HOW CASSY TRIED TO MAKE A FIRE
Only once more did Cassy see Eleanor before she returned home after her
Easter holiday, and that was one afternoon, which added another red
letter day to Cassy’s calendar. Looking over the top of her geranium
she saw standing before the door a shining carriage drawn by a pair of
glossy bay horses, and presently she heard footsteps approaching the
top floor, and then some one knocked. Cassy opened the door and there
stood Eleanor.
“I have come to take you to drive,” she said. “It is such a nice
afternoon to go to the park. Can you go?”
“Oh!” Cassy’s breath was almost taken by this announcement. “Come in,”
she said, “and I will ask mother.”
Eleanor stepped into the room. It gave her a little shock to see how
very plain it was, just as it had given her a shock to see the street
in which Cassy lived. She had not realized that this little new friend
was so very poor, although Rock had told her so. But it was pleasanter
up on this top floor than it was below, she reflected. Then she heard
Cassy saying, “Here’s mother,” and she stepped over to where Mrs. Law
sat sewing.
“Aunt Dora was not going to use the carriage this afternoon, and she
thought it would be nice for Cassy and me to take a little drive; it
is such a lovely day, and I am going home to-morrow. May she go?” She
looked with sympathetic eyes at Mrs. Law stitching away for dear life,
and thought how she would dislike to see her mother work so hard.
Mrs. Law stopped the machine for a moment and looked up with a smile at
Cassy’s eager face.
“It is very kind of Mrs. Dallas and you to want to give Cassy such a
pleasure. I shall be glad to have her go, and I know she will enjoy it.
Go get ready, dear.”
“Couldn’t you go, too?” Eleanor asked wistfully, looking at Mrs. Law’s
pale cheeks.
“I am afraid not,” was the reply, “though I thank you for thinking of
it. I must finish this work this evening. Won’t you sit down and wait?
Cassy will not be long.”
Eleanor sat down and watched Mrs. Law’s swift movements.
“Could I see Flora?” she asked after a few moments’ silence.
Mrs. Law smiled.
“Why certainly. I think she is in her crib over there in the corner.”
Eleanor looked and saw no crib, but she caught sight of Flora’s placid
face peeping above the side of the overturned footstool which served
as her bed, and she went over and lifted the doll out. She was not a
beautiful creature, she reflected; not near so pretty as Rubina, but
she appreciated Cassy’s devotion to her, and she held her tenderly in
her lap till Cassy returned.
“I would like to give her one of mine,” she thought, “but it wouldn’t
be her own child, after all, and she cares just as much for her Flora
as I do for my Rubina.”
Cassy looked pleased to see Flora receive this attention from her
visitor, and was more pleased still when Eleanor insisted upon putting
the doll up on the window-sill where, as she said, she could look out
and see them drive off. At the door Eleanor turned:
“Good-bye, Mrs. Law,” she said. “I wish you could go, too,” and then
she followed Cassy down-stairs, glad to get out of the ill-smelling
house.
The fairy god-mother, the pumpkin coach, and all the other fairy
delights seemed to have come to Cassy as she stepped into the carriage.
The children of the neighborhood stared open-mouthed at the spectacle
of Oddity Law going to drive in a fine carriage. For the moment she
was a creature further removed from them than ever. No wonder she was
queer, if she could have friends like the pretty little girl at her
side.
Cassy was quite conscious of the excitement they were causing, for
even the women who lived near by, stood, arms akimbo, to stare after
them. Cassy felt a strong desire for a hat as pretty as Eleanor’s;
hers was only a plain little sailor hat, but it was inconspicuous, and
was really much more suitable than a gayer one, but Cassy did not know
that.
What a wonderful drive that was! Would Cassy ever forget it? The
dogwood was in blossom, and wild flowers were beginning to spring
up along the woodland roads. The child could not talk much, but she
was very content to listen to Eleanor’s lively chatter, and when the
shining carriage drew up again before her door, Jerry was there to help
her out, and his look of pride as he glanced around at the astounded
Billy Miles was good to Cassy. And then Eleanor drove off and Cassy
saw her no more, but she was not forgotten, and when the two again met
it was not in that street, though of what was to come neither of them
dreamed.
