Drusilla was called to the 'phone and a nervous, trembly-voiced Daphne
spoke to her.
"May I come over, Miss Doane? I--I--want to get away from the house and
talk to some one--May I come over?"
Drusilla answered quickly: "Come right along, and come to spend the
day. I got to go to the home, and I'll take you with me."
Soon Daphne came up the driveway and stopped to look at two big baskets
being put into the motor car, and before she could ring the bell
Drusilla dressed for driving came to the door.
"Git right in, Daphne," Drusilla said, putting on her gloves. "Push
that basket more to the front--there, that's right. Have you got that
bundle, Joseph? Don't lose it out. Now go just as fast as you can, but
don't git arrested." As she sat down by the side of Daphne she added:
"I'm always in mortal fear of being arrested, 'cause I like to go fast.
I don't care about the arrested part, but it'd git my name in the
papers again and then your father'd make me one of his 'severity'
visits, and I don't seem never to git used to them. When James tells me
your father is waitin' for me it makes me feel jest like I used to when
I done somethin' wrong and was called into the parlor, where I always
got my scoldings, 'cause mother knew the kitchen wouldn't awe me.
But"--and she chuckled--"I'm gittin' kind of used even to him, and I'm
gittin' so independent there ain't no livin' with me. I even show it
the way I walk. When I was ordered around by everybody, I used to sort
of tiptoe around so's not to call attention to myself. Now I come down
so hard on my heels I have to wear rubber ones so's not to jar my
spine. But"--she looked keenly at the pale face beside her and the eyes
that showed signs of recent tears--"what's the matter, dear? Have you
been cryin'?"
"Oh, I'm in _such_ trouble, Miss Doane," Daphne said with a choke in
her voice.
Drusilla patted her hand.
"It can't be great trouble, Daphne."
"Yes, it is, Miss Doane. No one has such trouble as I have, I'm sure."
"Hush, dear, hush! Wait a minute. Let me show you a letter I got last
night from Barbara, and then you'll know what real trouble means."
She drew from her bag a folded piece of paper and handed it to Daphne.
"Read that," she said; and Daphne read a badly spelled, badly written
scrawl, in the writing of an old woman unused to holding a pen:
DEAR DRUSILLA:
I wish you'd come and see us. Mis Abbott has took poison that she got
out of the medcin closet, cause she's lost her money and can't pay her
board no more and she says she'd ruther die than be charity, cause
she's always looked down on charity, and bin so stuck up about her
family. They got it out of her with a stumak pump and she won't die
this time but she says she'll do it again cause she can't live and be
charity. Won't you come and see her and perhaps you can do something
with her, we can't.
BARBARA.
Daphne handed the note back to Drusilla, who put it carefully into her
bag before she spoke.
"Now, do you see what real trouble is? Do you remember me tellin' you
about Mis' Abbott, whose father was a general and whose husband was
some sort of official down South? Well, they're all dead and her only
daughter died when she was a little girl and she hadn't nothin' left
but memories and just enough money to keep her in the home. It was in
some railroad stock and now I guess it's gone too. She was awful proud,
and I can see how she feels. She always looked down on me 'cause I was
charity, but I don't hold it agin her. She's had her arms full of
sorrow and now they're too old to carry more."
"Poor woman!" said Daphne softly. "What are you going to do?"
"I ain't got it all figgered out yet. I talked it over with John till
late last night, and then afterward it come to me. I guess I can do
somethin'. The main thing is to make her want to live, make her think
some one wants her. You know, Daphne, that's the great sorrow of the
old; to feel that they ain't needed no more; that every one can git
along just as well if not a little better without 'em than with 'em.
When they see that, they want to die."
"Oh, I'm sorry I said anything about my troubles--they are so little!
Yet they seemed so big last night--and this morning--this morning--"
"Well, what happened this mornin'? Tell me, dear; it'll make you feel
better and then you'll see they ain't so very bad after all."
"This morning Mother talked to me, and Father was nasty to me at the
breakfast table and--" and again the pretty eyes filled with tears.
"Who is it about this time?"
"There's no _this time;_ it's always the same. It's--it's--Dr. Eaton."
Drusilla laughed.
"I knowed it! I seen it a-comin' a long time. What you and Dr. Eaton
been doin'?"
