"I can't blame any one but myself because I don't know all about Joan."
Rebecca Mary was an honest little thing and she made no attempt to shift
the blame to any one else. She packed it all on her own slim shoulders.
"If I had been a good teacher according to my principal I should have
called at the house long ago and heard the whole story from Mrs.
Muldoon. But I didn't. I kept putting it off, and so I don't know much."
Granny had stopped at the Lincoln school at the close of the afternoon
session to inquire if Rebecca Mary had learned anything more about
Joan's father. But Rebecca Mary hadn't learned a thing. Joan was an odd
mixture of frankness and reserve. There were times when Rebecca Mary
thought that she must have been forbidden to speak of her old life in
the town with the German name. The whole situation was puzzling. Rebecca
Mary could not understand it at all.
If you imagine that Joan's company was a constant joy to Rebecca Mary
you imagine all wrong. Rebecca Mary liked to have Joan with her well
enough at times, but there were other times when she was perfectly
indifferent to her guest and still other times when Joan was almost an
irritation, and Rebecca Mary could not see why of all the teachers in
the Lincoln school she should be the one to have to borrow a child
whether she wanted one or not. She had not had a chance to say "Yes,
thank you."
"I've learned that Frederick Befort is on the factory pay-roll and as
Frederick Befort," Granny said slowly. "There is no record of any Count
Ernach de Befort. Of course now that the war is over I don't suppose it
matters if he is a German. There wouldn't be any secrets for him to
learn. Germany wouldn't be interested now in what is being done at the
factory."
"But de Befort sounds French," objected Rebecca Mary, who could not see
that Joan bore any resemblance to any German child she had ever taught.
"Joan was born in Yokohama but that doesn't tell us anything. She
certainly isn't a Japanese. It's funny but she doesn't seem to want to
tell me what country she did come from. I was stupid enough to lose her
nativity card, and when I made out another and asked her what
nationality her father was she said he was going to be an American. I
told her I wanted to know what he was now and she said he had told her
that they would forget what they were before they came to this country.
That seemed rather queer. But Joan talks of Paris as much as she does of
Berlin. I wish I spoke French half as well as she does."
"She speaks very good German, too. And as you say there is something
suspicious in the way she avoids any reference to her nationality. It
does seem as if she had been told not to speak of it. I suppose I am a
silly prejudiced old woman, but I should rather have Joan and her father
almost anything but German. Are you through? Don't you want to take a
spin down the River Road before you go home? It's perfect out, a real
June day. Do come with me."
Rebecca Mary had no trouble at all to say "Yes, thank you" to that
invitation. She called Joan, and they went with Granny to the limousine
which was waiting at the curb.
"I wonder if Cinderella's coach went as fast as this?" Joan said as they
flew toward the River Road. "We read about Cinderella this very day,"
she explained to Granny. "It would be more interesting to have rats than
engines, wouldn't it? I'd like a pair of glass slippers, too, even if
they would break so easy. Wooden ones would be the strongest. That's
what they wear at home, you know, wooden ones."
"In Germany, you mean?" asked Granny quickly.
Joan wriggled. "Yes, in Germany they wear wooden ones," she said as
quickly, "I've never seen glass slippers, not in London nor Paris nor
Vienna nor anywhere. Aren't they any place but in fairy land?" she
twisted around to ask.
"Nowhere. No matter how much money you have you can't buy Cinderella's
slippers anywhere but in fairy land," Rebecca Mary told her with a sigh
as if she, too, would like to find glass slippers somewhere else.
For a while Joan was silent, meditating perhaps on the shoe shops in
fairy land with their glass slippers of every size and color.
Granny and Rebecca Mary were silent, also, but they were not thinking of
glass slippers as the car swung into the River Road, which is quite the
prettiest drive about Waloo. Never before had Rebecca Mary driven over
it in a smart limousine with a liveried chauffeur at the wheel. She had
walked there times without number, but walking is not like riding in a
pneumatic-tired machine, and Rebecca Mary did enjoy the change. She was
afraid that there was the making of a snob in her for she did like to
ride with Mrs. Peter Simmons better than she liked to walk with a
teacher as shabby as she had been. Yes, she was a perfect snob. She
laughed as if she found it funny to be a snob. Joan looked up and
laughed, too.
"I like you best when you laugh." She squeezed Rebecca Mary's fingers.
"Of course I like you always, days and nights and every minute, but when
you let your face break into little holes," she reached up and touched
Rebecca Mary's one dimple, "why I just love you!"
"So do I," said Granny. "And it makes my old face break into little
holes, too. Dear me, that makes it very serious, doesn't it? It is our
own fault when people frown at us. Don't ever forget that, Joan. If you
smile at people they will smile at you."
"Will they? But I like to have people frown at me sometimes. It makes me
shiver all down my back. Don't you like to have your back shiver?"
"My back is too old to like to shiver. It's far too old and too stiff."
Rebecca Mary caught the note of sadness in Granny's voice and ventured
to touch her hand. "It's the heart not the back which should be young,"
she said softly. "I read that somewhere so it must be true. And your
heart, dear Mrs. Simmons, will never in the world be old. Gracious, I
should say it wouldn't!" she added emphatically as she remembered how
far from old Granny's enthusiasm was.
