THE LIBERTY GARDEN
Nathalie stared in amazement, and then, recovering her usual poise, she
cried, “Oh, Mrs. Morrow, please come right in, for I want you to meet my
Liberty Girls.” As the girl spoke she advanced towards her unexpected
guest, who was coming slowly forward, as if not assured of her welcome.
But the cordiality expressed in the tones of Nathalie’s voice and the
fact that the girls had all risen on their feet,—her own girls at
attention in the Pioneer salute,—with their faces aglow with pleasure,
quickly assured her that her welcome was a hearty one.
With a sudden movement she turned to Nathalie and asked, “May I have the
floor a moment, Miss President?” As the girl assented, although somewhat
mystified, Mrs. Morrow took her place behind the small table, and with a
quick nod of greeting to the faces upturned to hers, cried: “Girls, I am
greatly pleased to see you here to-day, and to know that our Pioneer
Blue Robin’s little plan to make you all work with a keener zest for
liberty, has succeeded so well. I also want to assure you of my hearty
cooperation, and my wish that all of you, those who are Pioneers, and
those who belong to other clubs, will be inspired to better work in your
own organizations by the fact that you have banded together to stand
unitedly as Daughters of Liberty, in order to show that you are all
_loyal Americans_. In proof of my good wishes I am going to present the
club with a bell. It is needless to say that it is not _the_ Liberty
Bell, but a facsimile in miniature.
“Wait, I have not finished,” laughingly protested the lady as she held
up her hand,—for some of the girls had started to clap. “I want you to
know before your president rings it,—it is to be rung to call you
together in the sacred cause of liberty,—that way up in the top has
been inserted a very tiny chip from the real Liberty Bell,—the bell
that was rung over a hundred years ago to announce that the thirteen
colonies had become the United States of America. I hope, girls, that
when you hear this bell ring you will feel the same inspiration to do
your best as animated the patriots in the war of 1776.”
As Mrs. Morrow paused, the long-delayed clapping burst forth with such
vigor that she and Nathalie—she had drawn the girl to her and was
pressing the bell into her hand—had to smile and bow again and again.
But the clapping only halted for a space, for when Nathalie saw that
quietness reigned, she rang the liberty bell so loudly and determinedly,
while a mischievous twinkle glowed in her eyes, that it broke forth
again.
As soon as the demonstration was over and the bell-ringing had subsided,
Mrs. Morrow’s voice was heard again: “Now, Liberty Girls, I am going to
ask your president to take a vote to get your opinion as to _who you
think_ told the best story about great women in your liberty chain.
“Perhaps you do not know,” the gray-blue eyes deepened, “but I was in
the dining-room, although not purposely an eavesdropper, and had the
pleasure of hearing the stories told. I have formed an opinion as to the
best story-teller, but would like to know if your opinion coincides with
mine.”
But alas, there were so many different opinions as to the best story,
and as to who was the best narrator, that to even matters Mrs. Morrow
had to take her big bouquet of flowers and divide it into three or four
nosegays. But a smile of satisfaction gleamed in the eyes of many when
Marie, the little Jewess, received a bouquet and a few words of
commendation from the giver. The little captain’s delight was so
genuine, and her eyes beamed so joyously, that every one rejoiced with
her.
After the flowers were distributed, and the girls had sung a few
patriotic songs, they filed out into the sunshine, happily aglow with
the joy of the meeting and the inspiration it had brought to them.
Several weeks later we find Nathalie coming slowly down the garden-walk
with its old-time hedge, from the big gray house. The tall pines—now
good old friends—that bordered the path bowed their tops in a cheery
good-morning, as she walked beneath their shade.
She had just given her usual morning lesson of two hours to her young
friend, for Nathalie, on her return from Camp Laff-a-Lot last summer,
had found that her studies with Nita were to be continued. Yes, and she
had banked every penny that she could spare from her weekly salary of
ten dollars. It had seemed such a big sum at first, but alas, now that
her mother’s income had slowly dwindled, and she had been compelled to
use it for her own personal needs, and to lay part of it aside every
week to repay Mrs. Van Vorst the loan for Dick’s operation, it seemed a
mere pittance.
But to-day she felt unusually joyful, for the last penny of that
haunting debt had been paid, and she was now free to call her money her
own. If there had been many disappointments in life—the going to
college was still a luring hope—and self-denials, added to the
unpleasantness of doing housework since their coming to Westport, there
had been several compensations that had cast their rosy shadows across
the darkness.
One was the joy and the profit she had gained from being a Pioneer, and
the other was the great pleasure that had come to her in the knowledge
that she had a purpose in life. Yes, she had told Helen many times, “I
think it is one of the delights of life to be legitimately busy, and to
know that you are really doing something that is a help to yourself or
some one else.” And now, added to these compensating joys had come the
thrills and joys from the new organization, the Liberty Girls, for that
little patriotic club now numbered almost a hundred. And it had thrived
so well, and Nathalie had gained so many honors from being its founder,
that sometimes she feared that she, too, would become a bird of the air,
like Dick, only in a different way, from sheer conceit.
