THE RETURN
"Oh, Douglas, I'm all of a tremble!" declared Helen Carter, as she
knotted her jaunty scarlet tie and settled her gray felt hat at exactly
the proper angle. "To think that they are really coming back!"
"I can hardly believe it. The time has gone quickly and still it seems
somehow as though we had been living in this camp for ages. I am afraid
it will go hard with the poor little mother."
"Cousin Lizzie stood it and she is years and years older than mother,"
and Helen looked critically at her dainty nose and rubbed a little
powder on it.
"Yes, I know, but Cousin Lizzie is made of sterner stuff than poor
little mumsy. I think that mother is the kind of woman that men would
fight to protect but when all is told that Cousin Lizzie is the kind
who would go out and help fight if need be. I can fancy her loading
rifles and handing them to the men----"
"So can I," laughed Helen, "and saying as she loaded: 'To everything
there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven; a time
to kill and a time to heal.'"
"I am ashamed of myself--but somehow I am glad Cousin Lizzie did not
think it was her duty to defer her going until mother and father got
here. She has been splendid and too good to us for anything, but it is a
kind of relief for her to be out of the cabin and away before they
come," said Douglas as she completed her rapid dressing by pulling an
old khaki hat down over her rather refractory, if very lovely Titian
hair.
"I know just what you mean. I hoped all the time she would realize that
the morning train was much the better one for her to get off on, and
then she could reach the springs in time for an afternoon game. It was a
feeling I had that she might be too critical of poor little mumsy. You
see we don't know just how camp life is going to appeal to mumsy," said
Helen.
"Exactly! It may take her a while to get used to it," and Douglas let a
little sigh escape her. "I wish they could have arrived on any other day
than Friday. Our week-ends in August have been so full. I fancy many of
the week-enders will want to stay on for holidays, too."
"If it is only not too much for father. Dr. Wright thinks it won't be.
He says noise in the open air is so different from housed noises for
nervous persons."
A honk from the faithful old mountain goat, a name they had given the
ancient Ford that Bill Tinsley had contributed to the camp's use, warned
them it was time to start for the station. One more dab of powder on
Helen's nose completed her toilet and calling to Nan and Lucy to pile
in, they started their ever perilous descent of the mountain to
Greendale.
Bobby, who had been captured by a determined Susan and washed and
dressed in honor of his returning parents, was occupying the seat of
state in Josh's cart, clean but indignant at the outrage committed.
"'Tain't no sense in washin'. I mos' wisht I'd been born a pig. If I
had, I betcher I'd a been a pet pig an' some fool woman would er wanted
to curl my tail and tie a bow 'round my neck."
Such pessimism was too much for Josh, who shook with laughter as the
slab-sided mule, Josephus, limped cheerfully down the mountain road.
To think that mother and father were really coming! The Carter girls
lined themselves along the little station awaiting the train bearing the
beloved passengers. What a healthy-looking quartette they were after a
whole summer in the open. Douglas' fair skin was reddened from exposure
and her hair showed the lack of care that her mother had always exacted.
Douglas attached very little importance to her appearance, and was
constantly being put to rights by the more correct Helen. Even now, as
they waited for the train, Helen was regretting that she had permitted
her older sister to wear the very disgraceful-looking khaki hat.
"Khaki color is certainly unbecoming to blondes," she thought. "I do
want Douglas to look her best for mother. Father will think all of us
are beautiful, anyhow, no matter what we wear," and Helen could not help
a feeling of satisfaction over her own very becoming cold-gravy costume
with the touch of scarlet at her throat. It had seen much service but
still had that unmistakable air of style that was characteristic of all
of Helen Carter's belongings.
Nan was quite robust-looking for Nan. She had inherited from her mother
that soft black hair and those dusky eyes and a complexion of wondrous
fairness that is seen sometimes in a rare type of Creole beauty. Mrs.
Carter's almost angelic beauty (her few enemies called it doll-like) was
repeated in her daughter in a somewhat more sturdy edition. Nan's mouth
was larger and her eyes not quite so enormous; her nose a bit broader
at the base and her chin squarer. Her attractive countenance showed a
mixture of poetic feeling and sturdy common sense with a plentiful
seasoning of humor and gave promise of her development into a very
enchanting woman. All Nan asked of life was plenty of books and time to
read them and a cloak of invisibility so that she would not be noticed.
She was gradually overcoming the shyness that had always made her
think that next to a cloak of invisibility the greatest boon her fairy
godmother could grant her would be seven-league boots, so that she could
get away from all embarrassing persons even if she could not hide from
them. The summer of camping had certainly taken from her the look of
fragility that had always been a source of uneasiness to her father but
which her beautiful mother had rather prided herself on as it was in her
eyes a mark of race and breeding.
Lucy Carter, the youngest of the four, was developing rapidly into a
very attractive girl. Her resemblance to Helen was growing more marked,
much to her pretended disgust, but to her secret delight. Already her
long legs had shot her saucy head up to within a level of Helen's,
which made the younger sister ecstatically confident of her equality
with the elder, whom in her heart of hearts she considered a paragon
of perfection but with whom she was usually on sparring terms.
