t,
hardly, until you look at the books—there was the mathematics teacher,
waiting at his door, and he had a set of books for me that he had
telephoned a Sophomore to bring.”
“How did he happen to do that, Elnora?” interrupted Sinton.
Elnora blushed.
“It was a fool mistake I made yesterday in thinking books were just
handed out to one. There was a teachers’ meeting last night and the
history teacher told about that. Professor Henley thought of me. You
know I told you what he said about my algebra, mother. Ain’t I glad I
studied out some of it myself this summer! So he telephoned and a girl
brought the books. Because they are marked and abused some I get the
whole outfit for two dollars. I can erase most of the marks, paste down
the covers, and fix them so they look better. But I must hurry to the
joy part. I didn’t stop to eat, at noon, I just ran to the Bird
Woman’s, and I had lunch with her. It was salad, hot chocolate, and
lovely things, and she wants to buy most every old scrap I ever
gathered. She wants dragonflies, moths, butterflies, and he—the banker,
I mean—wants everything Indian. This very night she came to the swamp
with me and took away enough stuff to pay for the books and tuition,
and to-morrow she is going to buy some more.”
Elnora laid the last arrow point in the pail and arose, shaking leaves
and bits of baked earth from her dress. She reached into her pocket,
produced her money and waved it before their wondering eyes.
“And that’s the joy part!” she exulted. “Put it up in the clock till
morning, mother. That pays for the books and tuition and—” Elnora
hesitated, for she saw the nervous grasp with which her mother’s
fingers closed on the bills. Then she continued, but more slowly and
thinking before she spoke.
“What I get to-morrow pays for more books and tuition, and maybe a few,
just a few, things to wear. These shoes are so dreadfully heavy and
hot, and they make such a noise on the floor. There isn’t another
calico dress in the whole building, not among hundreds of us. Why, what
is that? Aunt Margaret, what are you hiding in your lap?”
She snatched the waist and shook it out, and her face was beaming.
“Have you taken to waists all fancy and buttoned in the back? I bet you
this is mine!”
“I bet you so too,” said Margaret Sinton. “You undress right away and
try it on, and if it fits, it will be done for morning. There are some
low shoes, too!”
Elnora began to dance. “Oh, you dear people!” she cried. “I can pay for
them to-morrow night! Isn’t it too splendid! I was just thinking on the
way home that I certainly would be compelled to have cooler shoes until
later, and I was wondering what I’d do when the fall rains begin.”
“I meant to get you some heavy dress skirts and a coat then,” said Mrs.
Comstock.
“I know you said so!” cried Elnora. “But you needn’t, now! I can buy
every single stitch I need myself. Next summer I can gather up a lot
more stuff, and all winter on the way to school. I am sure I can sell
ferns, I know I can nuts, and the Bird Woman says the grade rooms want
leaves, grasses, birds’ nests, and cocoons. Oh, isn’t this world
lovely! I’ll be helping with the tax, next, mother!”
Elnora waved the waist and started for the bedroom. When she opened the
door she gave a little cry.
“What have you people been doing?” she demanded. “I never saw so many
interesting bundles in all my life. I’m ‘skeered’ to death for fear I
can’t pay for them, and will have to give up something.”
“Wouldn’t you take them, if you could not pay for them, Elnora?” asked
her mother instantly.
“Why, not unless you did,” answered Elnora. “People have no right to
wear things they can’t afford, have they?”
“But from such old friends as Maggie and Wesley!” Mrs. Comstock’s voice
was oily with triumph.
“From them least of all,” cried Elnora stoutly. “From a stranger sooner
than from them, to whom I owe so much more than I ever can pay now.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Maggie just selected
these things, because she is more in touch with the world, and has got
such good taste. You can pay as long as your money holds out, and if
there’s more necessary, maybe I can sell the butcher a calf, or if
things are too costly for us, of course, they can take them back. Put
on the waist now, and then you can look over the rest and see if they
are suitable, and what you want.”
Elnora stepped into the adjoining room and closed the door. Mrs.
Comstock picked up the bucket and started for the well with it. At the
bedroom she paused.
“Elnora, were you going to wash these arrow points?”
“Yes. The Bird Woman says they sell better if they are clean, so it can
be seen that there are no defects in them.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Some of them seem quite baked. Shall
I put them to soak? Do you want to take them in the morning?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Elnora. “If you would just fill the pail with
water.”