But if she had been overmuch praised, and had found it a pleasant
diversion to plan and dream over the club’s future successes, she had
also found hard work and great discouragement. Discouragement, too, over
such small things, when the girl came to face them in the coolness of
after-thought, that she had felt like throwing the whole thing up, or
else just letting things drift, and taking what pleasure she could,
without so much conscientious worry over doing _her best_.
But through all the storm and stress Helen had buoyed her with the
frequent, sensible remark, that if it had taken the world thousands of
years to comprehend the true meaning of democracy and liberty, she must
expect her girls would be slow in realizing many things. But it was
tiresome to hold the reins of government, and yet sometimes be unable to
stop their silly chatter, or useless argument over mere trifles, all the
while holding back the legitimate work by their dallying.
Yes, and it had been an awful strain to manage that Liberty Garden. Of
course the Pioneers were all good workers, and she had given each one
some one thing to study over, but still she had had to know about these
things herself, so as to be sure they would do the right thing.
But it was something worth while, she reflected sagely, to know that
there are three kinds of soil, how to test it with litmus paper to see
if it was sour or not, and, if it was, how to neutralize it, or sweeten
its acidity. Then she had had to know what kind of chemicals acted as
food to the soil, so as to know what each plant or vegetable required to
enrich it and to sustain life. She had also learned how to draw moisture
from the land and how to fertilize it.
By placing seeds on wet blotting-paper in saucers she had demonstrated
how long it would take them to germinate, so as to be able to to write
her germinating-table for the girls. How old seeds should be before
planting, how deep to plant each kind, the method of planting, and how
many seeds to plant, and the distance apart, had all seemed tiresome and
trivial things to many, but it was necessary knowledge to a would-be
farmer.
Ah, she had reached the bank. She was going to get that ten dollars
deposited before it melted away. Suddenly her eyes became pools of
brightness, and the dimples twinkled in the red glow of her cheeks, for
there, right in front of her, stood Mrs. Morrow, with a kiddie boy, as
the girl called the twins, on each side of her. There was such genuine
pleasure in the lady’s smiling blue eyes, that Nathalie impulsively
cried, “Oh, Mrs. Morrow, this is just lovely! I’m so glad to see you!
When did you get back?” for her good friend had been away for several
weeks.
“Last night, Nathalie, and I am so pleased to meet you,” was the cordial
greeting, “for I have heard so many reports about the Liberty Girls’
club that I am anxious to hear all about it from you.”
“Oh, it is just the dandiest thing, Mrs. Morrow,” cried the girl
jubilantly. And then, lured by the kindly interest in her friend’s eyes,
her tongue unloosened, and she was soon busy telling about the club’s
many experiences, and the good that had come from the industry of its
members.
“And Helen is a dear,” Nathalie rattled on, “for she has taught her
girls the most wonderful things, and now they have all enrolled as Red
Cross members. She had been reading to them from Florence Nightingale’s
‘Notes on Nursing,’ and now she has taken up other works on the same
subject. Lillie, too, reads to the girls at the club meetings about
great women, while I inspect the work. The Garment and Comfort-Kit
squads meet together, and Jessie Ford not only tells them about the
French villages and the towns that have been destroyed by the Germans,
but reads to them from the ‘Prince Albert Book.’
“We are to have our Liberty Pageant to-morrow, and all the people who
live on the line of parade have been perfectly lovely, for they have
sold tickets for the seats on their verandas, and are to give the money
to us for the Liberty Fund, so we can buy Liberty bonds. And the day
after,” continued Nathalie, “we are to have a liberty sale on Mrs. Van
Vorst’s grounds, the Pioneers’ meeting-place, you know. Indeed, we are
almost over the tops of our heads in work, and we have enough plans to
last the rest of the summer. Mother declares I am the busiest girl she
knows.”
“And the Liberty Garden, has that turned out well? I understand it is
the work of my girls, the Pioneers.”
“Indeed, yes,” returned her companion: “it has been said to be one of
the beauty spots of Westport. We have bordered it with nasturtiums,
poppies, marigold, sweet peas, and all sorts of old-time posies. But _we
had_ a time getting the ground, for this year every one was hysterically
wild to cultivate every inch of ground for a war-garden, and nobody
wanted to loan any. Finally, however, Edith and Lillie tried their
powers of persuasion on old Deacon Sawyer,—you know he’s one of the
pillars of the old Presbyterian church, and he let us have an old lot of
his on Summer Street, about a hundred feet or so square.
“And how we have worked over it, for of course it had to be plowed.
Peter, Mrs. Van Vorst’s gardener,—he’s the kindest-hearted thing
alive,—offered to plow it for us, but we declined with a vote of
thanks, for we felt _that_ wouldn’t be our work. So Edith scoured the
town until finally she borrowed an old nag from the livery-stable
man,—he was just ready to crumble to pieces,—and Nita got a plow from
Peter, and we plowed it ourselves.
“But the time we had with that old steed,” Nathalie’s eyes gleamed
humorously, “for just as he would be going nicely across the field, he
would be inspired to take the ‘rest-cure’ and stand stock-still, and no
amount of pulling—we all got behind him and pushed—or coaxing would
induce him to budge a hair. O dear, we worked over him until we thought
we should expire with the heat, our faces all red and perspiring.
