IN THE GARDEN
“Where have you been all day?” Cassy asked as Jerry came blundering in.
“You can’t guess,” he returned.
“Down by the wharf?”
Jerry shook his head. “Somewhere you like. I stayed outside ’most all
day, but I got in at last; you know where.”
“Not the garden.”
“Yes, sir, the garden, and what’s more we’re going to see it on Monday.
I had a talk with the gardener; his name is John McClure.”
“Really?” Cassy clapped her hands.
“Yes, really.” Jerry winked at his mother. That was not all there was
to tell, but he meant to keep the rest a secret.
“I’m glad it’s Saturday night,” said Cassy after a silence, “for now
I’ll have all the time I want for thinking about it, for I’ll have no
lessons to study and to bother me. Besides, mother won’t have to work
to-morrow and she can tell us all about the house where we were born.
How long has it been since we left it, mother?”
“Six years,” Mrs. Law told her.
“I remember it a little,” said Jerry. “I remember father, too.”
“I wish I did,” said Cassy sorrowfully. “Don’t let’s talk about that
now. Tell us what you did to-day.”
“I went to market and did my errands first, but there were not many
baskets to take home this morning, and then I went and sat out on the
curbstone by the wall and waited. Gee! but that’s a big place; it
takes up ’most a square, and it’s awful pretty up there. I saw a shiny
carriage stop at the door and a lady and a boy got out. I’d like to be
that boy.”
“Was he just your size?” asked Cassy, interested.
“No, lots bigger, but he looked friendly; he kind of smiled when he saw
me there.”
“Come, children, it’s cleaning up time,” said Mrs. Law. “We must get
ready for Sunday; my last buttonhole is finished. I expect Jerry is as
hungry as a bear.”
“I am as hungry as two bears,” Jerry assured her. “What are we going to
have for supper? I don’t care much what it is, so there is enough of
it.”
“Don’t tell him what it is,” said Cassy.
Jerry approached the little stove where something was simmering and
sending out savory odors. He lifted the lid.
“Stew!” he cried.
“Yes, with dumplings in it. You shouldn’t have taken off the lid,
Jerry, it will spoil them.”
“Never mind, it is all ready to dish up,” Mrs. Law told him.
“My, but it smells good,” said Jerry with much satisfaction. “Did you
make plenty of dumplings, mother? They are jolly good with molasses on
them.”
“I hope I made enough,” his mother told him. “Cassy and I did not take
a hearty dinner, for you were not here, and so we decided to have a hot
supper.”
“We don’t have such good things every day,” Jerry remarked, drawing
up his chair. “I wonder if we’ll ever have lots and lots to eat; meat
every day and dessert. My! it must be fine. I’ll bet that boy I saw
to-day has all that.”
“I don’t believe he has dessert every day; I don’t believe anybody
has,” Cassy asserted, eyeing her mother as she dished out a plentiful
supply of stew upon Jerry’s plate.
“Ho! I’ll bet some people do. Don’t you, mother?”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“Did you use to?” Cassy asked.
“I believe we did.”
“Were we as rich as that?” Cassy looked her surprise.
“We were not rich at all, but we were very comfortable and very
content.” Mrs. Law gave a little sigh.
“Just wait till I grow up, and we will be again,” said Jerry, pausing
with a big piece of dumpling on his fork.
“That’s so long,” sighed Cassy.
But to Jerry with a plentiful meal before him to-morrows were pleasant
anticipations, and he replied: “Pshaw! no it isn’t.”
Cassy glanced up and caught her mother’s tired look.
“Well, no it isn’t,” she agreed; “it won’t be any time, and I’ll be
grown up, too, and mother won’t have a thing to do but——”
“‘Sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,’” Mrs. Law put in.
“‘And feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream,’” Cassy finished the
line. “I saw strawberries in one of the shops yesterday.”
“I’d rather have dumplings any day,” Jerry decided, having finished
eating his stew, and being now ready to attack the dumplings and
molasses. To tell the truth, the dumplings formed the principal part
of the stew and the meat was very scarce, but the children rather
rejoiced at that, and completed their meal with much satisfaction. Then
there were many little duties to be done, and of all the rooms in the
tenement it is safe to say that Mrs. Law’s was in decidedly the best
order for Sunday.