It was one Saturday morning two or three weeks later when the glory of
the lilies had departed and the pansies were dwindling in size, and
only the geranium held its own, showing new blossoms and new buds.
Early summer was at hand; the streets were resounding with cries of
“Red-ripe strawberries!” or “Rags, bones, old bottles!” and the hand
organs were out in force.
Cassy had been busy all morning, for her mother had gone out upon an
important errand, and Jerry was running his errands at the market.
From time to time the little girl addressed a remark to the invisible
Miss Morning-Glory, or to Flora, who stared at her with round black
eyes from her corner.
It being Saturday there was much to be done, and Cassy had been busy
sweeping and dusting, and putting in order. Now she was a little tired
and was resting in the big rocking-chair, swinging herself back and
forth and chanting a little song to herself, which she made up as she
went along:
“There once was a lily that died,
And it was a lady, a lady,
But it went to heaven one night
And now it’s an angel, an angel.”
She sang the song very softly, looking over to where her pot of lilies
stood. Now it showed only green leaves, but Cassy’s thoughts were busy
in thinking of the lilies which had been and wondering whether they
were now alive in another world.
Suddenly the twelve o’clock whistles blew shrilly and the little girl
jumped down from her chair.
“There, Flora,” she said, “it is twelve o’clock and Jerry will be home
soon, and there’ll be no dinner for him unless I get it. I wonder if
I can. Mother said she couldn’t tell when she’d be back, so I’ll have
to do the best I can, for Jerry will be so hungry; he always is on
Saturdays. I will see what there is in the safe.” She opened the door
and looked at the various contents of the safe.
There was a plate of cold corn-bread, little dish of beef stew, and a
small, a very small plate of cheese. Cassy regarded these thoughtfully;
they did not look very promising, and she shut the safe door.
“I’ll try and make the fire, Flora,” she remarked, “and then Miss
Morning-Glory and I will get dinner. We are going to have—to
have—chicken sandwiches, and green peas, and fried potatoes, and little
long rolls, and strawberries and ice-cream and cake. Oh, yes, and
first there will be soup in little cups.” She had her luncheon at Mrs.
Dallas’s in mind.
Going to the stove she took off the lids and looked in. She had never
made a fire, for Jerry or her mother always did that, and she was a
little dubious about the matter. Mrs. Law had to be very frugal in the
matter of fuel so there was no coal to be put on, and Cassy thought
she could easily manage the wood. So she stuffed in some paper and
piled some sticks of wood on top of it, then shut it all up tight after
lighting it. In a few minutes she looked at it, but it was dead out.
She tried a second time, but with no better success. How in the world
did her mother manage to do it so easily?
She stood looking at it, puzzled what to do next, then she remembered
that some chips and light kindling must go in on top of the paper. She
tried to get off some little slivers, and by so doing managed first to
get a splinter in her forefinger and then to cut a gash in her thumb.
She was ready to cry, and indeed the tears were standing in her eyes,
for the time was going and Jerry would be at home very soon. She could
not bear to confess to him that she could not make fire, for Jerry,
like all boys, was ready to tease. So she took off the lids again to
make a last effort.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and when it was opened there
stood Rock Hardy.
“I came to tell you that your mother will not be home till late,” he
told Cassy. He caught sight of her thumb tied up with a rag. “Why, what
a woebegone little face,” he said, “and your finger is bleeding. What
have you been doing to yourself?”
“I’ve been trying to make a fire and it won’t burn.” Cassy’s voice was
full of tears. “And I can’t get this splinter out, and I cut myself
trying to make kindling.”
“You poor little girl! you have had trouble of your own. Here, let me
see. I’ll get that splinter out, and tie up that thumb properly, and
make the fire, too. Are you here all alone?”
