CHICKEN LITTLE JANE AND DICK HARDING PLAY PROVIDENCE
"Jane," called Mrs. Morton as the child was starting back to school one
noon a few days after the wedding, "go by the postoffice on your way
home and ask for the mail. There will probably be a letter from Frank or
Marian on the afternoon train."
"I will, Mother." Chicken Little called back, but she came near
forgetting it because she had something else on her mind. She never
could keep two things on her mind at the same time successfully.
Alice had been very sober ever since the wedding. The night before
Chicken Little had found her crying.
"It's nothing, dear. I'm just silly enough to be worrying because I
can't be somebody," she told Chicken Little. "If I could only find a way
to go to school two years so I could teach! I have been thinking of
trying to work for my board, but Mary Miller did that and she had to
work so hard she didn't have time to study and she got sick. I don't see
how I could pay for my books and clothes either. Perhaps Uncle Joseph
would lend me the money if I'd write to him--I could pay it back when I
got to teaching. But I can't bear to, after the way he treated Mother.
She wrote to him when Father died asking him to help settle up Father's
affairs. He sent her $500 and said that was all he could do for
her--that he couldn't spare the time to come here--she could hire a
lawyer. Mother never wrote to him again and we never heard from him
afterwards. I've been told he still lives in Cincinnati and is very
rich. Oh, dear, if I only could get that bank stock money--I wish Mr.
Gasset would hurry up and do something."
Alice poured out her troubles to the child for want of an older listener
and Chicken Little sympathized acutely.
She wanted to talk it over with her father but Dr. Morton had been
called away some distance into the country to see a patient and had not
returned. She relieved her mind to Katy and Gertie on the way to school
that morning and they were satisfyingly indignant over Alice's troubles,
but had no suggestions to offer.
"Her uncle's an old skinflint--that's what he is. He's awful rich and
owns a big stove factory all by himself. Father orders stoves from
there. He and Mamma say it's a shame he doesn't do something for Alice
when she's his only brother's child."
The matter troubled Jane all day and she was still thinking about it
when she started home from school. She was half way home before she
remembered about going to the postoffice.
There was a letter from Frank and she was just starting homeward again
with it clasped tight in her hand, when someone hailed her.
"Hello, Chicken Little Jane, are you postman today?"
It was Dick Harding.
"Going straight home? I'm going your way then. Here, let me carry your
books."
They passed a greenhouse en route and Dick asked Jane if she thought her
mother would mind her going in with him a moment.
Chicken Little adored going through the greenhouse. She often stopped
outside on her way to school to look at the flowers, but children were
not encouraged inside. She wondered what Mr. Harding was going to do
with the heliotrope and verbena he was selecting so lavishly. He was
having the flowers made into two bouquets, one big and one little. Her
curiosity was soon satisfied.
"Will you do something for me, Chicken Little?" he asked, after the
stems had been securely wrapped in tinfoil and the bouquets adorned with
their circlets of lace paper. "Will you give this to Miss Fletcher with
Dick Harding's compliments?" handing her the big one. "And will you
please beg Miss Jane Morton to accept this with my best love?" Dick
grinned as he presented the tiny cluster with an elaborate bow.
Chicken Little was in raptures but the commission to Alice recalled the
latter's troubles. Childlike she unburdened herself to Dick Harding.
She found him a most sympathetic listener.
"Come over here and sit down and tell me all about Alice. I heard
something the other day about Gassett and the stock certificates, but I
didn't know Miss Fletcher was the heroine."
Chicken Little's account was a trifle disconnected and liberally
interspersed with "Alice says" and "Father says," but Dick Harding being
a lawyer had no difficulty in arriving at the facts. He was vastly
interested and asked many questions.
"This uncle's name is Joseph Fletcher and he owns a factory in
Cincinnati? That must be the Fletcher Iron Works."
Dick Harding pondered awhile, whistling softly to himself.
"You say Alice is too proud to write to her uncle because he didn't
treat her mother right?"
