Back in her house she set to work on her curtains, cutting the cheese
cloth in lengths, and hemming it with long, even stitches. It did not
take long and her fingers flew rapidly. She was always a fast worker on
whatever she took up, and her thoughts kept pace with her work. Suppose
Mrs. Bryant should find out that it was still possible for her to take
her examinations! Suppose she got a school here! Could she live in the
little house all winter? How would she get heat? And light? She would
have to work and study in the evenings! How many problems there were to
meet when one dropped away from a home and provided it for oneself!
There were strings enough around the packages to run in the hems
and hang the curtains, but the windows had to be washed before the
curtains could be put up, so Joyce ran over to the store for a few
more purchases. A broom, a scrubbing-brush, soap, a galvanized pail
and a sponge. She had no rags but a sponge was wonderful for paint and
windows. Then a bright thought came to her and she asked if they had
any boxes for sale. They took her down to the cellar where were boxes
and barrels of all sizes and shapes. She selected several boxes and
two nice clean sugar barrels, besides two delightful boxes with lids
swinging on tiny hinges. These would make wonderful closets for her
china when she got some. She had to pay ten cents apiece for them.
It was noon when she got back, and all the whistles were blowing. She
lighted her little alcohol can and heated the can of vegetable soup.
This with crackers and a banana for dessert made a fine meal and while
she was clearing it away the boy from the grocery brought over her
boxes and barrels, and the place began to assume a look of furniture.
Mrs. Bryant came to the door with a roll of old rags as the boy went
away.
“I thought you might like some cloths for cleaning,” she said, stepping
in at the door. “I have such quantities, so I brought some.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Joyce, “I was wondering if I could make my
windows shine with newspapers. Now I won’t have to try. Won’t you come
in and sit down. Here’s a nice clean box.”
“No thank you,” declined the lady stepping back with a glance of
approval around the little room and at the window where Joyce had
tacked up a finished curtain to try it. “I’m on the committee for
serving the luncheon at the Ladies’ Aid today and I have to hurry. We
serve at one and it’s almost that now, but I saw your goods coming
in and I thought you might need these so I just ran in. I left the
teakettle on and you can just turn it out when you are done. How cosy
you are going to be! This is a real cute little house. Well, I must run
along.”
Joyce drew a long breath as she watched her go. “Goods.” She glanced
at the barrels and boxes amusedly. So she had thought these were her
goods. What would she say if she knew she had no goods in the world?
And she had so hoped to get the little room looking habitable before
there were any visitors. Well, the woman hadn’t noticed the lack of
furniture, and perhaps she would be able to do something about it
before she came again.
She changed her serge dress for the new gingham apron, got the hot
water and went happily to work scrubbing with all her might. In a short
time the place was smelling sweetly of soap-suds and gleaming with the
whiteness of the paint. Evidently there had not been much wear and
tear on the inside of the place since it was painted, for when the
dirt was washed off it came out nice and clean. There was an advantage
too in having a small place. It did not take long to clean it. The
five windows and the door were soon finished, and then she swept and
scrubbed the floor, and put up her curtains.
She stood back when the last tack was driven with a sigh of
satisfaction and looked around. It certainly did look cheerful and
pretty. She could imagine being quite happy in this pretty place.
Now there must be some inner curtains to draw when night came on and
screen her from the passers-by. They could be of cretonne and there
would have to be five-cent rods for them, so that she could draw them
back and forth. How many things there were to buy! Perhaps she could
find some cheap cretonne and get enough for a curtain across one end
to screen her bed from view until she could manage to get one that
was respectable. Beds cost a great deal, even just cot beds, she knew
for she had bought one once for a poor family at Aunt Mary’s request.
Then there was a mattress and pillows. So many, many things to buy.
But there would be a way. See, how her money had increased as fast as
she had spent it. Could she trust that such care would continue until
she had an income? And the old chant from the beloved Bible story of
childhood went over again in her head: “And the barrel of meal wasted
not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the
Lord.”
Joyce was not a modernist. She had been taught to believe the Bible
literally, and found no difficulty with miracles. She was not dumb
nor ignorant. She knew that the academic world was largely inclined
to put aside all that was miraculous, and to doubt everything that
they had not seen happen in every-day life; but she looked upon such
as souls who had not chosen to accept God’s way of proof, the proof
that comes to the soul of every true believer who takes God at His
word, and cannot doubt because He knows. Miracles never had bothered
her, because if God could make _anything_ why couldn’t He make or do
anything else? She had once heard a wonderful man who came to Meadow
Brook to preach say that mystery was something that God knew but didn’t
tell right away, and ever after that the mysteries that she found in
the Scriptures had been but more beautiful to her. They never troubled
her nor made her doubt. She was a bright girl with a more than ordinary
mind and a fair education, but she accepted the things of the kingdom
as a little child and when some one pointed out to her a spot that
seemed a contradiction to facts as she knew them she would smile and
say, then _she_ had made some mistake, not God, and not His word. That
was how Aunt Mary brought her up. More and more as Aunt Mary drew
nearer to the end of this life and saw how miserably she had failed to
teach her own son heavenly things did she yearn to give this dear girl
something substantial to stand upon when all else failed. And if she
had not left Joyce anything else she had left her a great Faith in the
living God and in His Word.
