"Why, I didn't get it!" exclaimed Laura Ann, in surprise. "And maybe I'm
not thankful! Poor T.O.!"
"Yes, poor T.O.!" agreed Loraine and Billy. The honor of drawing the
longest slip was not, it appeared, a coveted one. But T.O. actually
beamed!
"Needn't anyone pity me!" she said, briskly. "I like it! You see," she
added, explanatorily, "I never did anything remarkable before! Of course
I sha'n't blame you girls any if you shake in your shoes while I'm gone,
but I'll promise to do my little best. If you thought you could trust
me--"
"We do! We do!" Loraine said, warmly, speaking for them all. "And we
pity you, too, poor dear! It looks like an awful undertaking to me."
"How long can you take? Are you sure they'll let you get off down at
Torrey's?" asked Billy, languidly.
"Oh," the Talentless One said, calmly, "I shall get a substitute, of
course. They let the girls do that, if the substitute suits 'em. There's
a girl that used to be at the handkerchief counter that will be glad
enough to earn a little money, I know. She'll be tickled! And she can
keep the place open for me when I get back from the country in the
fall--" Suddenly the Talentless One laughed out joyously. "Hear me!
'When I get back from the country!' Doesn't that sound splendid! Makes
me think of cows and chickens and strawberries and--"
"Pumps painted blue!" laughed Laura Ann. "We're in for a blue pump,
girls!"
* * * * *
The substitution at the handkerchief counter could not be arranged
for at once, so the proposed voyage of discovery was a little delayed.
Meanwhile the Grand Plan and a newly-born family of lesser plans
occupied the interim of waiting. One thing they all agreed upon.
It was tired little Billy who voiced it.
"We won't be good this summer, will we? I've been good so long that
I want to rest!"
"It would seem comfortable not to have to be, wouldn't it?" Loraine
laughed. As if Loraine could rest from being good! "Not to have to do
anything for anybody--just be good to yourself! Now, I call that the
luxury of selfishness! And really, girls, we deserve one little
luxury--"
"We'll indulge ourselves," T.O. nodded gravely. "I'm sure I've been
polite to people and patient with people long enough to have a
vacation--a summer vacation!"
"Give me a paper and pencil, somebody, quick!" This from Laura Ann.
She fell to scribbling industriously. The purring of her pencil over
the paper had a smooth, wicked sound as if it were writing wicked things.
It was.
"Be it known," read Laura Ann, flourishing her pencil, "that we, the
undersigned, having endeavored, up to the present, to be good, consider
ourselves entitled to be selfish during our summer vacation. That we
mean to be selfish--that we herewith swear to be! That we do not mean to
'do good unto' anybody except ourselves! Inasmuch as we have faithfully
tried to do our several duties hitherto, we feel justified in resting
from the same until such time as we may--er--wish to begin again.
"Furthermore, resolved: That any or all persons hereunto subscribed, who
fail to keep the letter of this compact, be summarily _dropped!_"
(Signed) "LAURA ANN BYERS."
The paper went the rounds and was soberly signed by each girl in turn.
Loraine, the last, traced three words in her tiny handwriting at the
head of the paper.
"The Wicked Compact!" read Billy over her shoulder, and nodded
agreeingly. "That's a good name for it. Doesn't it make you feel lovely
and shuddery to belong to a Wicked Compact! Oh, you needn't think I
shall go back on the rules and regulations! If somebody gets down on his
knees and implores, 'Which note shall I flat?' I shall turn coldly away,
or else say, 'Suit yourself, my dear!' But, girls, oh girls, I hope
there won't be any pianos in Eldorado!"
"Probably there will be only cabinet organs--don't worry, dear!" soothed
Laura Ann.
* * * * *
The day after the Wicked Compact was drawn up and signed, T.O. started
on her quest for Eldorado. She would have no one escort her to the
station; she would give no intimation of her plans. They were all to
wait as patiently as possible till she came back. It was only because
she had to, poor child, that she accepted the contributions of the
others toward her expenses of travel.
