_Gloriana-Virginia proves that it was really a Wishing Carpet, after
all!_
OTHER plans were being made for young Mr. Peter Parker of Pasadena at
almost the same moment. Cousin Mary-Lou Tenafee had coaxed her Cousin
’Gene Carey to allow himself to be driven out to Beulah-land for the
last day of her house-party, because it would be a nice change for
the dear old thing, and because she wished to confer with him upon a
pleasing matter.
She herself mixed a toddy for him in her husband’s study while her
guests were dressing for dinner, and watched him fondly while he
reveled in it.
“By gad, Mary-Lou,” he said appreciatively, “I swear Bob Lee couldn’t
have done better himself! My dear child, I wonder if you realize what
it means to have such an excellent cellar in these--these----”
“Dry or dangerous days?” the girl widow smiled. “I think I do, Cousin
’Gene. It certainly insures popularity.”
The old gentleman got to his feet with some difficulty, for the
paralyzed side was still cumbersome. “Your popularity would be insured
on a sea of lemonade, my dear,” he toasted her gallantly.
“But isn’t it nice I don’t have to prove it for a long time to come!”
The grandfather’s clock which had belonged to a Bob Lee Tenafee three
generations earlier struck seven and she came swiftly to her point.
“You know, Cousin ’Gene, I’ve been thinking a lot about Nancy, lately.”
“You have, my dear?”
“About her future, I mean. Now, it isn’t because I don’t think you’re
going to be fit as a fiddle again in no time, and live to be a
hundred!” she met the sudden change in his expression merrily. “It is
just because she’s such a beauty, and all the men are mad about her,
and she’s so sort of--innocent and trusting and _tender_--girls aren’t
like that, nowadays, Cousin ’Gene----”
“She is the image of her sainted mother,” he declared mistily.
“Yes, I know, and loving her as I do, I want to see her find just the
finest and best and most splendid fellow--and I feel that we--that
you and I must, well, sort of arrange things, Cousin ’Gene. You see,
Nancy _is_ so sort of trusting, she could easily be--be--well, sort
of romantically carried away--” Mary-Lou Tenafee hadn’t the faintest
intention of disclosing the little scene at the mill which had given
rise to these apprehensions unless it was absolutely necessary to
startle the old gentleman into action, but before her mental vision as
she spoke was the sight of Nancy Carey’s hazel gaze upon Luke Manders,
her plump, soft hand white against his dark sleeve as she pleaded with
him not to let her father stay down more than an hour on his first
visit to the Altonia. “What I have in my mind is this, Cousin ’Gene:
wouldn’t Peter Parker and our Nancy make a pretty pair?”
“Well, by the eternal! That young----”
“He’s a sweet lamb of a boy, and being your partner makes it awfully
nice, and those millions would be very easy to take, wouldn’t they?”
“My daughter’s happiness,” he began, majestically.
“Your daughter’s happiness wouldn’t be mussed up a bit by a million or
so! Think what it would mean to you, when you’re not well, and things
going so badly at the mill, to know that her future was secured!”
“Yes, I know, Mary-Lou, it would be a God’s blessing if I could
feel--but--is he interested?”
“He’s _ready_ to be--time, place, and girl--I’ll manage that. I’ll set
the stage, Cousin ’Gene!”
“My Lady-bird! I wouldn’t influence her by a feather’s weight if her
heart----”
“Of course not--nor would I! I’m the _last_ woman in the world to urge
anything but a love match.” Mrs. Bob Lee’s brown and velvety gaze
grew bright and glistening. “But he’s mighty interesting because he’s
different, and don’t you ever think for one second that he’s anybody’s
fool!”
“Well, now, I never thought that, exactly, but I did think he was
pretty--simple, Mary-Lou!” The old gentleman was kindling rapidly to
the idea.
“Then you have another think coming,” said his kinswoman, merrily.
“That simplicity stuff is just the smoke screen he throws up so he can
size us up from behind it!” She took his arm and led him to the dining
room where her guests were waiting. “We’ll matchmake, you and I, won’t
we? We’ll wind ’em round our fingers!”
“You little rascal,” he chuckled, warming more and more as he saw his
Lady-bird and his young partner standing together in a gentle silence
before the great fireplace, “we will, by the eternal!”
It was three days later that Glen took matters into her own hands and
brought Gloriana-Virginia home to her own house.
“Hit ain’t a mite o’ use,” her aunt commented sourly. “Jes’ let that
young-un get down, and hit’s no telling when we’ll get her up agin;
jes’ like a cow. Long’s she keep’s going, she’s all right.”
“M’liss’! ‘All right!’ How can you say that? She’s tired to _death_!”
“That young-un was borned tired, I reckon. Never did have no spunk.
Favored her maw and her maw’s folks.” Miss Tolliver treated herself
liberally to snuff and allowed that it was rather hard for her to be
deprived of her niece’s earnings in order that she might gallivant
around and enjoy herself.