"We haven't been doing anything. Only I walked home with him from your
house last night, and we walked a while and--and--Mother and Father
talked to me, and--"
"Yes, your father's held some forth to me about Dr. Eaton, but I only
laugh at him. I like that young man."
Daphne snuggled her hand into Drusilla's.
"That's the reason I can talk to you; you will understand--because--"
Drusilla laughed again.
"Because--because--you like him too." Daphne's pretty face colored.
"Well, why shouldn't you?" said Drusilla.
"Mother says that he's only a poor doctor, that he's not the kind
that'll ever make money."
"Money--money! Why, he'll always make enough for you to live on, and
more money'd only be used to buy amusements to keep you from thinkin';
but the way you and him could live together, you'd like to think. So
what's the use of money?"
"But Mother says--"
"Now, Daphne, I don't want to say nothin' about your mother. She's been
real neighborly to me so far as she knows how, but she's too society
for me, and we ain't got one thing that we can talk to each other
about. She thinks more about the polish of a person's fingernails or
the set of her dress than she does about the color of a soul or the
heart that looks out from the eyes, but--I shouldn't say that--your
mother is your mother and she means well by you, and you must respect
her judgments."
Daphne looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Her judgment in regard to Dr. Eaton, too?"
"Well," said Drusilla, "I wouldn't go so far as _that;_ but--what else
did she say besides that you wouldn't have enough to eat?"
"Oh, of course she didn't say that, but she said that he could never
afford to give me a motor car or--"
"Well, if you don't have but one car you'll have to ride around with
him in his'n, and that won't be no hardship. Just think what a nice
time you could have ridin' around these roads in that noisy, smelly
little car of his, and waitin' at the gate when he went in to see the
Smith baby. Why--why--I'd like to do it myself!"
"Yes, I'd like it too; but Mother is always saying that it's a pity
that he is a general practitioner instead of a specialist. It's only
the specialists that make money and get on."
"Pshaw, you tell her that Dr. Eaton is a general practitioner in his
business, but a specialist in his love affairs, and that's all that you
need worry about."
"Then, you don't think it would be hard to economize?"
"Daphne, you won't have to economize on love, and with lots of that you
won't miss the other things. Now, Daphne, I suppose I shouldn't meddle
in this, it ain't none of my business, but I like Dr. Eaton, and I
more'n like you, and I don't want you to make a mistake. Dr. Eaton
won't promise you a life of roses and leave you to pull out all the
thorns. I know him. And I jest want you two young things to share the
very best things in life when you're young, and when you grow old
together you won't see the bald spot on his head gittin' bigger, and he
won't see your gray hairs a-comin', 'cause you won't ever be lookin'
above each other's eyes. You know, Daphne, I'm seventy years old and
I've looked on lots of things with my old eyes, and it ain't always the
rich that have found the most precious jewel; it's the poor couple
who've got just enough to live on--and each other."
Daphne smiled up at Drusilla.
"Oh, Miss Doane, you make it seem so heavenly!"
"Yes, it is Heaven, and love is the bridge that you cross on, and when
you git across you can't always be singin' the weddin'-march--but
afterwards--well, you can hum a lullaby.
"Now we're comin' to the house"--as they turned into the drive--"and I
jest want to say this, dear--" She took Daphne's face in her two hands
and looked into her eyes. "Life is a wonderful garden, dear, a garden
where the air is filled with perfume, a garden filled with flowers,
with heart's-ease and forget-me-nots, and if you wander down its
moonlit pathway with your loved one's hand in yours, you're bound to
find the enchanted palace where love's dream comes true--So dream, my
dear, jest dream.
"Now, there's Miss Smith," as the motor stopped. "How do you do, Mis'
Smith? How do you do, Barbara? You was lookin' for me? Yes, I come jest
as soon as I could. How is Mis' Abbott? Take them baskets on the porch,
and that bundle goes upstairs. Can I go up and see Mis' Abbott?"
"Yes, come right up. I told her you were coming, but she says she won't
see you. But I think she will," said Mrs. Smith.
"Of course she will. I'm comin' right along. Daphne, you go out on the
porch there with the ladies and open them baskets. I worked half the
night and kept the cook up the other half to get the things ready. The
names is on the things. You give 'em to the ladies, and jest stay and
let 'em look at you. It'll be a treat as good as the things in the
baskets."