"Yes, but she wants to go to school awfully--so she can be like other
folks." This phrase of Alice's had made a deep impression upon Jane.
"Poor little girl--she's certainly had a rough row to hoe--and all alone
in the world, too." Dick was talking to himself rather than to Chicken
Little.
He turned to her again presently after another period of meditation.
"Alice certainly deserves better things of the Fates, Jane, and I've
been wondering if you and I couldn't find a way to help her out. How
would it do for you to write a letter to this Uncle Joseph and tell him
about Alice just as you have told me. I expect it would be pretty hard
work for a ten year old, but I could help you. What do you say?"
Chicken Little was overawed at the prospect of writing to a strange man,
but she was very eager to help Alice.
"Could I write it with a pencil? Mother doesn't like me to use ink
'cause I most always spill it."
"A pencil is just the thing--it will be easier to erase if you get
something wrong. But, Chicken Little, I guess this would better be a
little secret just between you and me for the present. I'll tell your
mother all about it myself some of these days. Do you think you could
write the letter and have it ready by tomorrow afternoon? I'll see you
after school and take it and mail it--if it's all right."
Chicken Little thought she could. Dick Harding gave her as explicit
directions as he dared as to what she should say and what she should not
say.
"Remember," he added, "not a word of this to anybody--especially to
Alice."
"I've probably got the youngster all mixed up with my fool directions,
but I believe she might make an impression on the uncle, if she can only
write as she talks. Bless her tender heart. Alice has one loyal friend
if she is small," he said to himself, unconsciously echoing Dr. Morton's
words.
Jane left Alice's flowers in the entry while she delivered the letter to
her mother, but she displayed her own tiny bouquet proudly.
"See what Mr. Harding gave me!"
"Mr. Harding is very kind. Was that what made you so late?"
"Yes, we stopped at the greenhouse to get them only I didn't know he was
going to get them--he just asked me did I think you would mind if I went
in there with him?"
"Well, that was very nice--run along--I want to read my letter."
Chicken Little hurried away to take Alice her flowers.
"For me--really?" demanded Alice: "Who sent them?"
"He asked me would I give them to you with Dick Harding's compliments."
The telltale "he" brought a flush to Alice's face and the "Dick Harding"
deepened it. Alice buried her face in the fragrant posy to hide her
embarrassment.
"Did he say anything else, Jane?"
"Yes, he said a lot. He asked me how you were and how Mamma was and if
we'd heard from Frank and Marian. He asked a lot about you----" Chicken
Little caught herself just in time. "I think he's just beautiful--don't
you, Alice? He walked most home with me and carried my books just like I
was grown up."
Alice hugged her by way of reply.
"I told him how you always saved the cookies for us and how Ernest said
you were a brick and he said Ernest evidently had good taste."
Alice's face took on several expressions during this recital. When the
child had finished, she said gravely:
"Jane, will you do me a favor?"
Chicken Little was all attention.
"Please don't say anything to the other children about what Mr. Harding
said or about his sending me the flowers--will you?"
Chicken Little readily promised though she looked disappointed. Secrets
certainly had their drawbacks.
She put her own flowers in water in one of her mother's best vases, a
white hand holding a snowy tulip, and stood off to admire the effect.
Then she soberly hunted up a box of tiny, vivid pink note paper, a much
treasured possession, and set to work on the fateful letter. She
selected the front parlor as the most secluded spot she could find, the
front parlor being reserved for visitors and holidays exclusively.
Its quiet this evening was almost oppressive. Jane stared about the room
seeking inspiration in vain. The old mahogany chairs upholstered in hair
cloth were shinily forbidding. The globes of wax flowers and fruit that
adorned two small marble-topped tables, were equally cold. The silver
water set suggested ice water, and the "Death of Wesley" which
monopolized one wall could hardly be considered cheering. Chicken Little
shivered, and taking an ottoman, ensconced herself between the lace
curtains at a west window where the late autumn sunshine was still
streaming in.
She sucked the end of the lead pencil meditatively.