Mrs. Comstock left the room. Wesley Sinton sat with his back to the
window in the west end of the cabin which overlooked the well. A
suppressed sound behind him caused him to turn quickly. Then he arose
and leaned over Margaret.
“She’s out there laughing like a blamed monkey!” he whispered
indignantly.
“Well, she can’t help it!” exclaimed Margaret.
“I’m going home!” said Wesley.
“Oh no, you are not!” retorted Margaret. “You are missing the point.
The point is not how you look, or feel. It is to get these things in
Elnora’s possession past dispute. You go now, and to-morrow Elnora will
wear calico, and Kate Comstock will return these goods. Right here I
stay until everything we bought is Elnora’s.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Wesley.
“I don’t know yet, myself,” said Margaret.
Then she arose and peered from the window. At the well curb stood
Katharine Comstock. The strain of the day was finding reaction. Her
chin was in the air, she was heaving, shaking and strangling to
suppress any sound. The word that slipped between Margaret Sinton’s
lips shocked Wesley until he dropped on his chair, and recalled her to
her senses. She was fairly composed as she turned to Elnora, and began
the fitting. When she had pinched, pulled, and patted she called, “Come
see if you think this fits, Kate.”
Mrs. Comstock had gone around to the back door and answered from the
kitchen. “You know more about it than I do. Go ahead! I’m getting
supper. Don’t forget to allow for what it will shrink in washing!”
“I set the colours and washed the goods last night; it can be made to
fit right now,” answered Margaret.
When she could find nothing more to alter she told Elnora to heat some
water. After she had done that the girl began opening packages.
The hat came first.
“Mother!” cried Elnora. “Mother, of course, you have seen this, but you
haven’t seen it on me. I must try it on.”
“Don’t you dare put that on your head until your hair is washed and
properly combed,” said Margaret.
“Oh!” cried Elnora. “Is that water to wash my hair? I thought it was to
set the colour in another dress.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” said Margaret simply. “Your hair is going to
be washed and brushed until it shines like copper. While it dries you
can eat your supper, and this dress will be finished. Then you can put
on your new ribbon, and your hat. You can try your shoes now, and if
they don’t fit, you and Wesley can drive to town and change them. That
little round bundle on the top of the basket is your stockings.”
Margaret sat down and began sewing swiftly, and a little later opened
the machine, and ran several long seams.
Elnora returned in a few minutes holding up her skirts and stepping
daintily in the new shoes.
“Don’t soil them, honey, else you’re sure they fit,” cautioned Wesley.
“They seem just a trifle large, maybe,” said Elnora dubiously, and
Wesley knelt to feel. He and Margaret thought them a fit, and then
Elnora appealed to her mother. Mrs. Comstock appeared wiping her hands
on her apron. She examined the shoes critically.
“They seem to fit,” she said, “but they are away too fine to walk
country roads.”
“I think so, too,” said Elnora instantly. “We had better take these
back and get a cheaper pair.”
“Oh, let them go for this time,” said Mrs. Comstock. “They are so
pretty, I hate to part with them. You can get cheaper ones after this.”
Wesley and Margaret scarcely breathed for a long time.
When Wesley went to do the feeding. Elnora set the table. When the
water was hot, Margaret pinned a big towel around Elnora’s shoulders
and washed and dried the lovely hair according to the instructions she
had been given the previous night. As the hair began to dry it billowed
out in a sparkling sheen that caught the light and gleamed and flashed.
“Now, the idea is to let it stand naturally, just as the curl will make
it. Don’t you do any of that nasty, untidy snarling, Elnora,” cautioned
Margaret. “Wash it this way every two weeks while you are in school,
shake it out, and dry it. Then part it in the middle and turn a front
quarter on each side from your face. You tie the back at your neck with
a string—so, and the ribbon goes in a big, loose bow. I’ll show you.”
One after another Margaret Sinton tied the ribbons, creasing each of
them so they could not be returned, as she explained that she was
trying to find the colour most becoming. Then she produced the raincoat
which carried Elnora into transports.
Mrs. Comstock objected. “That won’t be warm enough for cold weather,
and you can’t afford it and a coat, too.”
