NEWS
Altogether that was a wonderful summer which the Laws spent at the old
Dallas place. To be free to wander in that enchanting garden; to hear a
cool breeze whispering in the leafy tops of the trees; and when it was
stifling hot in the streets to be able to sit on a porch overlooking
a green lawn; to help John to weed and to water the flowers; to learn
from him all sorts of useful things concerning plants; to watch the
morning-glories open and shut in the morning, and the moon-flowers at
night; all this was like a beautiful dream, and Cassy wished the summer
would never come to an end. She dreaded the probable removal back to
Orchard Street, next door to the parrot and old Mrs. Finnegan and Billy
Miles; she dreaded the girls who at school looked askance at her and
called her Miss Oddity.
“We don’t want to go back, do we?” she said to Flora. “We’d like to
live here in this garden forever’n ever.”
But one day Mr. Dallas came. He had been with them several times
before, had stayed over night, and had given a pleasant word to each
one, but this time he called Mrs. Law from the back porch and they
both went up-stairs to the sitting-room. Then Cassy heard the voice of
another man and after a while Mr. Dallas and this other person came
down-stairs and went out together. Cassy listened a few minutes, and
then she ran to find her mother. She found her standing by a table; she
was gazing half-dazed at a piece of paper in her hand.
“What is it, mother?” Cassy asked, touching her gently.
She looked down at the child with a little wistful smile. “It is a
check from the railroad people,” she said.
“Oh! Oh! Are we rich now? Shall we have nice clothes and a pretty new
home? Are we as rich as Mr. Dallas?”
“Far from it, dear. They are not willing to pay what we demanded and
the lawyer at last thought it best that we should compromise, so it is
much less than I had hoped for at first, but it is so much better than
nothing that I am very thankful.”
“Shall we have to go back to Orchard Street?”
“No, I think not,” her mother answered, slowly.
“And shall you have to sew hard all the time?”
“I cannot tell yet what I shall do. I must have time to think it all
over. I am very glad to have this dear quiet place as a refuge until I
decide how best to take my place in the world. But I am forgetting my
duties already; I must go and see about dinner.”
“Jerry lighted the gas stove, and I put the water to boil. Jerry got
the potatoes ready, too, and I set the table, so that much is done.”
“Good children.”
“May I run and tell Jerry and John?”
“Yes, I don’t object, but you must not stay. I need my little maid
about dinner-time.”
“I know. I won’t stay.” She started to leave the room, but paused with
her hand on the knob. “Mother, what does entail mean? To put a tail on
something?”
“Yes, in a certain sense. But what do you know about entails?”
“John was telling me something; it’s his secret; he’ll have some money,
too, some day, because it’s entailed. I can’t quite understand about
it, but he is quite sure.”
“Well, run along, and I will explain to you some other time.”
[Illustration: “WHAT DO YOU THINK? NEWS! NEWS!”]
Between John McClure and Cassy there existed the greatest possible
friendship. Here was some one who understood the little girl; who could
tell her stories of trees and flowers, of the insects that helped and
those that hurt, of the birds and the beasts, and who could be a most
fascinating companion when he wanted to be. The Scotchman was not a
great talker except when he and Cassy were together; he was usually
rather reticent with other persons and especially regarding his former
life, giving only a hint of what it had been, but he told Cassy
stories of his boyhood and the two spent much time together. Jerry was
often with them and helped in various ways, but he was not always
contented to remain within the walls of the garden and very often
would seek out his schoolmates for a good game of some sort.
It being noon time Jerry was now at home, and Cassy found him with John
in the garden. The summer was passing and John was getting ready for
the fall; transplanting, cutting down, thinning out, to make room for
chrysanthemums, asters, dahlias and cosmos. Behind the hedge which ran
along one side the lawn Cassy could see John’s broad back and she ran
down the graveled path towards him.
“What do you think?” she cried. “What do you think? News! News!”