“Yes, you know Jerry has his market errands to do, and I wanted to have
dinner ready by the time he came.”
“Poor little girl,” Rock repeated. “First get me a fine needle and I’ll
see about that splinter. I will try not to hurt you.”
Cassy was very brave and stood quite still while Rock probed for the
splinter which had gone in quite deep, but at last he triumphantly
produced it sticking on the end of the needle, and after tying up her
cut thumb, he tipped back her chin and looked into her eyes in which
the tears were standing. She smiled and tried to wink away the drops.
“You were a real soldier,” Rock told her, “and I know it hurt like
everything when I had to dig down after that splinter. Now for the
fire. What’s wrong? Why, you haven’t opened any of the drafts. See, you
must pull out this one, and open this thing in front; that will make a
blaze. Now, there she goes. What are you going to cook?”
Cassy looked down a little abashed.
“I wasn’t going to cook anything. I was just going to warm up this stew
and the corn-bread. You see mother didn’t expect to be gone so long and
she didn’t know we wouldn’t have anything else for dinner.” She made
her little excuses haltingly.
Rock was silent for a moment. It seemed like such a poor little dinner
to the boy accustomed to a lavish table.
“I wish you would invite me to dinner,” at last he said very gravely.
Cassy cast a startled look at the remnant of stew. There would be
enough corn-bread, but she knew Jerry’s appetite, and if Rock’s were
anything like it, some one would have to go hungry from the table. But
she said shyly, “Won’t you stay and take dinner with us? Jerry will be
glad to have you.”
“And how about Cassy?”
The child cast another glance at the little supply of food and Rock
smiled.
“I can make jolly good chocolate,” he said, “and I am going to have
some. Do you mind if we make a sort of picnic of this and let every
fellow bring his own basket? I think it would be a great lark to do
that.”
That seemed an easy way out of it, and Cassy, much relieved, nodded and
smiled. It suited her exactly to call it a picnic.
“You see,” Rock went on, “they’re talking over your mother’s affairs at
our house, and father’s lawyer is there, and so you see it is no fun
for me, and they’ll be glad to get me out of the way. So, if you will
invite me to your picnic, I should like it of all things.”
“Oh, I do invite you, and here are the rocks, and over there by the
window can be the woods, there, where the flowers are.”
Rock laughed.
“You have an imagination of your own,” he said. “All right. I am going
to shut up some of these drafts so the fire won’t all burn out. I’ll be
back directly.” He went flying out and Cassy heard him going down the
stairs, two or three steps at a time. Then she turned to her work of
setting the table.
“We are going to have a picnic, Flora,” she said. “Isn’t it fun?
Won’t Jerry be surprised? I must go into the other room and tell Miss
Morning-Glory that she can stay to dinner. I was afraid there wasn’t
going to be enough for her and all of us, too.”
She bustled about and had everything in readiness by the time Rock
returned. He carried a basket which he set down on the chest.
[Illustration: “CASSY’S EYES OPENED WIDER AND WIDER”]
“Now then,” he said, “let’s see if we are all right. There’s the milk
for the chocolate,” producing a bottle; “here are some sardines. What’s
this? Oh, yes, the chocolate. Here’s a box of strawberries; they looked
tempting; you can cap them while I make the chocolate. What is in this
bag? I forget. Oh, yes, that’s sugar, and this is cake and biscuits and
stuff. Nobody ever heard of a picnic without cake. I borrowed the
basket from the grocer at the corner.”
Cassy’s eyes opened wider and wider while all this abundance was
displayed, but she made her protest.
“But you have brought so much; it is more than your share.”
“I don’t think so, but if I have, you will have to excuse me, for I
am a new hand at marketing. Besides, you furnish the picnic grounds;
all these rocks and that grove over there, and the fire and the
dishes. I think when you come to look at it that I have furnished the
least.” Which statement satisfied Cassy, who went to work to cap the
strawberries while Rock set the milk to boil for the chocolate.