She followed Barbara up the long stairs. At the door she turned.
"Don't come in, Barbara; I'll go in alone." And she went into the
"best" room of the home, because Mrs. Abbott had been able to pay a
little more than that paid by the other guests.
Drusilla found the little woman in bed, with her face turned to the
wall. She did not move until Drusilla put her hand on her shoulder.
"I've come to see you, Mis' Abbott."
The woman looked up at Drusilla a moment, then put her faded old hands
over her face.
"I don't want to see you, Drusilla, I don't want to see you."
"Pshaw, now," answered Drusilla, "yes, you do, Mis' Abbott. I come jest
a purpose to see you."
"Oh, but I don't want to see you," wailed the feeble old voice. "I
always called you 'charity' and now I'm charity myself. I wish I could
die, I wish I could _die!"_
"No, you don't," said Drusilla softly. "You want to live and you're
glad to see me."
"I ain't! I tell you, I ain't! I called you charity!"
"Yes, but I didn't mind, and if I hadn't been charity, Elias Doane
wouldn't 'a' found me, and I wouldn't be here goin' to take you home
with me."
"What!" said the old lady, looking up. "What'd you say, Drusilla?"
"I said I'm goin' to take you home with me."
"You are--you are--going to take me away from here--here where all the
ladies'll laugh at me because I'm charity? But--but--Oh, I'll have to
come back again even if you do take me, I'll have to come back again
and be--Oh, I want to die--I'd rather _die!"_
Drusilla took the hands from the wrinkled face and held them in her own.
"Now let me set here on the edge of the bed, and you listen to me, Mis'
Abbott. When I got Barbara's letter last night, I jest set for hours
thinkin' it all over, and it all come to me of a sudden. Why, I need
you so bad, Mis' Abbott, I wonder how I got along without you all this
time. You know I got a lot of young people at my house, and no one with
sense but myself to watch over them, and we need some one like yourself
bad, and if you won't come I'll have to look around for some one else,
and it'll put me to a lot of trouble."
The old lady looked up wonderingly.
"But what can I do, Drusilla?"
"Oh, there's lots of things you kin do, but one thing special. When I
went into the nursery last night and saw Mary Allen settin' there alone
by the window, I said to myself, 'Mary needs a mother. She don't ever
remember havin' a mother, and then I remembered you lost your little
girl most forty years ago, and if she'd 'a' growed up she might 'a' had
a little girl like Mary, and I want you to come and be a mother to my
Mary and a grandmother to her baby."
"Oh, is she grown up and married?"
"Never mind, she's only a little child, a lovin' little child with a
baby--and a sorrow. But you'll come and see your Mary in her eyes, and
she'll have a mother and you a daughter again, and you'll both find
happiness in each other. She needs you, Mis' Abbott, and you need
her--Say you'll come."
The old lady looked for a moment into Drusilla's eyes; then she broke
into the hysterical sobbing of the old and helpless.
"I didn't think no one needed me--no one wanted me. I thought I jest
cumbered up the earth. Drusilla, do you think she really needs me, that
any one really needs me, that I don't have to be a burden the rest of
my days? Oh, if I thought some one wanted me--Perhaps it's my Mary come
back to me--my Mary--my little girl--my little girl--"
Drusilla let her cry, patting her hand softly from time to time. Then,
when the storm had spent itself, she said:
"Yes, it's your Mary come back to you. Don't you remember that you said
your Mary had brown eyes--"
"Yes,--yes--" and eager fingers were tugging at an old-fashioned locket
hanging to a slender chain around her neck. "See--here she is--her eyes
are brown and her hair all curled around her face, and her lips was
just like a rose--and her face--oh, her pretty face--"
Drusilla studied the picture carefully.
"Yes, it's jest like this other Mary. Her hair is all in little curls
around her face and her brown eyes jest like a child's, a wonderin'
child's whose waitin' for her mother."
The old lady rose from the bed.
"Can I go now, Drusilla? Can I go _now?"_
"Are you well enough? Can you stand the trip?"
Mrs. Abbott laughed.
"Only sorrow makes one feeble, sorrow and loneliness; but hope makes
one strong, and I got hope again--I want to live, Drusilla--I want to
_live!"_