“I’ll tell you what I thought,” said Elnora. “I was planning on the way
home. These coats are fine because they keep you dry. I thought I would
get one, and a warm sweater to wear under it cold days. Then I always
would be dry, and warm. The sweater only costs three dollars, so I
could get it and the raincoat both for half the price of a heavy cloth
coat.”
“You are right about that,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You can change more
with the weather, too. Keep the raincoat, Elnora.”
“Wear it until you try the hat,” said Margaret. “It will have to do
until the dress is finished.”
Elnora picked up the hat dubiously. “Mother, may I wear my hair as it
is now?” she asked.
“Let me take a good look,” said Katharine Comstock.
Heaven only knows what she saw. To Wesley and to Margaret the bright
young face of Elnora, with its pink tints, its heavy dark brows, its
bright blue-gray eyes, and its frame of curling reddish-brown hair was
the sweetest sight on earth, and at that instant Elnora was radiant.
“So long as it’s your own hair, and combed back as plain as it will go,
I don’t suppose it cuts much ice whether it’s tied a little tighter or
looser,” conceded Mrs. Comstock. “If you stop right there, you may let
it go at that.”
Elnora set the hat on her head. It was only a wide tan straw with three
exquisite peacock quills at one side. Margaret Sinton cried out, Wesley
slapped his knee and sighed deeply while Mrs. Comstock stood speechless
for a second.
“I wish you had asked the price before you put that on,” she said
impatiently. “We never can afford it.”
“It’s not so much as you think,” said Margaret. “Don’t you see what I
did? I had them take off the quills, and put on some of those Phoebe
Simms gave me from her peacocks. The hat will only cost you a dollar
and a half.”
She avoided Wesley’s eyes, and looked straight at Mrs. Comstock. Elnora
removed the hat to examine it.
“Why, they are those reddish-tan quills of yours!” she cried. “Mother,
look how beautifully they are set on! I’d much rather have them than
those from the store.”
“So would I,” said Mrs. Comstock. “If Margaret wants to spare them,
that will make you a beautiful hat; dirt cheap, too! You must go past
Mrs. Simms and show her. She would be pleased to see them.”
Elnora sank into a chair and contemplated her toe. “Landy, ain’t I a
queen?” she murmured. “What else have I got?”
“Just a belt, some handkerchiefs, and a pair of top shoes for rainy
days and colder weather,” said Margaret.
“About those high shoes, that was my idea,” said Wesley. “Soon as it
rains, low shoes won’t do, and by taking two pairs at once I could get
them some cheaper. The low ones are two and the high ones two fifty,
together three seventy-five. Ain’t that cheap?”
“That’s a real bargain,” said Mrs. Comstock, “if they are good shoes,
and they look it.”
“This,” said Wesley, producing the last package, “is your Christmas
present from your Aunt Maggie. I got mine, too, but it’s at the house.
I’ll bring it up in the morning.”
He handed Margaret the umbrella, and she passed it over to Elnora who
opened it and sat laughing under its shelter. Then she kissed both of
them. She brought a pencil and a slip of paper to set down the prices
they gave her of everything they had brought except the umbrella, added
the sum, and said laughingly: “Will you please wait till to-morrow for
the money? I will have it then, sure.”
“Elnora,” said Wesley Sinton. “Wouldn’t you——”
“Elnora, hustle here a minute!” called Mrs. Comstock from the kitchen.
“I need you!”
“One second, mother,” answered Elnora, throwing off the coat and hat,
and closing the umbrella as she ran. There were several errands to do
in a hurry, and then supper. Elnora chattered incessantly, Wesley and
Margaret talked all they could, while Mrs. Comstock said a word now and
then, which was all she ever did. But Wesley Sinton was watching her,
and time and again he saw a peculiar little twist around her mouth. He
knew that for the first time in sixteen years she really was laughing
over something. She had all she could do to preserve her usually sober
face. Wesley knew what she was thinking.
After supper the dress was finished, the pattern for the next one
discussed, and then the Sintons went home. Elnora gathered her
treasures. When she started upstairs she stopped. “May I kiss you
good-night, mother?” she asked lightly.
“Never mind any slobbering,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I should think you’d
lived with me long enough to know that I don’t care for it.”
“Well, I’d love to show you in some way how happy I am, and how I thank
you.”
“I wonder what for?” said Mrs. Comstock. “Mag Sinton chose that stuff
and brought it here and you pay for it.”