Cassy could hardly wait till noon time Monday, and though she was
usually a pretty good scholar, she made many mistakes that morning, and
was only aroused to a sense of her inattention when it suddenly dawned
upon her that she might be kept in and that would be a calamity too
dreadful to contemplate.
At last twelve o’clock came, and she found Jerry waiting outside the
school door.
“Come along,” he cried. “We don’t want to lose any time.” And catching
her by the arm he hurried her along the street till they reached the
long wall.
“Aren’t you going to wait at the gate?” Cassy asked as Jerry, without
pausing, went on.
“No, we are to go around to the other side. ’Way round where the horses
go into the stable.”
They found no difficulty in getting in, and, after walking the length
of the garden path, they came upon their friend, the gardener, sitting
on a wheelbarrow. He looked up as they came near.
“Well, here you are,” he greeted them cordially. “Didn’t forget the
time. Sun’s noon high and a few minutes past. Now then, my little lass,
we’ll go find your plant; I’ve got it safe and sound for you.”
Cassy’s eyes opened wide.
“My little plant?”
“Yes, didn’t brother tell you?”
Cassy shook her head.
“You’re a sly little lad,” he said, pinching Jerry’s ear. “I thought
that was what you came for.”
“I thought it was just to see the flowers,” said Cassy.
“You can do that, too, but we’ll pick out yours first. I slipped a lot
of geraniums a while ago; they’re easy cared for and are good bloomers;
no trouble if you give them a sunny window and a little water. Now
then.” He stopped before a row of potted geraniums already showing
their gay blooms of red and pink. “Take your pick,” he said.
“Oh!” Cassy crouched down and looked lovingly from one to the other.
How could she decide among so many? However, finally, after changing
her mind frequently, she halted between a crimson and a lovely pink.
Then she sought Jerry’s advice, and he spoke for the red one, but Cassy
thought her mother would like the pink one; it was such a lovely color,
and finally that was selected; Cassy, hugging it to her, fairly kissed
the little flower.
“How good you are,” she said. “Oh, Mr. McClure, what a lovely father
you must be.”
John McClure threw back his head and laughed.
“I’m no father at all,” he said; “I’m a lone man with neither chick nor
child.”
“I think that is a great pity,” said Cassy, gravely. “I have been
thinking of you living in a pretty little house with morning-glories
climbing over the porch.”
“And all the place I’ve got is a room in a workman’s boarding-house.”
“I wish you did have a cottage.”
“I’ve wished the same more than once, but it doesn’t seem to come my
way. Come now, we’ll go see the rest of the flowers.”
“I’m afraid we shall miss our dinner if we do that,” Jerry put in.
“Oh, I’d rather miss my dinner than not see the flowers,” Cassy told
him.
“You would?” Mr. McClure looked pleased.
Just then they saw a boy coming down the path. He had a cheery bright
face, and Cassy concluded he must be the one of whom Jerry had told
her.
“Well, John,” the boy cried, “I see you have company.”
“Yes, Mr. Rock. This young lass here says she’d rather look at the
flowers than eat her dinner. What do you think of that?”
“That she’s a girl after your own heart. But why can’t she do both?”
The boy smiled down at Cassy as if expecting her to answer.
“Because we couldn’t get home and back to school in time and see the
flowers too, and I do so want to see the flowers.” She looked wistfully
at Jerry.
“And I suppose your brother would rather eat his dinner,” said Rock.
“I think we can manage it. I’ll run in and get you a sandwich or
something, so you won’t starve.” He was gone like a flash, his long
legs covering the ground with great strides.
“That’s just like Mr. Rock,” said John McClure. “Come along, children,
we’ll be looking at the flowers, and Mr. Rock will see that you don’t
go hungry.”
“But——” Cassy looked confused. “I—mother——Do you think mother would
like it, Jerry?”
“What?” John interrupted. “I’ll venture to say she’ll not object to
your taking a bit of a sandwich from Mr. Rock. Just make yourselves
easy, and if you think there’ll be any trouble I’ll go and explain
it to her myself. By the way, you won’t want to take your geranium
to school, sis; you’d better leave it here and call for it on your
way home. Come now; these are the tulips.” And he began to guide them
around the garden showing them all manner of sweet or showy flowers.
They were not half way around when Rock appeared bearing a tray on
which were two glasses of milk, a pile of sandwiches and two generous
slices of pie. He set the tray down on a bench under a spreading tree.