They were in the midst of these performances when Jerry came in.
“Hallo!” he cried, as he saw this unusual state of affairs. “Where’s
mother?”
“She is at our house,” replied Rock, “or at least she was. I left her
there, and father was talking for all he was worth to the lawyer, so I
reckon they will enter that suit, and I do hope you will win.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Cassy. “I forgot to ask you if you knew anything about
it; we thought that was what mother was going for.”
“Yes, I asked father, and he said it was too early to tell yet but
there was a good prospect of your getting something. I say, old
fellow,” he gave Jerry a friendly slap on the back, “I have invited
myself to a picnic lunch to celebrate the event. They are glad to have
me out of the way on this occasion and Cassy was so good as to ask me
to stay and dine with you.” He gave Cassy an amused look as he spoke
and she looked down, remembering how very unready she was to invite him.
“My, that’s a jolly good feed,” cried Jerry, his eyes roaming over the
table. “I am as hungry as a bear.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Rock, “for I am too. I could eat every
mouthful of that stew.”
“I wish you would,” said Jerry, frankly. “I’m tired of it; I’d a lot
rather have the sardines.”
“All right, it’s a go,” said Rock. “I hope you don’t want any, Cassy.
Wouldn’t you rather have the sardines, too? then I can have all the
stew.”
Cassy confessed that she would rather, and Rock drew the dish of stew
to his side of the table.
“Did you have a good day, Jerry?” Cassy asked.
“Not very; I only made thirty cents.”
Rock looked at him. “To think of this little fellow helping to support
his family,” was his thought, and he gave Jerry an admiring glance.
“That’s more than I ever earned in one day,” he said, soberly.
“Oh, but you don’t have to,” Jerry replied. “I reckon I wouldn’t
either, if I were you.”
“Never mind, old fellow,” Rock went on, “you’ll be twice the man for
it. I tell you when a fellow shows what he is willing to do and that
he isn’t going to shirk, it goes a great way. John McClure told father
about your insisting upon doing something to pay for that little measly
geranium you got for Cassy, and ever since then father’s been keen to
see to this business of your mother’s. John McClure is a fine man.
Father says he is one of the most intelligent fellows he knows. He is a
Scotchman by birth and is well educated, but he had some trouble with
his people at home and came to America to make his living any way that
he could. He’d always been fond of gardening, so he applied for the
place as gardener with us, and has been there ever since we’ve lived
here. I believe he will come into some property some day, and we’ll be
sorry to part with him, I tell you.”
“I just love him,” said Cassy.
“I think he’s a brick,” said Jerry. “Haven’t you always lived in that
house?”
“No, indeed, only for a few years. It really belongs to old Mr. Dallas,
but he and his wife are obliged to go south every year, and so when my
mother and Mr. Heath Dallas were married, his father wanted them to
take the place and keep it from running down. So that suited everybody,
and we’ve been living there two years. Mother loves it and so do I, and
I believe John McClure does, too.”
“I should think he would,” Cassy remarked fervently.
“Father would like to build a little house in the corner of the garden
for John, but he says, no, he has no one to keep house for him and
that some day he will have a place of his own; I think he means to be
a florist and have greenhouses and such things; he reads about gardens
and plants, and all that sort of thing, all the time.”
“I should think that would be the finest business,” said Jerry. “I tell
you flowers sell for a big price sometimes.”
“I know they do, especially in midwinter. Anyhow everything John puts
in the ground seems to grow, and I should think he’d make a success of
that business, for he’s what father calls a ‘canny Scot,’ though he’s
not a bit stingy. By the way, I heard my father ask if you had any
relatives; I suppose you haven’t, have you?”
“No,” Jerry told him, “at least not very near ones. Father had no
brothers or sisters, and mother’s people lived in England. Her father
and mother died when she was little, and she came over here with her
aunt.”
“Oh, I see,” said Rock. He had wondered why Mrs. Law had been left with
no one to give her a helping hand.
THE SUMMER LONG