“Yes, but you seemed willing for me to have it, and you said you would
help me if I couldn’t pay all.”
“Maybe I did,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Maybe I did. I meant to get you
some heavy dress skirts about Thanksgiving, and I still can get them.
Go to bed, and for any sake don’t begin mooning before a mirror, and
make a dunce of yourself.”
Mrs. Comstock picked up several papers and blew out the kitchen light.
She stood in the middle of the sitting-room floor for a time and then
went into her room and closed the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed
she thought for a few minutes and then suddenly buried her face in the
pillow and again heaved with laughter.
Down the road plodded Margaret and Wesley Sinton. Neither of them had
words to utter their united thought.
“Done!” hissed Wesley at last. “Done brown! Did you ever feel like a
bloomin’, confounded donkey? How did the woman do it?”
“She didn’t do it!” gulped Margaret through her tears. “She didn’t do
anything. She trusted to Elnora’s great big soul to bring her out
right, and really she was right, and so it had to bring her. She’s a
darling, Wesley! But she’s got a time before her. Did you see Kate
Comstock grab that money? Before six months she’ll be out combing the
Limberlost for bugs and arrow points to help pay the tax. I know her.”
“Well, I don’t!” exclaimed Sinton, “she’s too many for me. But there is
a laugh left in her yet! I didn’t s’pose there was. Bet you a dollar,
if we could see her this minute, she’d be chuckling over the way we got
left.”
Both of them stopped in the road and looked back.
“There’s Elnora’s light in her room,” said Margaret. “The poor child
will feel those clothes, and pore over her books till morning, but
she’ll look decent to go to school, anyway. Nothing is too big a price
to pay for that.”
“Yes, if Kate lets her wear them. Ten to one, she makes her finish the
week with that old stuff!”
“No, she won’t,” said Margaret. “She’ll hardly dare. Kate made some
concessions, all right; big ones for her—if she did get her way in the
main. She bent some, and if Elnora proves that she can walk out
barehanded in the morning and come back with that much money in her
pocket, an armful of books, and buy a turnout like that, she proves
that she is of some consideration, and Kate’s smart enough. She’ll
think twice before she’ll do that. Elnora won’t wear a calico dress to
high school again. You watch and see if she does. She may have the best
clothes she’ll get for a time, for the least money, but she won’t know
it until she tries to buy goods herself at the same rates. Wesley, what
about those prices? Didn’t they shrink considerable?”
“You began it,” said Wesley. “Those prices were all right. We didn’t
say what the goods cost us, we said what they would cost her. Surely,
she’s mistaken about being able to pay all that. Can she pick up stuff
of that value around the Limberlost? Didn’t the Bird Woman see her
trouble, and just give her the money?”
“I don’t think so,” said Margaret. “Seems to me I’ve heard of her
paying, or offering to pay those who would take the money, for bugs and
butterflies, and I’ve known people who sold that banker Indian stuff.
Once I heard that his pipe collection beat that of the Government at
the Philadelphia Centennial. Those things have come to have a value.”
“Well, there’s about a bushel of that kind of valuables piled up in the
woodshed, that belongs to Elnora. At least, I picked them up because
she said she wanted them. Ain’t it queer that she’d take to stones,
bugs, and butterflies, and save them. Now they are going to bring her
the very thing she wants the worst. Lord, but this is a funny world
when you get to studying! Looks like things didn’t all come by
accident. Looks as if there was a plan back of it, and somebody driving
that knows the road, and how to handle the lines. Anyhow, Elnora’s in
the wagon, and when I get out in the night and the dark closes around
me, and I see the stars, I don’t feel so cheap. Maggie, how the nation
did Kate Comstock do that?”
“You will keep on harping, Wesley. I told you she didn’t do it. Elnora
did it! She walked in and took things right out of our hands. All Kate
had to do was to enjoy having it go her way, and she was cute enough to
put in a few questions that sort of guided Elnora. But I don’t know,
Wesley. This thing makes me think, too. S’pose we’d taken Elnora when
she was a baby, and we’d heaped on her all the love we can’t on our
own, and we’d coddled, petted, and shielded her, would she have made
the woman that living alone, learning to think for herself, and taking
all the knocks Kate Comstock could give, have made of her?”