At the station she straightened her short stature to its utmost and
approached the ticket window. She might have been, from her splendid
dignity of manner, six feet instead of five.
"Will you please tell me which road is the cheapest to travel on?" she
asked, clearly, undismayed outwardly, inwardly quailing before the
ticket man's amazement. His curious eyes surveyed her through the little
opening.
"Why--er--well, there's the most competition on the X & Y Road," he
said, slowly. "The rates on that line are about down to the limit--"
"Thank you," the dignified one said, and turned away. She found the time
table of the X & Y Road on the station wall, and studied it
thoughtfully. She had resolved to select the place with the most
promising name. Back at the ticket window she patiently waited her turn
in a little stream of people. The woman ahead of her was flourishing a
dainty, embroidered handkerchief, and she wondered idly if it had come
from her counter at Torrey's. If so, why was it not a little white flag
of truce that gave her a right to say "How do you do?" to the woman?
The Talentless One suddenly felt a little lonely.
"Ticket to Placid Pond, please," she said, when her turn came. The very
sound of the peaceful little name gave her courage. Placid Pond! Placid
Pond! Could any place be more indicative of rest? Then she bethought her
of the Wicked Compact, and felt almost impelled to hand back the
ticket--Placid Pond could not be the right place to be bad in!
But it was too late!
"Two-twenty," the ticket man said, monotonously, and she fumbled in her
lean, little purse. To Placid Pond she would go, and, if there were
barns and cornfields and a blue-painted pump--the thrill of expectancy
ran through her veins, and she forgot the Wicked Compact.
The Talentless One had never glided through green places like this
before, between slow, clear little streams, by country children waving
their hats. She had never seen far, splendid reaches of hills,
undulating softly against the sky. Wonder and delight filled her. She
found herself envying the little, brown children who waved their hats.
"It's pretty, ain't it?" a fresh, old voice said in her ear. When she
turned, it was to look into a fresh, old face behind her.
"Ain't it a pretty world the Lord's made? The 'firmament showeth his
handiwork,' don't it? Where are you going to, deary?"
"A place called Placid Pond," answered the girl, smiling back.
"_No?_ Well, I declare! That's where Emmeline Camp lives that was a
Jones an' spelt out o' my spellin'-book! If you see Emmeline, you tell
her you saw me on the cars. Emmeline and I have always kep' up our
interest in each other. She'll be tickled--you tell her I've learnt that
leaf-stitch at last! She'll understand!"
The thin, old voice tinkled on pleasantly in the Talentless One's ears.
"Come back here an' set with me, deary, an' I'll tell you which house is
Emmeline's, so, if you go past, you'll know it--it's painted green! Did
you ever! But Emmeline was always set on green. She was married in a
green silk, an' we girls said she married a green husband!"
T.O. laughed enjoyingly. She began to feel acquainted with Emmeline, and
to hope she should find the green house--perhaps it would be the
Eldorado house! Wonders happened sometimes.
"I don't suppose--there isn't a blue pump, is there? I've set my heart
on a blue pump!" she laughed, as if the little, old woman who knew
Emmeline would understand. The little, old woman smiled delightedly--as
if she understood!
"Dear land, no! I hope Emmeline ain't painted her pump blue--and her
livin' in a green house! But she'd go out an' do it--it would be just
like Emmeline, if she knew anybody wanted a blue pump! Here we are,
deary! This is Placid Pond we're coming to! You see that sheet o' water,
don't you? Well, that's it!"
The Talentless One buttoned her jacket and clutched her little black
bag. Her thin cheeks bloomed suddenly with tiny red spots of excitement.
She seemed on the edge of an Adventure; and, to one who had stood behind
a counter nearly all her days, an Adventure began with a capital A.
The train slowed up and stood panting--in a hurry to go again.