Bobby, the idolized little brother, had changed more than any of the
Carters during that summer. He had lost forever the baby curves and had
taken on a lean, wiry spareness. His almost unearthly beauty was gone by
reason of a great gap in his face caused by the loss of his first teeth.
One permanent tooth had found its way through and, as is the way with
the first permanent tooth, seemed very enormous in contrast to the tiny
little pearls that had hitherto passed for teeth. His knees were scarred
and scratched as were his lean brown legs. Two sore toes were tied up
in dirty rags, having been ministered to by Aunt Mandy, the kind old
mountain woman who bore the proud distinction in Bobby's mind of being
the mother of Josh the boy and the owner of Josephus the mule.
"I hear the whistle!" exclaimed Lucy, prancing with excitement.
"So do I, but it is the saw mill over in the hollow," drawled Nan.
"Won't it be terrible if the train is late and all the week-enders get
here before mother and father?" wailed Helen.
"Awful!" exclaimed Douglas. "If we can only get them settled in the
cabin before the hullabaloo begins, maybe it won't seem so bad to them.
I just can't stand it if the camp is going to be too much for father."
"I'm most sure he will like it, but it's mother who will be the one to
kick," said Nan. Kicking was not a very elegant way to express what no
doubt would be the state of Mrs. Carter's mind over the rough camp life.
"She's a-comin' now!" shouted Bobby. "I kin hear her a-chuggin' up
grade! Listen! This is what she says: 'Catch a nigger! Catch a nigger!
I'm a-comin'! I'm a-comin'!'" and the scion of the Carter family
whistled shrilly through his sparse teeth, an accomplishment that had
but recently come to him by reason of his loss.
It was the train and on time, which would give the youthful proprietors
of the week-end boarding camp time to get their invalid father and
dainty mother safely stowed away in the cabin before the onrush of
harum-scarum guests should begin.
"Thank heaven!" was the pious ejaculation of the older girls.
Douglas and Helen felt all the qualms and responsibilities that had been
theirs on the opening of the camp at the beginning of the summer. It had
proved such a success that confidence had come to them, but now that
their parents were to join them, although they were very happy at the
thought of seeing them, they had grave doubts about the way in which
their mother would look upon their venture and about the ability of
their father to endure the noise and confusion.
Dr. Wright, who had gone to New York to meet the steamer, got off first,
laden with parcels. Then came Mrs. Carter, looking so young and pretty
that her daughters felt suddenly very mature. Mr. Carter followed his
wife. He also was laden with bandboxes and bundles, while the grinning
porter emerged with some difficulty from under a mass of suitcases,
steamer rugs and dress boxes. Lewis Somerville extricated him in time
for him to jump on the departing train as it made its laborious way up
the steep grade, still singing the song that Bobby had declared it sang:
"Catch a nigger! Catch a nigger! I'm a-comin'! I'm a-comin'!"
"My girls! My girls!" Mrs. Carter flew from one to the other like a
butterfly who cannot tell which flower to light on, but Robert Carter
dropped his parcels and enfolded all of them in a mighty embrace. How
lean and brown he was! On sight he seemed like his old self to Helen,
who was the first to find her way to his eager arms and the last to
leave their encircling shelter. A closer scrutiny of his face, however,
told her there was still something wrong. His snap and vim were gone.
Intelligence shone from his kind blue eyes and his countenance bespoke
contentment and happiness, but his old sparkle and alertness were
missing. The overworked nerves had lost their elasticity and a certain
power that had been a part of Robert Carter was gone forever. It was
the power of leading and directing, taking the initiative. There was
something very pathetic about it all, just as though a great general had
been reduced to the ranks and must ever after serve as a private. What
made it sadder was that he seemed content to follow. Someone else must
work out the problem of how to keep his expensive family in all the
luxuries they had demanded. It was no longer up to him! That was the way
his expression impressed Helen. She escaped from the others and ran
behind the little station.
"Father! Father!" she sobbed in an agony of love and misery. "He is not
well yet! He never will be!"
"Oh yes, he will," said a quiet, deep voice. It belonged to George
Wright, who had come around the other side of the waiting room after
helping Lewis Somerville deposit the luggage in Josh's cart. "He is much
better, better than I dared dream he would be. You see, he has had only
four months and I said all the time it would take a year of rest and
maybe more. What makes you think he is still so badly off?"
Dr. Wright had a ridiculous notion that he could explain to Helen much
better her father's condition if she would only put her head on his
shoulder and do her sobbing there, but he buried his hands firmly in his
pockets and made no intimation of his idea. He had constantly to take
himself to task for forgetting that Helen was little more than a child.
"You must wait, you fool!" he would reason with himself.