“I say, John, it’s a jolly place to eat, out here, this fine day. I’ve
a mind to bring something for myself. Don’t begin your lunch, children,
till I come back.” And he was off again, returning in a few minutes
with more sandwiches, some crackers and half a pie. “Now,” he said, “I
call this great. Pitch in, youngsters. Come along, John, bring your
dinner-bucket, and we’ll have a lively time.”
Cassy and Jerry were rather shy at first, but Rock soon made them feel
at home, and they thought they had never tasted anything so good as
those chicken sandwiches and that apple pie.
“There!” exclaimed Rock, as the last crumb disappeared, “I enjoyed
that a great deal more than if I had eaten my lunch indoors. I went to
the country for over Sunday and when I got back this morning it was
too late for school; the train was an hour late. I found mother wasn’t
going to be at home to lunch, so, if you hadn’t been here to keep me
company, I’d have eaten a solitary meal indoors. By the way, what time
do you go back to school?”
Jerry told him, and he pulled out his watch.
“Then you’ll have to scamper,” he cried.
“You’re coming back to get your geranium,” John charged Cassy, and she
smiled up at him with such a sunny expression that John saw there was
little danger of her forgetting.
“Those are nice little things,” said Rock as he watched the two
children depart.
“That they are, Mr. Rock,” returned John.
“I wonder where they live,” said Rock.
“In one of the tenements beyond the square, so they tell me.”
“Pshaw! that’s not a very nice place, and those children seem neat and
well-behaved, and they speak well, too.”
“They’re fatherless,” said John, “and it’s likely their mother has
a hard time to get along, and can afford to live nowhere else, but
they’re different from most of the gang down that way; I saw that the
first day when they stood by the gate and looked in.” And he told Rock
of how he had first met the children.
“I’m going to learn more about them,” Rock declared. “I’ll be here
when they come back after school. That little girl’s face is a perfect
sunbeam when she smiles, and the boy is a manly, honest little fellow.”
True to his word Rock was there when the children returned.
“Where do you live?” he asked them.
“On Orchard Street,” they told him.
“Have you always lived there?”
“No,” said Cassy, “we used to live in a lovely little house near the
city, and there were morning-glories growing over the porch.” She
looked at John.
“By the way,” said that worthy, “I told you I’d see about the
morning-glories. I believe I’ve some seed in the tool-house. You’re
welcome to ’em, and if you plant ’em they’ll be likely to grow, and you
can train ’em over your window. Have you a good yard?”
“No,” Cassy said; “we have three rooms on the top floor, one big room
and two little ones. Mother likes it up where we are because it is
nearer the sky, and there is no one above us.”
“Sensible woman,” said John, nodding approvingly.
“And you’ve no yard? Well, you can plant the seeds in a box on the
window-sill, unless you like to have a garden in the common yard.”
“Oh, we can’t. Billy Miles won’t let us.” And Cassy told the story of
her treasured morning-glory, and of its destruction. Rock and John
listened gravely. “And I was so sorry,” said Cassy, “for I had always
wanted to see a morning-glory, because mother tells how they grew over
our porch where we used to live. We would be there now if papa had
lived.”
“How long since he died?” Rock asked, sympathetically.
“Six years. I wasn’t three years old, and Jerry was about five. Papa
got hurt on the railroad, you know, and he never got well.”
“Yes,” spoke up Jerry. “And mother said some people said she ought
to have lots of money from the railroad, because it was their fault,
but she tried and they put her off, and she couldn’t afford to have a
lawyer, so she just had to give up.”
Rock listened attentively. “I wish she’d come and see papa, he’s a
railroad man, and maybe he could tell her what to do.”
“Mother hasn’t any time,” said Cassy, shaking her head gravely. “She
makes buttonholes all the time; she has to so as to get us something to
eat and to pay the rent, but when we are big we shall not let her do
it.”
“Of course not,” said John. “Well, youngsters, I’ve got to go to work.
You must come around again some day and tell me how the morning-glories
are coming on. There is your geranium, my little lass.”
“And here’s a bunch of violets for your mother,” said Rock. “Tell me
your mother’s name and just where you live. Some day I might want to
call on you.” He smiled at Cassy as he held out the sweet-smelling
violets, and the children, as happy as lords, went off, Jerry carrying
his own and Cassy’s books and the little girl holding her geranium
carefully with one hand, and in the other bearing the violets which she
sniffed frequently as she went along.
WHERE IS JERRY?