"Dear Mister Fletcher," she wrote, then paused for ideas. Writing to
Uncle Joseph she found was a very different matter from talking to Dick
Harding. She was picturing Mr. Fletcher in her mind as a cross between a
minister and a tame bear. But Jane had a bulldog grit that carried her
over hard places, and she finally achieved a letter.
"I guess you'll be surprised to hear from me but I want you to know bout
Alice. Katy says your too stuck up is why you wont do anything for
Alice. But I thought mebbe you didn't know how bad she wants to go to
school. Alice says if she could go to school for two years she could
teach and pay you back. She wants to go to school so she can be like
other people stead of being a hired girl. Shes an awful nice hired girl.
Mother says so and shes prittiern anybody cept Marian. I love her heaps.
Alice says mebbe you would lend her the money only she wont ask you
cause you weren't nice to her mother and she got awful hungry sometimes.
Please Mister Fletcher let Alice go to school cause she cries when she
thinks nobody's looking. She thought mebbe she could get some money for
the cestificuts but Mr. Gassett wont do anything.
"Respeckfully,
"JANE MORTON.
"P. S. Most everybody calls me Chicken Little. P'r'aps you'd better put
it on the letter.
"J. M."
It took two entire sheets of the pink note paper to hold this
communication. Chicken Little opened and shut her cramped hand regarding
it with mingled satisfaction and distrust. She had never written so
long a letter before. She went back to the beginning and painstakingly
dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's, a detail she had omitted in
the first writing. She deliberated for some time over the spelling. The
lines, too, ran up and down hill in an undignified manner. But Chicken
Little with a regretful sigh over these deficiencies, folded the sheets
and put them into the tiny envelope, copying carefully the address Dick
Harding had written out for her. Then she consigned the precious missive
to the depths of her Geography so she wouldn't forget it on the morrow.
It was duly delivered into Dick Harding's hands, inspected and approved.
"Bravo, Chicken Little, I couldn't have done better myself."
Jane's brown eyes had been fixed wistfully on his face while he read and
she wriggled painfully when he smiled once or twice during the perusal.
"I'm 'fraid it's pretty crooked--p'raps I could change the spelling if
you'd tell me. I didn't like to ask anybody 'cause they'd want to know
what for."
"We won't change a single thing, Chicken Little. See, we are going to
seal it right up--and pop--here goes the stamp. This letter shall be on
board that seven-thirty train for Cincinnati or my name isn't Dick
Harding. And if it doesn't make Mr. Joseph Fletcher do some thinking,
why he is a little meaner than most men--that's all."
Affairs in the Morton family went on uneventfully for the next ten days.
Chicken Little was busy in school and Mrs. Morton much occupied with
preparations for Christmas.
Ernest was full of certain Christmas schemes of his own to the decided
detriment of his lessons. He had purchased a scroll saw and patterns,
and was firmly resolved to present each individual member of the family
with his handiwork. Some of the designs he had selected were exceedingly
intricate and hard on the eyes, but he was not to be dissuaded from
using them and he toiled away all his spare moments at the fancy
brackets and towel rack. He had great difficulty in concealing the
various pieces from the persons for whom they were intended. He got so
cross about it that it soon became a family habit to cough loudly,
before approaching his room on any errand whatsoever.
The little girls soon caught the Christmas fever also. Alice helped Jane
with her mother's present, a book-mark on perforated cardboard done in
shades of green silk, which Chicken Little regarded as a great work of
art. She fussed away happily over it, tormenting Alice all the while
with guesses as to what her mother was to give her. She had exploded the
Santa Claus fiction two years before.
"Alice, do you s'pose she will get me that wax doll? There's a perfect
dear down at Wolf's. It has blue eyes that shut--and real hair--oh, it's
just as yellow. I never saw such yellow hair, but Mr. Wolf said it was
really hair. Oh, do you think she'll get that for me? Alice, I wish
you'd just tell her that's what I want."
A few days later she rushed in pink with excitement.