But it was growing late in the afternoon and Joyce was weary. The night
was coming on again and the question of light had not been settled.
Perhaps she had better run over and get some candles and a few more
things for supper. She was hungry as a bear, and the can of soup seemed
a forgotten dream.
So she went to the store again, and when she came back and had eaten
some sandwiches of dried beef and bread and butter and drunk some
milk she felt better, and set to work to arrange her box furniture to
advantage.
There were the two barrels. They were to make easy chairs, one for
herself and one for any possible company that might come in. They would
have to wait to materialize until she could buy material to upholster
and cover them, and until she had time to work over them. They would
need sawing. Oh, they must wait, but when they were finished they
would stand here, and here--she wheeled them into place. And right
here between them should stand a table--she placed the biggest square
box there, and imagined a lamp with a pretty shade, and some magazines
lying on it.
The two boxes with hinged lids she nailed to the wall in the corner
she called her diningroom and kitchen. These were her china closets.
She carefully placed her paper cups and plates in one and arranged the
cracker box, the milk bottle and other supplies in the other. Somehow
she must manage shelves for them. There were some loose bits of boards
in one box. These would make shelves if she could manage to borrow an
old saw.
In the corner beyond the window next her bed she placed another box
for a dressing table. Some day she would drape it in chintz and get
a looking glass to hang over it. Chintz or cretonne was really one
of the next things she needed. There must be a curtain to shut off
her bedroom. She did not want everybody to know she was sleeping on a
paper bed, and a curtain would give a little privacy. Besides, she must
curtain off a small corner for a closet.
She was suddenly interrupted in her meditations by a tap at her door.
“I wondered if you were here yet,” said Mrs. Bryant as she opened the
door, “No, I can’t come in, I’ve got to run back and start supper.
But I just stepped over to tell you Mrs. Powers, the lady that lives
in the big brick colonial with tulips in the yard, perhaps you’ve
noticed it--she was at the Ladies’ Aid today and was going on something
terrible about how she was going to have company from Baltimore
tomorrow, and her maid had gone away sick yesterday and isn’t coming
back for a week. She had telephoned in town for a maid but they
couldn’t get her any she would have and she didn’t know what to do.
She said her friend hadn’t seen her in a long time and she wanted to
take her around in the car and she just didn’t see how she was to cook
dinner too. Well, she seemed so distressed and all that I finally up
and told her how you helped me out last night. I don’t know’s you’ll
like it, but she seemed so interested that I went on and told her all
about you, how you were a teacher, and you’d bought this little house
and were going to teach school in the fall, and then she looked awfully
disappointed and said: ‘Oh, she’s a teacher, is she? Then I don’t
suppose she’d be willing to help me out, would she?’ And I said, well,
no, I didn’t suppose you intended doing things like that, that you were
a perfect lady, but you might do it once for accommodation. I finally
said I’d tell you anyhow. She said if you would come she’d gladly pay
you five dollars for cooking dinner, and if you were willing to wait on
the table too why she’d pay ten. I really hated to tell you about it
after I’d promised, but you can do as you like.”
“Why, I’d be glad to help her,” said Joyce pleasantly, “and I’d like
to wait on the table too. I really want to earn the money of course,
and while I don’t think I want to be a cook for life, still I don’t see
that it’s going to hurt me to cook a few dinners for other people. I’ve
had to do it in my own home a good many times.”
“Well, I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. I think it’s fine of you.
Some folks are so kind of proud nowadays. But I somehow thought you
were sensible.”
“Well, what should I be proud about?” laughed Joyce. “I haven’t any
reputation here to lose anyway, and if people want to think less of me
because I know how to cook they can.”
“Well, I say you’re a real fine girl. So that’s settled, and I’m kind
of glad, for her husband’s on the school board, and if she wants to she
can do a lot for you. You run right in the house and call her up. Her
number is 95 and her name is Powers. I told her you’d call.”
Joyce ran in to the telephone and came out smiling in a moment:
“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Bryant. This will help me out a lot. I’ve
just been thinking of a good many things I want to get and I wasn’t
sure I ought to spare the money. Now I can get them right away. I’m to
go to her at twelve o’clock and stay till after the dishes are washed.
Which way did you say she lives?”
After most explicit directions had been given Joyce went back to her
house and flew at the bundle of chintz with swift fingers. There was
about three hours of daylight left--the evenings were long this time of
year--and she must use every minute of them for she must have a thin
dress to work in and she did not want to burn a light and show that
she was staying nights in the place until she had things looking a
little more comfortable, both because she did not want any one to offer
her charity, and because she did not care to have them all know how
poverty-stricken she really was.