“Then Edith took to pulling his tail; she said she had read that would
make a balky horse go. Oh, it was funny to see her!” Nathalie laughed
outright. “But, dear me, it only made him lift one leg, very slowly, and
then the other, and then settle down in the same old rut, as still as
the wooden horse of Troy.
“You know Edith is a stick-at-the-job sort of person,” commented
Nathalie confidentially, “and what do you think? She actually got a
firecracker and set it off under that beast. But even that fiery
commotion only caused him to wink one lash and then resume his restful
pose. But finally the spirit moved him, and so suddenly,” laughed the
girl, “that Edith went sprawling on the ground, and Jessie tumbled in a
most humble attitude,—on her knees,—minus the reins, while our noble
steed went careering at a loping gallop across the field, while we, like
a lot of mutes, stared at him in stupid wonder.
“Well, after we got the land all plowed,” resumed Nathalie, “we had
irrigated it, by making a little ditch to let the water run down from
the hilly slope at one end, we planted our vegetables in rows. But
alas,” the girl gave a sigh, “when the plants began to come up we found
that the whole field was filled with coarse rye-grass which had roots,
and which had simply been cultivated, one might say, by the plow.
“We did not know what to do at first, until we remembered our Pioneer
motto, ‘I Can,’ and then we set to work with a will, and spaded every
inch of that lot; and it meant hard labor, too, for the grass was like
gristle. When the little plants began to come up and a girl would pull a
blade to see how it was doing, part of the plant would come up with the
roots. When we planted the different kinds of beans, using the string
and stakes, and pressing down the ground hard with our feet, on _five_
different occasions a violent rain came up during the night, and the
next morning we found all the seeds uncovered and washed down into
little piles at the end of the garden, and everything had to be done
over again.
“After we had planted rows and rows of hills of corn and rejoiced to see
coming forth little green plumes three inches high, we went to the
garden in our uniforms one day, laden with our garden-tools, ready for
work. But alas! we found that the crows had pulled out the corn from
almost every hill; the little black imps had bitten off the kernels and
gulped them down, and the stalks lay withering on the ground.
“Oh, I shall never forget the expression on Edith’s face that day,” said
Nathalie thoughtfully, “when she saw the havoc wrought by those crows;
it was such utter despair. I thought she was going to cry, but she
didn’t—just hurried to the little shed where we keep our tools and
things. When she reappeared her face was a sunbeam all right, as she
exclaimed, ‘Well, girls, let’s get the better of those crows, and plant
all over again.’
“Really, Mrs. Morrow, Edith inspired me to such respect for her
indomitable courage and pluck,” went on the girl candidly, “that I shall
always keep a very warm place in my heart for her, notwithstanding that
she sometimes gets on my nerves. Things went on swimmingly then until
that awful drought came. We had no way of watering the garden except by
watering-pots, and then we couldn’t do our weeding, or cultivating,
until late in the afternoon on account of the hot sun. But we did our
best, and we have been repaid,” smiled Nathalie, “although we did not
produce as much as I had hoped. Still—well, you’ll see at the pageant
to-morrow.” Nathalie, suddenly realizing that she had kept Mrs. Morrow
standing for some time, while she rattled on about that garden, now bade
her a hasty good-morning and hurried into the bank.
The young president of the Liberty Girls’ club passed a somewhat
troubled night, oppressed with the anxiety of her onerous
responsibility, knowing that the following day would be a well-filled
one. As the proposer and planner of the pageant there were numerous
details to arrange at the very last moment, and she was so afraid that
she would oversleep, that she awakened several times with a nervous
start, only to find everything enveloped in darkness.
Arousing finally, to see the East streaked with red, and the golden rim
of the sun gleaming above a silver line of clouds, she sprang out of bed
with a devout little prayer of thankfulness that the day at least was to
be a sunshiny one. An early breakfast, a hurried doing of her customary
duties, and then she and Grace—in the latter’s car—were off to inspect
the floats, eighteen of them, all ready in barns, or garages, awaiting
her word that they were properly equipped for the liberty parade, which
was to set forth on its journey through the town at two in the
afternoon.
And then, with many misgivings, fearing that the whole thing might prove
a fizzle,—for of course, many things had been wrong,—she hurried home
for luncheon. Then came a hurried dressing, a whirl in an automobile,
and she was dazedly taking her seat, a post of honor, on the front row
of the grand-stand, erected by the Boy Scouts and Peter, in front of
Mrs. Van Vorst’s high garden-walls.
She barely had time to realize that the notables of the village were
seated to the right and left of her, and to exchange a few greetings
with one or two old-time friends, when she heard the ringing of a bell,
the bell in the tower of the old Presbyterian church. This was the
signal that the Liberty Pageant, way up at the other end of the town,
was to issue from its shelter of green trees in front of the brick
schoolhouse, and set forth on its march down through Main Street, the
most important thoroughfare of the sleepy little town, with its wide,
asphalted road shaded by noble old elms.