“I’ll pay you whatever Glory would earn while she’s with us,” said
Glen, hotly. “And you know perfectly well she’s not going to gallivant;
she’s going to stay in bed late every day, and lie in the hammock, and
rest!”
“Hit ain’t in reason that she won’t be plumb spi’lt,” the aunt repeated
her grievance. “I ’low I’ll have to train her right sharp when she
kindly comes home to her own kin again!”
Miss Ada regarded the spectacle of a Tolliver in the tiny guest chamber
without enthusiasm, but the child was so meek, so humble, so cringingly
grateful that she was not able to hold out against her for very long,
and treated her with a gentle condescension which Glory received
adoringly, and black Phemie, after a sniff or two at “po’ white trash
in er quality baid,” settled comfortably to the task of fattening her,
and took a professional pride in the process.
M’liss’ kept severely aloof, while Henry Clay Bean and pap sneaked in
almost every day to see Glory, but the real thrill was the evening
when Phemie left the supper dishes to answer the doorbell and came
padding upstairs with a rather shocked expression, a card held daintily
between a damp thumb and forefinger.
“Mist’ Peter Parker to call on Mis’ Glo’anna-Virginny Tollivah!”
Glen and Miss Ada were sitting in the tiny guest room, Glen with the
inevitable fairy-tale book, and the teacher with her needlework, and
the girl flushed hotly.
“Phemie, tell the gentleman that Glory has gone to bed.”
There was a wail from the house guest. “Oh, Glen, please, _pretty_
please, lemme see him! I jes’ been pintly honin’ to see him, Glen!
Seems like he was gone to Beulah-land for a solid month and I was plumb
scared I wouldn’t never see him no mo’!”
“But, Glory, dear, the doctor said you were to go to sleep early!”
“I been honin’ to see him,” said the child again, and burst suddenly
into tears.
“Dear, dear,” Miss Ada clucked, “she mustn’t do that! I don’t suppose a
few moments, my dear-- She could just put on the little wrapper I made
her yesterday--it’s very warm, you know--” Ever since Mrs. Parker’s
amazing call Miss Ada had undergone a sea change toward the Parker
family. “I will take her down, if you wish.”
“I will take her myself.” Glen put on the pale pink flannel kimono
and the pink felt slippers which were Glory’s chiefest new treasures,
and carried her capably downstairs, greeting the caller coldly. “She
can stay only a few moments. The doctor wants her to go to sleep very
early.”
He advanced, before she could deposit her burden in the big chair, and
took Glory in his arms where she snuggled down like a contented puppy.
“Seems like hit was a plumb year....” she sighed.
“I won’t keep her very long,” he promised. Then he looked delightedly
about the grave, quaint room. “Babe Jennings told me, or tried to, but
she missed it. And which,” he addressed himself to Gloriana-Virginia,
“is the Wishing Carpet?”
She pointed with a sallow and boney forefinger. “That thar, suh! Ain’t
hit mighty sweet and sightly?”
“It is, truly, and it looks very potent to me.” Still carrying her
carefully, he stepped over to the rug and stood by design where his
mother had lately stood by chance. “I wish,” he said gently, his eyes
on Glen Darrow, “I _wish_ that you could manage to be a little nicer to
me....”
Glen had told herself, after her civil and secretly shaken parting from
Mrs. Parker, that nothing was changed; she had been mistaken about the
woman; she was not an oppressor; her low and sensible heel was not
upon the neck of the toiler; she was indeed (Mrs. Parker had talked
with her at length on labor problems and conditions and what her clubs
were striving to do for their betterment) even as Dr. Darrow had been,
the friend of the submerged. It was possible to be sorry for such a
woman who was the mother of such a son, but it was not possible or
necessary to change one’s opinion of that son. She had thought it all
out clearly in a night which held little of sleep, but now, seeing him
here in her beloved room, standing upon the lovely low-toned rug her
pale mother had loved, with Glory cuddling thankfully in his arms, it
was not quite so clear.
“I wish,” he began again, but she interrupted him, speaking quickly and
harshly, with something of panic in her voice.
“I cannot change my convictions. My father brought me up to believe
certain things, to have certain standards----”
“And he made a wonderful job of it,” he admitted cordially, “but after
all, you know, your father was--yesterday--and we are to-day, and
to-morrow!”
The doctor’s daughter shook a stubborn head. Here in this room which
pale Effie would have adored, facing a youth from the world she
worshiped, Glen would be true to Glenwood Darrow’s creed. She faced
him steadily. “My father is dead, but he taught me to be a good hater.”
“And I am alive,” said Peter Parker, “and I shall teach you to be a
good lover.”
There was a little pause, delicate as a bubble; a breath would break
it, and the three of them, the boy and the girl and the sick child,
seemed hardly to breath. Then there was a shattering; a heavy step on
the porch and a sharp knock at the door, and the door’s opening.