Jerry dropped the trowel he was holding and John straightened himself
up.
“What is it?” asked the latter. “Has your family of spiders come forth
from that fuzzy ball you have been watching so long, or has your pet
mouse learned to dance?”
Cassy laughed.
“No, better than that. The railroad people have paid mother; but——” she
looked at Jerry, “we’re not rich at all. Mother says it isn’t so very
much, yet it is very nice to have a little, isn’t it?”
“Humph!” responded John. “It never rains but it pours; I’ve had news
myself.” He drew a letter from his pocket and looked at the address on
the envelope.
Cassy went up to him and stood on tiptoe to whisper: “Is it about the
entail?”
John put his arm around her and gave her a hug.
“You sly little lass, do you remember that? Yes, it is about that and
some other things. I’ve got to pack up and travel as soon as I can.”
“Oh!” Cassy looked very sorrowful. “Must you go soon? Before we leave
here?”
“I think I shall have to go as soon as I can get off. I have yet to see
Mr. Dallas and get a man settled in my place, and then I shall take the
first steamer.”
“Shall you stay forever?” Cassy’s little hand crept into his big one.
“No, indeed; I shall come back as soon as I can get my affairs settled.
I have become a good American.”
“Like my father,” said Cassy proudly. “Shall you come back here to Mr.
Dallas?”
“No, I hope to have a place of my own. I wish—but there’s time enough
to think of that.”
“I must go in now,” Cassy said. “I promised mother I wouldn’t stay, for
she wants me. So much is happening that it made me forget.”
“It never rains but it pours,” said John, “but it is queer that all
this should come at once. What do you think about it, Master Jerry?”
“I think it is too bad that you have to go away, and I think it is too
bad that those railroad people didn’t give mother all that she ought to
have. Aren’t we going to have the cottage and the garden and all that,
Cassy?”
She shook her head.
“I’m afraid not. Mother doesn’t know yet. She’s got to think about it.”
She spoke in a little old-fashioned way that made John smile.
Jerry looked disappointed.
“Oh, pshaw! I’m disgusted,” he said. “I thought we’d have all we
wanted. I say it’s pretty hard not to get it after all this time we
have had to do without.”
“It’s pretty hard not to get a lot of things,” John remarked; “but
maybe they’ll come after a while. You’re young yet, my lad.” He turned
back to his work and Cassy returned to the house to find dinner ready.
“John’s had some news, too,” Cassy announced as they all sat down to
the table.
“I hope it is good news,” said Mrs. Law, smiling at John across the
table.
“It’s good and bad,” returned John slowly. “I’ve had word that my
grandfather has died, but I come in for the property he left.”
Mrs. Law looked up a little surprised.
“How strange!” she exclaimed. “I have had such news, too; the letter
was sent to my former address, and came just a minute ago.”
“That is a coincidence,” returned John.
“Is it Grandfather Kennedy who is dead?” Jerry asked. “Why, mother——”
John dropped his knife and covered his face with one hand.
Mrs. Law sat gazing at him.
“It can’t be; it can’t be!” she whispered, half rising from her chair.
“Will you tell me your maiden name?” said John, in a queer, strained
voice.
“Kennedy was my maiden name,” Mrs. Law answered.
“Where were you born?” John asked, in the same queer way.
“In Glasgow, but my parents both died when I was little more than a
baby, and my mother’s sister, who lived in England, adopted me, and I
generally was known by her name of Matthews. She came to America when I
was about ten years old, and I married here.”
John leaned across the table and held out a shaking hand.
“Little Mysie! Little Mysie! Can it be my little sister, and that all
this time I never knew it?”
“Yes, yes, but your name is McClure, not Kennedy.”