"Oh, I wish you were going to get out here!" T.O. said, wistfully.
The little, old woman seemed like an old friend to her. She felt oddly
young and inexperienced. Then, remembering the girls left behind in the
B-Hive and their confidence in her, she threw up her small head and
hurried away valiantly.
"Good-by!" she called back, from the bit of platform outside.
"Good-by! Give my love to Emmeline!" nodded and beamed the little, old
face in the car window.
It was a tiny place. T.O. could see only the great, placid sheet of
water and the diminutive station at first. She accosted the only human
being in sight.
"Which way is the city--village, I mean?" she asked.
He was an old man and held a scooped palm behind his ear.
"Eh?"
"The village--please direct me to it."
"Well," he laughed good-humoredly, "all the village they is you'll
strike yonder," pointing. "You keep a-goin', an' you'll git thar!"
She thanked him and set out courageously. She kept "a-goin'." The
country road was shady and dusty and sweet with mystic, unseen, growing
things. Her feet, used to hard pavements, sank into the soft dust
luxuriously. She breathed deep and swung along at a splendid pace. It
was hard to believe that she was a clerk at Torrey's! There did not seem
to have ever been handkerchiefs in the world--even all-linen, warranted
ones!
"This is Eldorado!" she said aloud, and was proud of herself for finding
it so soon--coming straight to it! Lucky she had been the one to draw
the longest strip.
She passed one or two houses, but none of them were painted green. She
said to herself she would keep on to "Emmeline's" house. The whim had
seized her and was holding on tight that Emmeline's might be the Right
Place. So she swung on buoyantly.
[Illustration: "WHICH WAY IS THE VILLAGE?" SHE ASKED.]
A stone wall bordered the road on one side, and over the wall she spied
a sprinkling of little flowers that called, "Come and pick us!" to her.
She did not know that they were bluets, but she knew they were dainty
and sweet and beckoned to her. She paused an instant uncertainly, and
then climbed the wall. It was rather an arduous undertaking for a clerk
at a handkerchief counter, and she went about it clumsily. The wall was
high and the stones "jiggled" in a terrifying way. One big stone climbed
down on the other side with her--they went together unceremoniously.
The Talentless One laughed a little under her breath as she sat up among
the little flowers, but she was not quite sure that she wanted to laugh.
The big stone was on her foot and she regarded it with disfavor. It
required considerable strength to roll it off--then she got up. Then she
sank down again very suddenly.
"Oh!" she cried, sharply. For several moments she said nothing more, did
nothing more. The discovery she had made was not a pleasant discovery.
In Eldorado clumsy people who could not climb stone walls came to grief.
She had come to grief. When she moved her foot, terrible twinges of pain
were telegraphed all over her body. She sat, a sorry little heap, among
the stranger flowers that had brought about her ruin. The roadway
stretched dustily and emptily up and down, on the other side of the
wall.
"Oh!" breathed the Talentless One. It had been a sigh before, now it was
a groan. What was she to do? A sort of terror seized her. She had never
been really frightened before. The beautiful country about her no longer
was beautiful. It was no longer Eldorado to her.
Then she discovered a green fleck down the road, a different green from
the grass and trees. If it should be Emmeline's house--if she could get
to it!
"I must!" she said, and hobbled to her feet. Somehow she got over the
wall, and went stumbling toward the green spot. The agony in her foot
increased every moment; she grew dizzy with it.
It must be Emmeline's house--a little, green-painted one beside the
road! There could not be two green houses in Placid Pond. With a long
breath of relief she got to the door. After that she did not know
anything for a little time, then her eyes opened. Someone with a kind,
anxious face was bending over her. It was Emmeline! It looked like the
face of an old friend to the poor, little Talentless One.
"There, there, poor dear! Never mind where you be, or who I be--you
'tend right to gettin' out o' your faint! Sniff this bottle--there!
