“MAYBE”
The tiny girl sat in her pillowed chair by the window while the lady
from the next street talked with Aunt Sophie. Mrs. Hamilton Garde
wanted Aunt Sophie to go over to the great house where she lived and
clean some walls and floors. Now they were haggling over the price, or,
rather, Mrs. Hamilton Garde was haggling. The plump little woman who
scrubbed for her neighbors never haggled. She quietly stated her price
by the day or by the hour and let her patron talk. To-day the patron,
being Mrs. Hamilton Garde, had argued and hinted and argued again for
full seventeen minutes, and finally decided that even if twenty cents
an hour was an unreasonably high price to pay, the work must be done
and she should not feel justified in hiring somebody outside of the
neighborhood. So she bade the little plump woman with red, big-jointed
hands “to be sure and get over there and ready to work right on the
notch”--which meant seven o’clock on Thursday morning.
Long before this, the child had tired of the uninteresting talk,
especially as she had heard the same thing many times over which always
ended in the very same fashion. She was looking out of the window when
Mrs. Hamilton Garde passed her on the way out. The baby-blue eyes were
dwelling on the big, shining car in front of the little house.
Mrs. Hamilton Garde noted the earnest look, and she asked sweetly:
“Are you fond of motoring?”
“Motoring?” repeated the little girl in a puzzled tone.
Mrs. Hamilton Garde laughed in silvery tones, and simplified her
question.
“Do you like automobile riding?”
“Oh!” cried the small voice. “No, ma’am--I mean, I guess I should. I
never did, you know.”
“Is that so?” laughed the woman. “Well, I’ll take you some
day--to-morrow, maybe. Good afternoon, Mrs. Edmonson. Be sure and come
early. Seven o’clock sharp on Thursday!”
“Oh, Aunt Sophie!” the little girl burst out as soon as the door
closed, “did you hear what she said? She’s going to take me to ride!
Just think, to-morrow!”
“Maybe!” added Aunt Sophie.
“Oh, I guess she will!” cried the little one, her wee face aflame with
joy. “She _promised_, you know, and everybody always does just what
they _promise_. I’ve heard Sardis say lots of times that he’d got to do
something, because he’d _promised_. What time do you s’pose we’ll go?
As early as this?”
The little woman’s lips opened--and shut. She waited. “I’m sure I don’t
know,” she said at last.
“I wish you were going, too,” the child said wistfully; but Aunt Sophie
was silent. The doubt in her kind heart did not reach the wee girl at
all. When Aunt Sophie looked at the happy face and sighed, the child
was gazing far away into to-morrow afternoon, seeing herself seated
among those beautiful, soft cushions and whirling off down the street;
whirling away, uphill and down, and out into the land of flowering
fields and gay gardens, wide blue lakes and high green hills, running
brooks that sang as they went, and deep ravines filled with ferns that
never saw the sunshine; whirling on and on to those wonderful delights
of which she had seen so little and which Brother Sardis had promised
should be hers as soon as she went to live with him. And now it was
all coming to-morrow! She ate her supper that night to the whirring of
cars, the blare of motor horns, and--yes, the odor of gasoline. She
talked about it, too, as she ate, and never noticed that Aunt Sophie
was more than ordinarily silent.
Next morning, as soon as she awoke, the tiny girl found herself in
a strange state of excitement, and contrary to her usual custom she
called Aunt Sophie to her bedside.
“Hadn’t you better dress me right away, so I’ll be all ready to go when
Mrs. Garde comes?”
“You needn’t be afraid of her getting here before your breakfast,”
laughed Mrs. Edmonson grimly. “She don’t have hers till ten.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the little one, “are you sure?”
“I ought to know,” the woman replied. “I’ve been there often enough and
heard Tilly and Sadie scolding because the breakfast was all dried up
waiting for her.”
“Anyway,” the child smilingly insisted, “it would save trouble to put
on my best clothes now, and then I shouldn’t have to make her wait, no
matter when she comes.”
“You’re a queer young one to get around things,” Aunt Sophie laughed.