"Alice, it's gone! Do you s'pose Mother got it? Katy says she thinks
Grace Dart's mother bought it for her. I'm going to ask Sherm. Maybe
he'd know. Oh, I do hope Mother got it!"
Another source of excitement was the Sunday School cantata to be given
Christmas eve, in which Jane and Gertie were both to have the parts of
fairies and Sherm a small role. The little girls trotted obediently back
and forth to rehearsals, proud to be in it, but Sherm was in open
rebellion, the said rehearsals taking away most of his time with the
boys. Katy scoffed openly at the fairies, not having been asked to be
one herself.
"Pooh, you won't look like fairies if you do have a lot of spangled
tarlatan. Fairies are just as tiny and they have weenty mites of feet!"
and Katy pointed this last remark by a withering glance at Chicken
Little's feet which were beginning to be much too big for the rest of
her, and were encased in stout boots with tiny copper rims on the toes
which she heartily loathed. Dr. Morton had insisted upon these as being
the only proper foot-gear for children in winter, and many were the
jibes Jane suffered from her schoolmates because of them. Katy and
Gertie wore lovely button boots, shapely if not sensible.
"You don't need to talk, Katy Halford, my feet aren't much bigger than
yours, and I'm going to wear my white shoes and Miss Gray said I'd look
lovely, so there!"
Katy, who was swinging on the gate looking down on her small sister and
Chicken Little on the sidewalk outside, took three entrancing swings
before replying:
"Well, maybe, but Miss Gray don't look so awful nice herself and your
hair isn't a speck curly and I never did see a fairy with straight
hair."
Jane was sure she had, and Gertie said pretend fairies didn't have to be
exactly like really fairies, but Jane was troubled and resolved to
consult Alice immediately.
Alice guessed Katy had been up to mischief purposely.
"Nonsense, Katy's just talking about the little flower fairies. Get your
Grimm and I'll show you all sorts. Of course, fairies are not all alike
any more than little girls. I'm sure you and Gertie will make darling
fairies, so don't you worry."
But Alice decided to give Katy a lesson, that young lady boasting a year
and a half's advantage over Chicken Little and Gertie was rather too
fond of lording it over them. She bided her time and did not have long
to wait. Katy came over a few days later proud as a peacock over a
minute pair of kid gloves, the first she had owned. Jane and Gertie
followed, admiring and not a little envious.
"See, Alice," Katy struck an attitude with both hands spread out
ostentatiously.
Alice saw and hardened her heart.
"What's the matter with your hands, Katy?"
Katy's face lost its satisfied smirk, but she held her hands for a
closer inspection.
"Kid gloves, aren't they scrumptious? Don't you wish you had some,
girls? I'd a lot rather have kid gloves than be in your old cantata."
Chicken Little started to protest, but Alice anticipated her.
"They make your hands look awfully big, Katy!"
Katy's face fell. She had lovely tiny hands and was proud of them. She
looked anxiously at the gloves then took one off and put the bare hand
beside the gloved one, surveying them critically.
"I don't think so," she said pluckily after a moment gulping down her
disappointment.
Alice couldn't bear that hurt look in the child's face even in a good
cause and speedily relented.
"Neither do I, Katy, those gloves are fine! I was only teasing. But,
Katy, that's the way you talked to Jane and Gertie about being fairies.
'Twasn't real kind was it, Katy? You know how it feels yourself now."
Katy didn't say anything but she understood and she remembered. She was
a shrewd child and a generous one when her sympathies were aroused.
One morning, a few days later, Alice was dusting the sitting room and
talking with Mrs. Morton who was seated by the window sewing. Suddenly
Mrs. Morton, glancing up, saw a man entering the front gate.
"Why, I do believe it's Mr. Gassett."
Alice came to the window to verify the fact.
There was no room for doubt. It was Mr. Gassett ponderously climbing the
steps of the terrace.
"Dear me," said Mrs. Morton, "I suppose he has come about those papers.