“You bet your life!” cried Wesley, warmly. “Loving anybody don’t hurt
them. We wouldn’t have done anything but love her. You can’t hurt a
child loving it. She’d have learned to work, to study, and grown into a
woman with us, without suffering like a poor homeless dog.”
“But you don’t see the point, Wesley. She would have grown into a fine
woman with us; but as we would have raised her, would her heart ever
have known the world as it does now? Where’s the anguish, Wesley, that
child can’t comprehend? Seeing what she’s seen of her mother hasn’t
hardened her. She can understand any mother’s sorrow. Living life from
the rough side has only broadened her. Where’s the girl or boy burning
with shame, or struggling to find a way, that will cross Elnora’s path
and not get a lift from her? She’s had the knocks, but there’ll never
be any of the thing you call ‘false pride’ in her. I guess we better
keep out. Maybe Kate Comstock knows what she’s doing. Sure as you live,
Elnora has grown bigger on knocks than she would on love.”
“I don’t s’pose there ever was a very fine point to anything but I
missed it,” said Wesley, “because I am blunt, rough, and have no book
learning to speak of. Since you put it into words I see what you mean,
but it’s dinged hard on Elnora, just the same. And I don’t keep out. I
keep watching closer than ever. I got my slap in the face, but if I
don’t miss my guess, Kate Comstock learned her lesson, same as I did.
She learned that I was in earnest, that I would haul her to court if
she didn’t loosen up a bit, and she’ll loosen. You see if she doesn’t.
It may come hard, and the hinges creak, but she’ll fix Elnora decent
after this, if Elnora doesn’t prove that she can fix herself. As for
me, I found out that what I was doing was as much for myself as for
Elnora. I wanted her to take those things from us, and love us for
giving them. It didn’t work, and but for you, I’d messed the whole
thing and stuck like a pig in crossing a bridge. But you helped me out;
Elnora’s got the clothes, and by morning, maybe I won’t grudge Kate the
only laugh she’s had in sixteen years. You been showing me the way
quite a spell now, ain’t you, Maggie?”
In her attic Elnora lighted two candles, set them on her little table,
stacked the books, and put away the precious clothes. How lovingly she
hung the hat and umbrella, folded the raincoat, and spread the new
dress over a chair. She fingered the ribbons, and tried to smooth the
creases from them. She put away the hose neatly folded, touched the
handkerchiefs, and tried the belt. Then she slipped into her white
nightdress, shook down her hair that it might become thoroughly dry,
set a chair before the table, and reverently opened one of the books. A
stiff draught swept the attic, for it stretched the length of the
cabin, and had a window in each end. Elnora arose and going to the east
window closed it. She stood for a minute looking at the stars, the sky,
and the dark outline of the straggling trees of the rapidly dismantling
Limberlost. In the region of her case a tiny point of light flashed and
disappeared. Elnora straightened and wondered. Was it wise to leave her
precious money there? The light flashed once more, wavered a few
seconds, and died out. The girl waited. She did not see it again, so
she turned to her books.
In the Limberlost the hulking figure of a man sneaked down the trail.
“The Bird Woman was at Freckles’s room this evening,” he muttered.
“Wonder what for?”
He left the trail, entered the enclosure still distinctly outlined, and
approached the case. The first point of light flashed from the tiny
electric lamp on his vest. He took a duplicate key from his pocket,
felt for the padlock and opened it. The door swung wide. The light
flashed the second time. Swiftly his glance swept the interior.
“’Bout a fourth of her moths gone. Elnora must have been with the Bird
Woman and given them to her.” Then he stood tense. His keen eyes
discovered the roll of bills hastily thrust back in the bottom of the
case. He snatched them up, shut off the light, relocked the case by
touch, and swiftly went down the trail. Every few seconds he paused and
listened intently. Just as he reached the road, a second figure
approached him.
“Is it you, Pete?” came the whispered question.
“Yes,” said the first man.
“I was coming down to take a peep, when I saw your flash,” he said. “I
heard the Bird Woman had been at the case to-day. Anything doing?”
“Not a thing,” said Pete. “She just took away about a fourth of the
moths. Probably had the Comstock girl getting them for her. Heard they
were together. Likely she’ll get the rest to-morrow. Ain’t picking
gettin’ bare these days?”
“Well, I should say so,” said the second man, turning back in disgust.
“Coming home, now?”