She folded her material crosswise in the middle and spread it upon the
driest place on her cleanly scrubbed floor. Then she laid her blue
serge smoothly down upon it with the shoulders to the fold and the
kimona sleeves stretched toward the selvages. The material reached
below the serge far enough for a good hem, and guided by her serge
dress she took her sharp, new scissors and carefully cut out a straight
little simple slip of a dress.
She had cut many a dress before, on Aunt Mary’s big diningroom table
with a box of shining pins and a tried and true pattern to guide her.
But she knew the lines of a simple dress well enough and she could not
see how she could go far astray in her cutting. It had to be long
enough and wide enough for it was as big as her blue serge. So she
clipped away, and soon had a dress cut out, making the neck line only a
curved slit until she should try it on.
Then she sat down and ran up the two side seams on the right side and
slipped it on to try it. Of course she had no mirror but she managed to
get a vague glimpse of herself in the closed lattice of her window. It
needed a little taking in under the arm, but the rest seemed all right,
and she slipped it off again and sat down to make the changes and
French the seams. Another trial and the fit was found to be better. She
hunted out her pins and turned up the hem. This she found rather a hard
proposition, but after several takings off and readjustings it seemed
to swing evenly.
She was growing tired, and her back began to ache with sitting on the
hard box after her day of scrubbing and curtain making. She wondered if
she could keep at it much longer?
With a weary impulse she flung her paper bed out in the corner and
threw herself down upon it.
For almost ten minutes she forced herself to lie and relax, trying
to think of nothing and really rest. Then the clock on some distant
building struck eight, and she roused up, suddenly aware that she had
but a few more minutes of daylight and that if she lay here she would
soon be asleep. She simply did not dare leave all that sewing till
morning. She must have a neat, washable dress ready by twelve o’clock
in which to work. So she stood up and tried to cut out the neck of her
frock as best she could, wishing all the time for a big mirror. She
finally got out the two-inch bit of glass belonging to her handbag and
inspected her work, deciding it would have to do. Then she caught up a
newspaper and cut and experimented until she had a pattern for a simple
collar to fit the neck of her dress. This she cut from the half-yard of
organdie, also cutting organdie cuffs to fit the short sleeves.
It was quite dusky now in her little room and she had to take the
pieces of chintz that came off the sides of the dress out on her front
step to see what she was doing. Here she cut from the longest piece
a string belt, and several long strips of bias binding about an inch
wide. Then rolling up these with the organdie collar and cuffs, her
scissors, thimble, needle and thread, she put on her serge dress and
hat and hurried down the street. She had thought of a way to work a
little longer that night without burning a light. She would just sit in
the station waiting room a little while and sew.
The soft evening breeze of the out-of-doors revived her weary body and
she felt quite cheered and happy. To think, she was going to earn a
whole ten dollars in one afternoon and evening! Here was her Father
providing her with more money again just when she had discovered so
many things she had to buy, that it overwhelmed her. The “barrel of
meal and the cruse of oil” again! How wonderful it was!
When she reached the station, however, her plans seemed balked for the
station itself was closed and dark. There was a bench, however, down
along the platform under a shed-like roof, and a great arc light glowed
above it. People were walking back and forth too as if waiting for a
train, so Joyce sat down at one end of the bench and took out her bit
of sewing. No one noticed her and her swift fingers had soon run on
the bias bands around collar and cuffs, and turned down the binding
smoothly. She just loved the hemming of them down. It was like a bit of
fancy work, and they looked so pretty--the blue edging the sheer white.
Of course the dress could have been bound around neck and sleeves
without the white collar and cuffs but this touch of prettiness made it
look more comely, and she must remember her appearance if she was to
hope to get a school around here sometime. Mrs. Bryant had given her
the reputation of a lady and she must keep it up, even if it meant a
little more work for her.
By the time the half past nine train had gone she had the organdie
bound, and was sewing up the string girdle. She lingered only until the
seams were run up before she gathered up her things and hurried back to
her little dark house. It was growing lonely on the station platform,
and she did not like to stay any longer, but she could turn the girdle
inside out in the dark by the help of a safety pin, and then everything
would be ready for morning. She would only have to hem the skirt and
put on the collar and cuffs.
Sitting in the dark on her box she found a safety pin in her handbag
and, fastening it in the end of the girdle, began pushing it through,
and when it was turned all the way, creased it carefully and smoothed
it between her fingers till it almost looked as if it were ironed flat.
Then she took off her serge dress, put on her gingham apron and lay
down under her paper blankets for another night’s sleep, too weary to
do more than thank her Heavenly Father for keeping her so far. As she
drifted away into sleep she heard a soft, sweet voice, like a pleasant
melody in her soul, Aunt Mary’s voice long ago, saying over the golden
text from Sunday School, over and over again till she learned it, “And
the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail,
according to the word of the Lord.”
“I must have a Bible,” she said to herself dreamily. “I wish I had
brought mine along.”