I do wish Dr. Morton were here. I never could understand business
matters. Go to the door, Alice; he is ringing."
Alice felt a little shaky as she opened the door to confront the family
enemy. She was a trifle reassured to discover that Mr. Gassett also
looked embarrassed.
"Ah, Alice, how fortunate--you are the very person I wished to see."
"Will you step into the sitting room, Mr. Gassett?"
"Ah--umm, it is hardly worth while. I can explain my errand here."
Mr. Gassett was not eager to encounter any member of the Morton family.
But Alice was shrewd enough to realize that it would be just as well to
have someone else present at this interview so she politely insisted.
At sight of Mrs. Morton, Mr. Gassett removed his hat, which he seemed
previously to have forgotten.
"How do you do, Madam, a beautiful winter day. I am sorry to disturb
you--I just had a little matter of business with your servant."
Alice's eyes flashed at the word servant and Mrs. Morton looked annoyed.
Despite her firm belief in class distinctions, she had grown fond of
Alice and "servant" seemed unnecessarily offensive. She drew herself up
coldly.
"Yes, Mr. Gassett?"
Mr. Gassett opened his errand rather haltingly. Mrs. Morton's dignity
oppressed him.
He had been told, he said, that some stolen stock certificates had been
found with the silver, which he understood Alice was keeping under the
mistaken idea that she had some claim to them because her father had
not endorsed them over to Mr. Gassett personally. The bank had waited
some weeks hoping she would find out her mistake and return them to
their rightful owner, himself. She had not done so and it was his
painful duty to come and demand his property.
Mr. Gassett shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at
Mrs. Morton.
Alice also looked as Mrs. Morton, who motioned her to answer for
herself.
"Mr. Gassett, I shall not give up those certificates till you have
proved your right to them."
"But, my girl, don't you understand those certificates were stolen from
my house? I should think my word would be sufficient," said Mr. Gassett
pompously.
"I am not denying they were stolen from your house, Mr. Gassett, but I
wish you to explain how my father's certificates came to be in your
possession."
"Explain nothing!" Mr. Gassett's temper was rising. "If you knew
anything about business you could see that your father had signed away
his claim to them by putting his name on the back."
"There is nothing to show that he signed them over to you, Mr. Gassett.
My father died believing he owned that stock--he told my mother so.
After his death we hunted high and low for it, but it could not be
found. My mother asked you if the certificates were in the store safe,
but you denied all knowledge of them--yet you had them all the time and
they did not appear in the settlement of Father's estate. It looks very
queer if they were yours that you did not say so to my mother at the
time. No, I shall not give them up until you prove your right to them."
Mr. Gassett's face was a very expressive one. It was red with wrath by
the time Alice had finished her little speech.
"Hoighty-toighty, my girl, you'd better think twice before you go to
insulting your betters. Your mother's dead and what you remember as a
half-grown girl won't go very far in a court of law. Your father made
over those certificates to me as security for a debt. It was none of
your mother's business whether I had them or not. They were endorsed in
blank because he hoped to pay the debt and get them back, I suppose."
"You mean he had paid the debt, but carelessly left those valuable
papers in the store safe supposing you were an honest man!"
Alice spoke hastily, scarcely daring to hope herself that she had hit
the truth.
If Mr. Gassett's face had been red before, it was purple now. He fairly
glared at Alice.
"You shall answer for this, you minx. You'll not find it so pleasant
being dragged into court. I'll give you one more chance to hand over
those papers peaceably--and if you don't, I'll have the law on you. As
for you," including Mrs. Morton in his rage, "I'm surprised that you
should encourage your servant to insult a gentleman in your own home."
"This is Alice's affair, Mr. Gassett," replied Mrs. Morton coldly. "She
has a perfect right to say what she thinks. I did not arrange to have
this interview take place here you will remember."
It was plain to the others that Mrs. Morton was on Alice's side.
This unspoken sympathy acted like a tonic on the girl. She drew herself
up in a remarkably good imitation of Mrs. Morton's grand manner.