“No, I am going down this way,” answered Pete, for his eyes caught the
gleam from the window of the Comstock cabin, and he had a desire to
learn why Elnora’s attic was lighted at that hour.
He slouched down the road, occasionally feeling the size of the roll he
had not taken time to count.
The attic was too long, the light too near the other end, and the cabin
stood much too far back from the road. He could see nothing although he
climbed the fence and walked back opposite the window. He knew Mrs.
Comstock was probably awake, and that she sometimes went to the swamp
behind her home at night. At times a cry went up from that locality
that paralyzed any one near, or sent them fleeing as if for life. He
did not care to cross behind the cabin. He returned to the road,
passed, and again climbed the fence. Opposite the west window he could
see Elnora. She sat before a small table reading from a book between
two candles. Her hair fell in a bright sheen around her, and with one
hand she lightly shook, and tossed it as she studied. The man stood out
in the night and watched.
For a long time a leaf turned at intervals and the hair-drying went on.
The man drew nearer. The picture grew more beautiful as he approached.
He could not see so well as he desired, for the screen was of white
mosquito netting, and it angered him. He cautiously crept closer. The
elevation shut off his view. Then he remembered the large willow tree
shading the well and branching across the window fit the west end of
the cabin. From childhood Elnora had stepped from the sill to a limb
and slid down the slanting trunk of the tree. He reached it and
noiselessly swung himself up. Three steps out on the big limb the man
shuddered. He was within a few feet of the girl.
He could see the throb of her breast under its thin covering and smell
the fragrance of the tossing hair. He could see the narrow bed with its
pieced calico cover, the whitewashed walls with gay lithographs, and
every crevice stuck full of twigs with dangling cocoons. There were
pegs for the few clothes, the old chest, the little table, the two
chairs, the uneven floor covered with rag rugs and braided corn husk.
But nothing was worth a glance except the perfect face and form within
reach by one spring through the rotten mosquito bar. He gripped the
limb above that on which he stood, licked his lips, and breathed
through his throat to be sure he was making no sound. Elnora closed the
book and laid it aside. She picked up a towel, and turning the gathered
ends of her hair rubbed them across it, and dropping the towel on her
lap, tossed the hair again. Then she sat in deep thought. By and by
words began to come softly. Near as he was the man could not hear at
first. He bent closer and listened intently.
“—ever could be so happy,” murmured the soft voice. “The dress is so
pretty, such shoes, the coat, and everything. I won’t have to be
ashamed again, not ever again, for the Limberlost is full of precious
moths, and I always can collect them. The Bird Woman will buy more
to-morrow, and the next day, and the next. When they are all gone, I
can spend every minute gathering cocoons, and hunting other things I
can sell. Oh, thank God, for my precious, precious money. Why, I didn’t
pray in vain after all! I thought when I asked the Lord to hide me,
there in that big hall, that He wasn’t doing it, because I wasn’t
covered from sight that instant. But I’m hidden now, I feel that.”
Elnora lifted her eyes to the beams above her. “I don’t know much about
praying properly,” she muttered, “but I do thank you, Lord, for hiding
me in your own time and way.”
Her face was so bright that it shone with a white radiance. Two big
tears welled from her eyes, and rolled down her smiling cheeks. “Oh, I
do feel that you have hidden me,” she breathed. Then she blew out the
lights, and the little wooden bed creaked under her weight.
Pete Corson dropped from the limb and found his way to the road. He
stood still a long time, then started back to the Limberlost. A tiny
point of light flashed in the region of the case. He stopped with an
oath.
“Another hound trying to steal from a girl,” he exclaimed. “But it’s
likely he thinks if he gets anything it will be from a woman who can
afford it, as I did.”
He went on, but beside the fences, and very cautiously.
“Swamp seems to be alive to-night,” he muttered. “That’s three of us
out.”
He entered a deep place at the northwest corner, sat on the ground and
taking a pencil from his pocket, he tore a leaf from a little notebook,
and laboriously wrote a few lines by the light he carried. Then he went
back to the region of the case and waited. Before his eyes swept the
vision of the slender white creature with tossing hair. He smiled, and
worshipped it, until a distant rooster faintly announced dawn.
Then he unlocked the case again, and replaced the money, laid the note
upon it, and went back to concealment, where he remained until Elnora
came down the trail in the morning, appearing very lovely in her new
dress and hat.