“It is Kennedy. I quarreled with my grandfather, who wanted me to marry
a wealthy woman, and because I chose the dearest girl in the world who
could win no favor from him because she was poor, he refused to see
me again. I went to Australia, and there my wife died a year later. I
could not go back to my old home. Grandfather had been too hard, too
unyielding, and there were some reasons that he should not know where
I was, and so I changed my name when I came to America, for I did not
know to what desperate straits I might come, though I meant to be an
honest man, no matter how poor.”
“John, dear John!” Mrs. Law was by his side. “My own brother! and we
have been strangers all these years, and yet have been seeing each
other every day for three months. What a strange discovery!”
Cassy left her seat and went around to John’s side.
“Are you my really, truly uncle?”
“I am, my lass, as near as I can make out. It seems straight enough.
Your mother there was Mysie Kennedy, and that was the name of my
little sister that I’d not seen since she left for the States. She was
brought up by my mother’s sister, my aunt Agnes Matthews, and I was
left with my grandfather, Alexander Kennedy. If those facts fit, you
are my own little niece. I wrote to my aunt when I first came to the
States, but the letter came back to me from the dead-letter office. I
was not specially proud of my position in the world and so I did not do
anything more to discover my relatives. I did not know my sister had
married, so how could I tell that Mrs. Jerrold Law was my sister?” He
smiled at Cassy’s mother.
Cassy looked at Jerry very steadily.
“I think if Jerry were to go away for years and years, I wouldn’t
forget how he looked and I would know him anywhere.”
Mrs. Law shook her head.
“I don’t believe you would. Do you think your uncle looks much like the
picture of your mother’s little brother Jock, which you have so often
seen?”
“Oh, no.” Cassy scanned her uncle’s face wonderingly, and shook her
head.
“And the little fat roly-poly girl whom I remember as my sister was
very unlike the lady who is your mother,” said John.
“I see,” said Cassy. “I suppose you couldn’t know each other, but I
can’t believe yet that I would ever forget Jerry or that I wouldn’t
know him a hundred years from now.”
“I think you’d all better eat your dinners,” said Jerry, nothing if not
practical, his plate being the only one that was empty.
The others laughed, but there was not much dinner eaten that day by any
one, for even Jerry was so excited as to have less appetite than usual.
“To think, Jerry,” Cassy remarked later, “that we have a relation, a
real relation, and I’d rather have him than any one else in the whole
world. May we call you Uncle John?”
“_May_ you? You’d better not call me anything else.”
“And are you going to be named Kennedy now?”
“Just for the present, I’ll keep the McClure, but when I come back
to you it will be with my own name. Wouldn’t you like to go with me,
Mysie?” he asked his sister.
“And leave my children?”
“Why not take them?”
Mrs. Law shook her head.
“No, I think that would not be wise at present. I think we’d better
stay here and make a home for you to come back to.”
“Oh! Oh!” cried both the children. “And will you always live with us?”
“Indeed I will if you’ll not get tired of me.” He turned to his sister.
“The entail ends with me, and I shall dispose of the property at once.
I am told there is a customer for it, the man who has been managing
the place for grandfather all these years. I have no wish to live in a
place where there are only unhappy memories.”
“I am afraid you had rather a miserable time of it in your boyhood, you
poor John,” said Mrs. Law.
“It wasn’t a particularly lively one. However, that is all past now.
Grandfather no doubt thought he was doing right. In his severe way of
looking at life and his strict ideas of what a young man should do;
what he called my disobedience was a very terrible thing to him. He
could not understand that I was a man grown and that I had a right to
marry the girl I loved.”
He gave a long sigh and rose from his chair. Jerry followed him out
into the garden. There was much to learn, and Cassy, divided between
her desire to go with her uncle and her wish to do her duty, by staying
to help her mother, stared after the two as they went off.
She chattered like a magpie while they were washing the dishes, and she
heard many things which had never been told her before. What a strange
day it had been! She felt as if she were living in a story-book, but
she stayed by her mother till the last dish was put away, and then she
was left alone while her mother went up-stairs to write some important
letters.
PLANS