Then she brought out a little striped pink gingham frock, snowy
white petticoats, and a pair of shiny black shoes none too large
for a two-year-old baby, while the little girl in bed watched the
preparations with smiles of approval.
“You mustn’t set your heart on going this afternoon,” Aunt Sophie
finally advised. “To my mind it is very uncertain whether she
comes”--there was a perceptible pause--“to-day.”
“Oh, I s’pose it will be just as nice if she shouldn’t come till
to-morrow,” the child reflected, “’cause then I shall have it longer
to think about. You see, one day doesn’t make much difference,” she
philosophized. “Yesterday it seemed a perfect age till to-day, and now
it’s right here in no time at all. I guess it’s always that way. So if
she doesn’t have time to come to-day, I shall know to-morrow will be
here in just a few minutes. But I guess she’ll come--I kind o’ feel
it! Don’t you ever feel things coming, Aunt Sophie?”
The plump little aunt bobbed her head with a “M-h’m” over the drawer
where the small girl’s stockings were kept.
The little one chattered on until she was seated in her high, cushioned
chair at the breakfast table.
“Now you’d better let your victuals stop your mouth,” laughed her aunt,
not unkindly. “If you don’t keep still, pretty soon you won’t be fit to
go to ride or anywhere else. You’ve talked every minute since you woke
up.”
The child pressed a forefinger to her smiling lips, while she looked
across the table in merry response.
Morning usually slipped swiftly away with the elder member of the
household, but dragged more or less wearily with the little one who had
nothing to do but to sit at the window and gaze across the street and
up at the lawns and gardens that surrounded the home of Mrs. Hamilton
Garde on Burton Avenue. She could catch glimpses of the great house,
with its towers and multi-colored roofs, as the green branches waved to
and fro. The stables and garage were at the foot of the hill, almost
directly opposite the little gray house, and a path led down from the
mansion above. Few trod this path except the stable boys, the coachman
that drove the handsome pair of black horses, and the two chauffeurs
who had charge of the shining cars.
The watcher at the small window never tired of looking at those
beautiful cars when they came out of the garage, and they generally did
come out two or three times a day.
This morning there was no weariness in the baby-blue eyes as they
watched for one of the chauffeurs to come down the path. Of course,
the little maid told herself, Mrs. Hamilton Garde would not come for
her until afternoon--she wondered whether it would be at one or two or
three o’clock. Anyway, she was ready, all ready except for the putting
on of her coat and hat. She drew a sigh of satisfaction. It was so
comfortable to know that one was ready for whatever came. Then she fell
to thinking of the happy letter she would write to Sardis, dear Brother
Sardis, about the wonderful ride that Mrs. Hamilton Garde had given
her. Brother Sardis never spoke of Mrs. Hamilton Garde these days. But
she could remember a time, long ago,--she was such a mite of a girl
then,--before Sardis went to live with Uncle Dwight, when he used to
hate the rich woman who lived in the great house on Burton Avenue,
because of the way she had of tossing her head with a gay little laugh
whenever she chanced to come upon him with his sister in his arms.
As she thought it over now, she wondered why Mrs. Garde had laughed.
She was sure it was a very nice thing for Sardis to do, nothing at
all funny about it as far as she could see. Sometimes she knew that
he had stayed away from a ball game just to carry her out for a long
walk. Perhaps she did look funny in his arms, for Sardis was rather
small for his age. Once--she should never forget it!--Mrs. Garde had
said, “So you’re taking out your doll for an airing!” And then she had
laughed that gay little laugh. Sardis had watched the carriage into the
distance with a dark, scowly face. He had said something, too, under
his breath that she could not hear, and when she had asked him what it
was his face had grown very red and he would not tell. Dear Brother
Sardis! How she wished she could see him this very minute! As soon
as she had had her ride she would write to him all about it, and how
surprised he would be!
The sight of the tallest chauffeur coming down the path put a stop to
her musings, and she watched him as he disappeared in the garage. He
generally drove the big car. “Oh, I hope it will be the big car this
afternoon!” she said to herself. It was the big car now, for the tall
young fellow drove it from the garage and then stopped, jumped out and
ran back for something. He drove directly by the window and up the road
to the great house. Mrs. Hamilton Garde was going to ride. The little
girl drew a long, happy breath--it was nice to have so beautiful a
thing to anticipate.