"Don't call me Mrs. Simmons," begged Granny, and she took Rebecca Mary's
hand in hers. "I'm Granny to all of my young friends. I'd like to be
Granny to you."
Rebecca Mary caught her breath. Just imagine calling Mrs. Peter
Simmons,--Mrs. Peter Simmons of Waloo--, Granny!
"I'm not going to let my heart grow old either," exclaimed Joan before
Rebecca Mary could tell Mrs. Simmons how glad she would be to call her
Granny. "I want to keep it young for ever. But how can I when it gets
older every year? To-day my heart's eight and next May it will be nine!
How can I keep it young for ever?" Joan's voice was a wail.
"Yes, Miss Wyman, how can we keep our hearts young when there is always
a birthday before us?"
"You know. No one can give a better rule than you can."
But Granny shook her head. She declared that there wasn't any rule, that
was why there were so many old hearts. People didn't know how to keep
their hearts young. They weren't taught in any school she knew of.
"I'll ask daddy," promised Joan. "I expect he'll know. I'll ask him just
as soon as I see him. But I hope he won't come for me before the golden
wedding." She turned pale at the mere thought of missing a golden
wedding.
"The golden wedding won't be until July," Granny told her. "Imagine any
one being married in July. It was the most scorching day. I thought I
should melt and that old Peter Simmons would melt and there wouldn't be
any one left to be married. We went to New York and the sea shore on our
wedding trip, and Peter ate too many lobsters and was ill. Such times as
we had!" She smiled at their memory. "The twenty-second of July," she
said dreamily. "Will you keep Joan until then, Miss Wyman? Oh, I have a
plan! This is the last week of school, isn't it?"
Rebecca Mary nodded to the last question before she answered the first.
"I'll take Joan down home with me, to Mifflin, if Mrs. Muldoon doesn't
come back."
"No, I want you both to come to me. Please," as Rebecca Mary looked at
her in surprise. "I'm so lonely in that big house by myself. Mr.
Simmons is away so much, I never know when he will be home. It would
keep my old heart young," she hinted, "to have two young things in the
house again. Do, please take pity on a crabbed old woman."
"You're not a crabbed old woman!" Rebecca Mary said fiercely.
"I shall be if you don't come and stay with me. We might motor up to
Seven Pines, that's our country place, for a few days. Most people think
it's very pretty there. You want to come, don't you, Joan?"
"Yes, I do." Joan did not hesitate a breath. "I want to help you keep
your heart young. Don't you want to help too, Miss Wyman?" She didn't
see how Miss Wyman could refuse to help.
"But my mother and sister will expect us in Mifflin."
"We can run down Saturday and tell them," suggested Granny. "We can
motor down and back in a day. I know your mother will be willing."
But still Rebecca Mary hesitated although it would be fun to go rolling
into Mifflin in the big limousine, and it would be fun, too, to stay
with Mrs. Simmons in her big house, but---- Her fingers touched her
pocket and felt a hard round object, the locket which held the four-leaf
clover. The locket reminded Rebecca Mary that she couldn't refuse
Granny Simmons' kind invitation if she kept her promise to Cousin Susan.
She blushed and stammered a bit as she said "Yes, thank you." And then
impulsively she showed Granny the locket and told her what a mystery it
contained.
"Well, upon my word!" Granny seemed as surprised and interested as
Rebecca Mary could wish. "How romantic! We must find who gave it to you.
I do hope it wasn't that fat old waiter who sniffs. Haven't you any
clue? Who was in the tea room that afternoon?"
"I was there with daddy, wasn't I, Miss Wyman?" Joan pulled her sleeve.
"But I gave you violets. I didn't give you any lucky clover."
"Did you see her father?" Granny asked immediately. She was surprised
that Rebecca Mary hadn't told her she had seen Frederick Befort.
Rebecca Mary shook her head. "You can't really say you have seen a man
when you have had only a fleeting glimpse of a back. You were there,
Mrs. Simmons. And your grandson!" To save her soul Rebecca Mary could
not keep the crimson wave from her cheeks when she just the same as put
a wish in words.
But Granny shrieked with delight. "If it was Peter!" she chuckled. "If
it only was Peter! He is such a matter of fact old boy. I'd love to
think he went around giving girls four-leaf clovers."
"Matter of fact!" Rebecca Mary stared at Granny. Peter was anything but
matter of fact to her. Her voice told Granny so.
Granny stopped in the very middle of another chuckle. "Perhaps my eyes
are as old as my heart," she admitted. "You'll have to come and help me
see Peter as you do, help me change my old eyes."
"Can you do that?" Joan wanted to know at once. "Can you change your
eyes and your heart if you don't like the ones you have, like Mrs.
Muldoon changed the bread one day? She said it was stale."
"Indeed you can change a stale heart, Joan. It is wrong and foolish to
keep such a useless thing as a stale heart. You should change it at
once."
"Where?"
Granny looked helplessly at Rebecca Mary. Joan's endless questions were
sometimes hard to answer. Rebecca Mary laughed and answered for her.
"Wherever there is anything to love," she suggested.