"I've nothing more to say, Mr. Gassett."
Mr. Gassett did not take the trouble to say good-by. He clapped his hat
on his head and banged out the front door.
Mrs. Morton seemed paralyzed with astonishment.
"And he is a member of our church! Alice, I believe you are right--I
believe he did steal them. He didn't act like an honest man."
So Alice won one more friend in the Morton family.
They poured the tale into Dr. Morton's ears when he came home to
dinner.
"Well, Alice, I'm afraid you have a law suit on your hands. Have you
kept your father's papers?"
"Yes, I've got a box full of old letters and papers."
"She'll have to have a lawyer, won't she?" asked Mrs. Morton anxiously.
"Oh, dear, how can I ever pay one?" Alice clasped her hands in despair
at this new thought.
"You might get someone to take the case on a contingent fee. You don't
understand--do you? Lawyers often take cases for poor clients with the
understanding that they are to have part of the money if they win the
case, but get no pay if they lose it."
"Oh, that would be fine! Do you suppose I could get somebody that way?"
Chicken Little and Ernest had been interested listeners.
"Dick Harding's a lawyer," observed Ernest.
"He is--and a mighty good one for a young chap," replied his father.
"Yes, and he's awful sorry for Alice, too. He said she was a plucky
girl," Chicken Little broke in.
Alice blushed and Dr. Morton laughed.
"Here's a lawyer ready to your hand, Alice. But Gassett may think better
of his threat when he cools off, though I think you may look for
trouble."
The following evening Dr. Morton handed a letter to Alice.
"O dear me," she said, "do you suppose it's from Mr. Gassett? No, it's
from Cincinnati. Why it has 'Fletcher Iron Works' in the corner--I
wonder--you don't suppose it could be from Uncle Joseph, do you?"
"Maybe he's dead and has left you something, Alice," suggested Dr.
Morton.
Alice hurriedly opened the envelope, her amazement increasing as she
read.
"Why, I can't understand--why how strange! Chicken Little Jane, did you
write to Uncle Joseph?" she demanded, turning suddenly to Jane.
Poor Chicken Little sadly needed Dick Harding for reinforcements during
the next three minutes. The entire family turned astonished and accusing
eyes upon her, and it was plain to be seen by her flushed and startled
face that she was guilty.
But before either Dr. or Mrs. Morton could demand an explanation, Alice
had dropped down beside her and was hugging her tight, half laughing,
half crying.
"Oh, you darling, how did you ever happen to think of it? Oh, I'm so
happy--I can go to school all I want to, he says. I'll never forget what
you've done for me as long as I live, Chicken Little."
When Alice quieted down, it took the combined efforts of herself and
Chicken Little to explain the situation to Dr. and Mrs. Morton.
Dick Harding had guessed off Uncle Joseph's character pretty shrewdly.
The latter's pride had been touched at the idea of his brother's child
working out.
"I am sorry," he wrote, "you had so little confidence in me that you
would not write me of your difficulties! I was inexpressibly shocked to
learn that your mother suffered want. I supposed her family would look
out for you both--she had two brothers living the last I knew. At the
time of your father's death I was extremely hard up myself and thought
they were better able to care for her than I was."
"They were both killed during the war," Alice stopped reading the letter
to explain.
"I am sending you money for clothes and railroad fare, and I trust you
will let the past be bygones and come at once to make your home with us.
You shall go to school till you are thirty if you want to. Tell Chicken
Little Katy was right. I am stuck up--too stuck up to want my only niece
to suffer. Tell her, too, I owe her a debt of gratitude for her frank
letter that I shall try to pay at some future time."
"But Chicken Little Jane, how did you know where to send the letter, and
what made you think of writing to Mr. Fletcher in the first place?"
demanded Mrs. Morton, puzzled.
"Why Dick Harding said----" Chicken Little got no further.
"Dick Harding!" interrupted Dr. Morton. "Oh, I see," and throwing back
his head, he laughed uproariously.