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ITH so many willing hearts and hands at their service, it had been an
easy matter to convert the chapel into a hospital; but now that it was
converted, where was the money to come from to run it? The surgeon had
said he thought it would be fully two weeks before the captain, and the
two men who had been most badly hurt, would be about again, and in the
meantime there were medicines to be bought and food to be provided for
the entire party. Sister Julia knew well enough that there was no
money to spare for the purpose in Moorlow, and they could hope for no
remuneration from the poor sailors. With the wreck of his vessel and his
cargo the captain himself had lost everything, and he had told Sister
Julia “he had not even a penny left to go toward paying off his crew.”
So it happened one afternoon, a day or two after the wreck, that Sister
Julia, wrapping a shawl about her, left her patients in charge of her
assistants, and went out on the beach to get a breath of fresh air, and
try and think her way out of this money difficulty.
She had not gone far before she heard voices behind her, and turned to
see Mr. Vale, with Regie and Harry and Nan, hurrying after her. They
had hold of hands, and, stretched in one long line, looked like quite a
formidable little party, as they came toward her.
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“We have come to take you prisoner for neglect of duty,” said Mr. Vale,
as the line formed into a circle and shut her in.
“Not exactly neglect of duty,” laughed Sister Julia; “my thoughts are
all with the hospital. I have been racking my poor brain to know where
the money is to come from to support our patients up yonder.”
“Yes, I knew that must be troubling you,” Mr. Vale answered; “and I came
down purposely to talk matters over with you. This log looks long
enough to hold five people comfortably. Suppose we sit down here a few
moments.”
So they ranged themselves on the piece of timber, which had been
stranded from the wreck of the _Starling_, and which two days of
sunshine had thoroughly dried.
“Now,” said Mr. Vale, “let us proceed to business. Suppose we have these
men on our hands for two weeks, how much do you think it is going to
cost us?”
“That is what I have been trying to get at,” replied Sister Julia; “all
the bedding and things must be paid for, and there is the coal, which
we are burning at a lively rate the whole twenty-four hours. These women
who help me can't afford to work without wages, though they would be
willing enough to, and Bromley the sexton must have something, for he's
up a dozen times a night tending to the fires in the two stoves.
It seems to me ten dollars a day might be made to cover our running
expenses, but I do not see how we can manage to do with less.”
“That will be seventy dollars a week,” said Harry, having worked out the
difficult sum on the firm wet sand at his feet; “whew! but that's a lot,
and for two weeks it would be twice that.”
“Yes, a hundred and forty dollars,” said Sister Julia; “it is a pretty
large sum.”
“And your own services ought not to go unremunerated,” Mr. Vale
suggested.
“Indeed they ought! I only wish my pocket were long enough to pay all
the bills myself.”
“I've wished mine was, a hundred times over, since the wreck.”
“There's one thing I want to ask you, Mr. Vale,” said Sister Julia, “and
that is, if, after all, you think even my time is my own to give. You
see while Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax are abroad I am employed by them to care
for Reginald. To be sure he is so nearly well now that he does not need
me, and Mrs. Murray is like a mother to him, but his lessons will have
to be interrupted, and I wondered if Mr. Fairfax would feel I was doing
quite right to neglect them.”
“And who would care for the poor men then?” cried Nan, with real
distress. “Nobody knows just how to do for 'em but you, Sister Julia.”
“You need have no fears on the score of Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax,” said Mr.
Vale, decidedly; “I know them well enough to assure you that they will
thoroughly approve of and admire your course, and Nan is quite right.
You know that no one here could care for them properly but just
yourself.”
“But how about the money?” urged Regie, who was anxious to know what
they were going to do about it.
“Well, I have thought of two or three schemes,” Mr. Vale replied. “You
know we could write to Washington, and doubtless get an appropriation
from some fund or other, but I would take a sort of pride in not
bothering the Government at all about it; at any rate, not until we find
it impossible to raise the sum ourselves.”
“Say! Mr. Vale,” said Rex, familiarly, “I'll tell you the very
thing--take up a collection in your church next Sunday.”
“Well, I hadn't thought of that, Rex,” laughed Mr. Vale; “but, do you
know, some of the good people there grumble already, thinking we have
too many collections as it is. No, it seems to me it would be best to
raise the money here if we could.”
“But you can't,” said Harry, emphatically, “there isn't any money
here. I guess father has more than anyone in Moorlow, and yet I know he
couldn't give much.”
“Your father, Harry, has given his share, in the work he has done,” Mr.
Vale answered. “What I have to propose is this: suppose you and Reginald
and Nan start out, say two days before Thanksgiving--that will be a week
from next Tuesday--and take the village cart and Pet, and drive over to
the Rumson Road. You know there are some well-to-do people living over
there, who do not go back to town much before Christmas. Now they have
every one heard by this time of the wreck of the _Christina_, and of the
injuries her crew sustained, and I believe that every one of them would
be glad to contribute, if you three little folks were to call upon them
and tell them you were trying to raise two hundred dollars, which, you
see, would cover all expenses. You know, at Thanksgiving time, people
who have a great deal to be thankful for themselves often feel like
helping other people who have not fared so well. It seems to me the plan
is worth trying.”
The children's faces plainly showed their delight in it.
“But how will we know where to go?” asked Nan.
“I will give you a list of half-a-dozen names,” Mr. Vale replied. “I
happen to have a little blank book in my pocket that is just what you
need;” and, opening it, he wrote upon the first page, “Collection in Aid
of the Crew of the _Christina_, wrecked off the Moorlow coast, November
12th, 18----.”
Then underneath he wrote the words, “A Friend, $20.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Regie.
“I mean that I will give you twenty dollars to start the fund. Then,
after you have been to all the other places, you must not forget to
call upon my sister up at Mr. Avery's. She will be glad to give you
something, I know, and Mr. Avery will, too, for that matter.”
“I wish we could do it to-morrow,” said Nan, whose enthusiasm always
found it hard to brook delays of any sort.
“Oh, no, indeed!” Mr. Vale exclaimed, “you will get twice the money by
waiting. Thanksgiving and Christmas have a magical way of letting down
the bars to people's hearts, and making them more generous.”
Of course Sister Julia entered into this fine plan as heartily as the
children, and after they had talked a long while about it she bade them
good-bye, and went back to her duties in the hospital a much cheerier
woman than she had left it. The week that followed proved a long but
happy one to the children. Long, because they were continually counting
the days and the hours till the time should come when they could set out
on that wonderful collecting tour; happy, in the unexpected holidays,
which came to them through Sister Julia's inability to keep up their
lessons. Surely every little scholar knows the peculiar charm of
unlooked-for holidays.
By the common consent of the body-guard, the collecting-book had been
placed in the keeping of his little Royal Highness, who had placed it
for safety in the top drawer of his bureau. On the evening before they
were to start on this momentous expedition, Regie had taken it out,
handled it for several moments thoughtfully, and then put it back in its
place, with an abstracted air, as though he was thinking very hard about
something. Late that night, when the house was quiet, and every one
asleep, he had crept noiselessly from bed, leaned out of the window to
strike a match, for fear of waking Sister Julia in the next room, and
lit his candle. Then, trying to keep a look out on all sides at once, as
guiltily as any little thief, he went to the drawer, took out the little
book, crossed to the table where the candle was standing, put a new pen
in the holder, and then, with all the customary twists and twirls of his
funny little mouth, wrote on a line, directly underneath Mr. Vale's,
“A Friend.....................................$20.”
Then he sat, gazing proudly at it for fully five minutes before he put
out the light and crept back to bed.
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