“Super!” gasped Glory, hiding her face against Peter’s neck.
“’Evening, Manders!” Peter was briskly pleasant. “Want to see me?”
At his curt and scowling negative Glen spoke quickly. “Mr. Parker came
to see Glory, Luke. Will you--won’t you sit down?”
“No. I want to see you. Get your hat; we’ll walk.” His short sentences
had the value of pistol shots in the quiet, charming room. “I’ll wait
outside.” He went out onto the veranda, closing the door loudly after
him, and Glen ran upstairs and came down again immediately, pulling on
a sweater.
“Miss Ada will come for you in a few minutes, Glory,” she told the
child, and to Peter Parker she said a very low “Good night!”
After the sound of the retreating footsteps had died away
Gloriana-Virginia put up a small yellow claw and touched his face.
“’Scuse me, suh, yo’ all better put me down! I’m right heavy. Oh--have
yo’ got a mis’ry somewhar?”
He sat down in the Tenafee chair and established her upon his lap.
“Yes, Glory, I’ve got a misery, somewhere, but it isn’t going to last!”
“Oh ... I’m right glad, suh....” she sagged suddenly.
“Glory! What’s the matter? Don’t you----”
“Hit’s all right, suh!” She grinned wanly at him. “Don’t yo’ go fo’ to
fret. Hit’s jes’ that I’m so tired ... seems like my bones is all soft
... they won’t hold me up no mo’....”
“I expect you’d better go back to bed,” suggested her caller uneasily.
“Shall I carry you up?”
“Oh, not just yet, suh--please--_pretty_ please! Hit’s so nice and
mannerly here in this sweet-pretty room.... Oh, thar’s Gran-pappy! Hyar
him a’-playing his tune?” There was the shuffle of old feet on the
veranda, and the faint wheeze of the accordion.
“_There ... is ... a ... hap ... peeee ... land._”
“Shall I ask him in?”
“Oh, no, suh--he’s jes’ pintly too skeered to come in, and M’liss’
she’ll be sho’ mad at him, but he knows music is my delight....”
Mr. Peter Parker looked at the clock which Janice Jennings had
contributed to the completion of the room. “Five minutes more,” he
announced, “and then I’ll carry you up. Are you warm enough?”
“Oh, yes, suh....”
“Then, what makes your hands feel so cold?” he fretted.
“Oh, they’s allus kind o’ cold, suh, but I’m feeling right peart.
Only, I ’low Super’s tur’ble mad at me fo’ laying off jes’ now, with
rush orders on ... mebbe he won’t take me back no mo’....” Her eyelids
dragged and she seemed to get them up again with difficulty.
“Glory, can you keep a secret?”
“Reckon so, suh.....”
“Well, the old mill’s coming down! The Altonia’s going to be pulled
down!”
The small, lean body stiffened. “Then, whar at’ll we all work, suh?”
“_You_ won’t work anywhere! You’re never going to work again,
Glory,--nor Beany! And the rest of the kids--the big ones--will only
work half a day, and go to school and play the rest of the time, and
there’ll be a gymnasium and a swimming tank and a lunch room and--” He
broke off, considering her with concern. Was she fainting? He’d better
get her upstairs and into bed! He rose with her, and she opened her
eyes again.
“Please go on an’ finish hit, such--that sweet-pretty fairy tale you
was a-tellin’ me.”
“That was no fairy tale, Glory! That’s coming true--cross my heart!
Now, bed for yours, but first, don’t you want to make a wish on the
Wishing Carpet? It will come true.”
“Cross yo’ heart again, suh, sho’ an’ sartin?”
“Cross my heart!” He stood her upon the Persian rug and knelt beside
her, steadying her. (Gad, but this was a very sick child!--Weak as a
cat! He was going to get a doctor here immediately!) “Now, then, shut
your eyes and wish hard!”
“_There is ... a ... hap ... pee ... land_----”
Old Pap Tolliver’s accordion made a plaintive prophecy, but it was
drowned in the sudden and raucous blast of the mill whistle.
“Extry help!” The wise little monkey face contracted painfully.
“Wish, Glory!” (She _was_ fainting, by gad!)
But words came again. “I wish ... I wish ... I never had to hyar that
old whistle agin....”
She hung in his hands.
“Glory!” He tried to make her stand on her feet; he even gave her the
tiniest shake, in his terror.
“Gloriana-Virginia!” He must have shouted, for there was the sudden
patter of hasty feet upstairs, on the stairs, coming down; a heavy
scurrying in from the kitchen, a wail of negro woe.
“Glory!”
“Fo’ de Lawd! Glory!”
And drifting back, very faintly, as if the accordion was moving off,
motivated by old Pap’s stumbling steps----
“_Far ... far ... a-way...._”