"But suppose someone else doesn't wait and she gets snapped up before
your eyes--what then?" But wait he felt he must, and in the meantime
Helen often felt that his sternness meant disapproval and wondered what
she had done to merit it--that is, what new thing. Of course she always
knew she had merited his disapproval by her behavior when he had given
the verdict that her father must go off on the voyage for health. And
now when he said: "What makes you think he is still so badly off?" he
sounded very stern and superior.
"He seems so--so--meek," she faltered.
"Well, who would not be meek with all those parcels?" he laughed. "Your
mother had only part of a day in New York, but she bought out the town.
I'm meek myself."
The conversation was interrupted by Lucy, who was always eager to find
out what Helen was doing so she could do it too. When she saw her
sister's tear-stained countenance she bitterly regretted her dry eyes
but cry she could not, especially as she did not see anything to cry
about.
Mrs. Carter, meanwhile, after flitting from daughter to daughter, had
cried out: "But Bobby! Where is my precious Bobby?"
"Here me!" said that youngster. "We uns ain't fur."
"Bobby! Bobby! I didn't know you! Where are your teeth? Why did you have
your hair cut so short? My baby, my baby!" and the poor little lady
enfolded a rather abashed boy in her arms.
"Baby your grandmother! I ain't nobody's baby. We uns is Dr. Wright's
shover cept'n when we uns is in the mountings and thin we uns is the
'spressman's sisterant."
"We uns? What do you mean, Bobby?" wailed the mother.
"I say we uns whenever we uns thinks to do it. That's the way
mountingyears talks."
"Robert! Robert, look at Bobby and listen to him!"
Mr. Carter did look at Bobby and the remembrance of his own boyhood came
back to him and he laughed as he seldom did now-a-days.
"Well, bless my soul, what a great big son I have got!" and he slapped
Bobby on the back. "I fancy you are too big to kiss, you rascal!"
"I ain't too big to kiss if you uns comes behind the station where
Josh'n Josephus can't see us," and Bobby led his willing parent behind
the station where Helen had gone to shed a bitter tear and where Dr.
Wright had discovered her and where Lucy had discovered them.
"Oh, shucks! They's too many folks here," he declared.
"Will all of you please step out of the way?" begged Mr. Carter. "Bobby
has an important thing to discuss with me and we should like the back of
the station to ourselves for a moment."
Left alone, the big man held his little son tight in his arms and in
spite of Bobby's boasted manhood he was very happy to be once more
hugged and kissed by his father.
Dr. Wright smiled into Helen's reddened eyes and said: "Bobby will do
more for your father than anyone else now. If he can be a boy again he
will get entirely well."
The many parcels were at last stowed away in the cart and Josh clucked
sadly to Josephus.
"I reckon Bobby's done left us all, now that his paw is come," he said
sadly to the sympathetic mule. But Bobby came running after him.
"Hi there! Wait, Josh! Father says he would sooner trust his bones to us
than that old Tin Lizzie. You'n him'n me can squzzle in on the front
seat."
"Sho' we kin!" declared the delighted Josh. He hadn't lost an old friend
after all, but gained a new one.
Mr. Carter proved even more agreeable to the little mountain boy than
his idol, Lewis Somerville. He had such wonderful things to tell of
ships and things and seemed to understand a boy so well. Mr. Somerville
was right strict with a fellow, expecting him to be clean all the time
and never forget, but somehow, Mr. Carter was a little easier.
"You are frightfully burned, Douglas," complained Mrs. Carter as they
finally got themselves stowed away in the faithful mountain goat. "I
can't see why you do not protect your skin. Your neck will take months
to recover from such a tanning."
"Well, I don't think that will make much difference," laughed Douglas.
"I fancy it will be many a day before I go décolleté."
"I don't see that. If you are not going to college, I see no reason why
you should not make your debut next winter."
Douglas looked at her mother in amazement. Could it be that even now she
did not understand? She said nothing, feeling that it would be wiser to
wait until she and her mother were alone. Never having economized in her
life, Mrs. Carter did not know the meaning of the word. The many parcels
that were borne from the train gave Douglas a faint feeling. Had her
mother been buying things in New York?
"I brought you a perfect love of a hat, darling," Mrs. Carter chattered
on, "but of course you shall have to bleach up a bit for it to be
becoming to you. I did not dream you were so burned or I should not have
selected such pale trimmings. I have a delightful plan! Since you are
to come out next winter, I think a fortnight at the White in late August
would be charming--give you that poise that debutantes so often lack. We
can leave the children with your father and go together----"
"But, mother----"
"Oh, we shan't go quite yet! I know you want to see your father for a
few days before you leave him even for a fortnight."
Douglas was speechless; Nan, who was crowded in by her, gave her a
sympathetic squeeze.
"It is lovely to be with my girls again," the little lady bubbled on.
"Of course your letter was a great surprise to me, Douglas. The idea of
my children making money!" and she gave a silvery laugh. "I am delighted
that you have, because now no doubt your coming out will be even more
delightful than I had anticipated. Of course those persons who are in
our house in Richmond will simply have to get out."
"But, mother----"
"Simply have to--how can a girl come out suitably unless she is in her
own home?"