“Maybe she’ll come right after luncheon,” smiled the wee maid two hours
later from her high chair;--“you said she didn’t have dinner at twelve,
as we do.” She looked across to her aunt for reassurance.
“She has hers at six,” answered Aunt Sophie.
“Maybe she’ll come at two o’clock,” the little one prattled on. “Don’t
you guess it will be about two?”
A quick shade passed over Aunt Sophie’s round face. Then a smile came
out.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Isn’t it perfectly beautiful that I’m going?” the child went on.
“There’d be room for you,” she observed wistfully. “Won’t you go if she
asks you?”
“No danger of an invitation,” with a short little laugh. Seeing the
reflection of her own shadowy thoughts on the small face opposite, she
added quickly:--
“I couldn’t go, anyway; I have too much work on hand to go gallivanting
off across the country.”
“Too bad you can’t,” was the plaintive regret. “When Sardis gets his
car you’ll have to go.”
Aunt Sophie nodded smilingly. “Oh, yes, I’ll go when Sardis has his
car.”
“He says he’s going to have one some day,” returned the child, wagging
her small head emphatically.
“I don’t doubt he will,” said Aunt Sophie. “He’s got a good many things
I never would have believed he’d have. He’s the greatest boy for
carrying out whatever he starts on. If he should happen to want to be
President, I declare, I d’n’ know but he’d get there.”
The little flower face shone, as it always did when “Brother Sardis”
was being praised. For the moment Mrs. Hamilton Garde was utterly
forgotten.
Two o’clock came, from the old-fashioned clock on the kitchen shelf
sounded two heavy strokes, the little girl at the window feverishly
watched the path that led down to the garage; but nobody appeared.
“I guess she’s taking a nap,” were the unspoken words that tried to
chase away a wee doubt which for a good many minutes had been pressing
its way into the hopeful little heart. “Of course, she’d take a nap
before going out again!”
Whether there was a nap or not, neither of the chauffeurs came into
sight. Half past two--three--half-past three--four--all ticked
themselves away on the old clock. It was very quiet in the front room
of the little gray house. The light haze that brooded over the hills
seemed also to have veiled the blue eyes at the window. Still, they
kept loyal watch.
By and by the child suddenly straightened--the tall young chauffeur
was striding down to the garage! It seemed as if the blue eyes must
pierce the side of the low building, so eager were they to see inside.
Presently the big automobile came out and whizzed past the window.
“Aunt Sophie! Aunt Sophie!” cried the little one joyously, “do come and
put on my things! She’ll be here in a minute! The man’s gone round!”
The little plump woman ran in breezily. “What is it, dear?”
“Please bring my things. I don’t want to make her wait. There! they’re
coming!”
“No, no, child! That’s only the undertaker.”
“Well, she will be here right off. Do hurry, auntie! The man just went
round to get her!” The child leaned forward, to catch the first glimpse
of the returning car.
Aunt Sophie stood--unmoved as to feet.
“Better wait,” she said, “till she comes.”
The little one turned to look up into her aunt’s face, and her
eagerness nearly faltered.
“Why, you don’t want to make her you?” she asked wonderingly.
“Well, I guess her time isn’t over valuable,” she said slowly. “Anyway,
I wouldn’t put on my things yet.”
They waited, the one all a-quiver with anticipation, the other gazing,
not down the street, but at the child, her round, usually placid face
now lengthened by lines of tenderness and pain.
The automobile did not come back. Finally Aunt Sophie crept quietly
away to the kitchen, where she could not see the little white face by
the window. The child was still scanning the road hopefully when, just
before six o’clock, the big car returned to the garage, empty except
for the liveried driver.
Aunt Sophie entered the room in her preparations for tea.
“She didn’t come,” needlessly announced the small voice. “I guess she
thought she’d wait till to-morrow.”
The little woman sighed softly.
“I think she’ll come to-morrow,” went on the voice in cheerful tone.
“Maybe,” returned Aunt Sophie.