You'll be all right in a minute. It's your foot, ain't it? It's all
swollen up--how'd you sprain it?"
She had the injured foot in her tremulous old hands, gently loosening
the shoe. The girl, though she winced with pain, did not utter a sound.
"There ain't any doctor this side of Anywhere," the kind voice ran on,
"but never you mind. I'll risk but what I've got liniments that will
doctor you up."
And the girl, looking up into the peaceful old "lineaments," smiled
faintly, and knew there was healing in them. Even in her throbbing pain
she could think of this new pun that she would regale the girls with
when she got back to them--if she ever got back!
"You are 'Emmeline,' aren't you!" she presently questioned, feebly, like
an old woman, for the pain seemed to have made her old. "I'm so glad you
are Emmeline!"
Poor dear, she was wandering in her mind, and no wonder, with a foot
swollen up like that! It was queer, though, hitting on the right name
in that way.
"There! there! Yes, I am Emmeline, though I might've been Sophia or
Debby Jane! Namin' people is sort o' accidental. I always wished they'd
named me somethin' prettier by accident! But I guess Emmeline will have
to do."
It was long after this before any explanation was made. The fact that
it was Emmeline was enough for those first hours.
"Now, you kind of bear on to yourself, poor dear! This boot has got to
come off!" the kind voice crooned. But, in the awful process of "bearing
on," the Talentless One shot out into the dark, as if pushed by a heavy
hand. How long it was before she came back into the light she did not
know--it seemed to be a point of light that pricked her eyes. She shut
them against it, and longed to drift away again; the dark had been cool
and pleasant.
It was a lighted lamp on a tiny, round table. She found it out the next
time she opened her eyes. She was in a little bedroom, on the bed. The
door was open, and a voice drifted in to her:
"She was coming to beautifully when I left her. I thought mebbe she'd
feel more at home to come to alone. I've got her ankle all dressed nice,
but it would make your heart ache to see it! The poor dear won't walk
again this one while--"
"But, Emmeline Camp, what are you going to do with her all that time?"
The second voice was a little shrill.
"Sh! I'm goin' to doctor her up, just as if she was the little girl the
Lord never gave me. I've always known what I'd do if my little girl
broke anything--There! you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Williams, while
I take this cup o'tea in."
It is odd how many little confidences can be exchanged in the time of
cooling and drinking a cup of tea. The caller had gone away, and the old
woman and the girl were left alone. Little by little the story of the
B-Hive and the quest for an Eldorado came out. Emmeline Camp sat and
nodded, and clandestinely wiped her eyes.
"I see--I see, deary! Now, don't you talk any more and get faint again.
I'll talk. You no need to worry about anything in the world--not yet!
When it's time to commence, I'll tell you. How does your foot feel now?
Dear, dear! When I was fussing over it, it seemed just as if it was my
little Amelia's foot! I've always known what I'd do if she sprained
hers, and so I did it to yours, deary!"
"Is Amelia your daughter?"
The old face wavered between a smile and tears. "Yes," she nodded, "but
she warn't ever born. It's a kind of a secret between me and the Lord.
He knows I've made believe Amelia. I've always been kind of lonesome,
an' she's been a sight of company to me. She's been a good daughter,
Amelia has!" Now it was a smile. "We've set an' sewed patchwork
together, ever since she grew up. When she was little--there, deary,
hear me run on! But you remind me so much of Amelia. You can laugh just
as much as you want to at me runnin' on like this about a little girl
that warn't ever born--mebbe laughin' will help your foot."
She took up the empty cup and went away, but she came back and stood a
minute in the doorway.
"There's this about it," she laughed, in a tender, little way, "if she
warn't ever born, she won't ever die. I sha'n't lose Amelia!"
* * * * *
To the three girls waiting at the B-Hive came a letter. They read it,
three heads in a bunch:
"Eldorado, June 26.
"Come whenever you want to. Directions enclosed."