Produced by Al Haines.
*LARKSPUR*
BY
*JANE D. ABBOTT*
AUTHOR OF
HAPPY HOUSE,
KEINETH, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO THE FLOWERS OF MY OWN
GARDEN I DEDICATE THIS STORY
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
I. An October Day
II. The Captain's Story
III. Renee Finds a Home
IV. Gardens
V. First Aid
VI. Eagles and Golden Eaglets
VII. Aunt Pen Plans
VIII. Breadwinners
IX. The New Lodger
X. A Scout's Honor
XI. Young Wings
XII. The Game
XIII. The Christmas Party
XIV. Hill-top
XV. Pat's Pride and Its Fall
XVI. Good Turns
XVII. Angeline
XVIII. For His Country
XIX. A Letter From France
XX. The Lost Baby
XXI. Renee's Box
XXII. Surprises
XXIII. The Best of All
*LARKSPUR*
*CHAPTER I*
*AN OCTOBER DAY*
On an October day--a sunny day, and except for the yellow leaves that
quivered on rapidly bearing branches, very like spring--Patricia
Everett, from the window of her home, watched an automobile drive out of
sight, carrying her mother and sister away to Florida, and confided to
the empty room that she was the very unhappiest girl in the whole world!
Conflicting emotions tormented the soul of the little lady. She
disliked very much seeing anyone depart from anywhere without her!
Then, too, so hurried had been the departure that nothing in the shape
of candy, books or toys had been left behind to comfort her! And
saddest of all, at the last moment her mother had decided that she must
not return to Miss Prindle's because of an epidemic of measles!
The curious quiet that had fallen upon the house after the bustle of
departure added to Patricia's loneliness. With a heart bursting with
pity for herself, she wandered up the stairs to her room--a pretty room,
its windows hung in flowered chintz, a bird singing from a cage hanging
in the sunshine.
When his little mistress walked into the room Peter Pan trilled more
gayly than before--it was as though he bade her come to the window and
look across the way!
If she had looked she would have seen in the kitchen window of the
shabby brick house, across the intersecting street, Mrs. Mary Quinn and
her daughter Sheila rocking in one another's arms and laughing like two
children!
Mrs. Quinn's house was old and shabby, its fences tumbling down; hard
times often knocked at her door, but with it all her smile was always as
bright as the gay geraniums blooming on the spotless sill of the kitchen
window that faced the Everett house.
Fortune had come to the Quinns that day in the guise of a new lodger.
He had taken the second floor bedroom which stretched across the back of
the house. Because this room was very big and had a queer, rickety
stairway leading to it from the outside of the house, it had never been
rented. But with the other lodgers who lived in the front rooms and the
tiny side bedroom and the parlor, which had been converted into a "light
housekeeping suite," Mrs. Quinn managed to keep her little family most
comfortably and to have a bit left over for such luxuries as the
flowers, a few books, pretty pictures and crisp muslin curtains.
"Faith, Sheila," she had cried, coming into the kitchen where her
daughter was preparing apples for the oven. "It's just as though Dame
Fortune knew it was your birthday! Now you shall have your music!"
"Oh, mother!" cried the girl, dropping her paring knife. "How
wonderful!" Then, hesitating: "But maybe I hadn't ought to! That much
each week would make things easier if----"
But Mrs. Quinn snatched bowl, apples and knife from her daughter's
hands. "Don't let's be worrying over what's ahead, sweetness! We'll
just take what comes! Didn't I have my bit of music when I was a girl
and don't I know the longings that are in you to have things that other
girls have, lassie? It's a good daughter you are to me and it's you
that has always made the hard things easier----" She stopped suddenly
as though something in her throat choked the words. For answer Sheila
caught the rough hands that knew only work now and kissed them.
Then these two, arms around one another, the bowl tipping dangerously
between them, laughed together as though there had never been a single
hardship in the world.
"We're two sillies--that's what we are! Now we must be about our work
or the gentleman will come and the room won't be ready!"
"Who is he, mother?"
"Sure, child, and I scarcely asked him! His name is Marks and he said
he was employed at the Everett Works. I only thought of you, dearie!
After supper you run over and see Miss Sheehan about the lessons; two a
week--and we'll have a man come to tune up the old piano and we'll just
pull it out here where it will be warm and where I can listen to you!"
So their work--and there was much for their quick fingers to do before
the room could be put in readiness for the new tenant and the supper
prepared for the younger Quinns, would be made lighter by their happy
plans!
But Patricia was too miserable to even glance across at the window where
the pink geraniums bloomed. She did not want to think that there was
anyone happy anywhere in the world.
Sighing deeply she curled herself on her bed, drew from underneath her
pillow her beloved diary and wrote upon its open page:
"This is such a cruel, sad moment in my life that I must write about it
although it is too bad to put it in my nice diary." (Monthly she and
Angeline Snow, her dearest friend at Miss Prindle's, exchanged diaries.)
"I have been left alone here by a fond but heartless mother and sister
who thinks only of herself and her troubles and my father is here at
home and he is left, too, only of course my father is a man and he has
his business. But the very worst of all because they are afraid of
measles and Cis says my hair will come out and that it will never be
thick like hers anyway though I remember you and I said that we hated
thick hair when it was yellow like hers they will not let me go back to
my dear Prindles and so I am a prisoner in a gilded cage. My Aunt Pen is
coming to live with us while my mother is away and I love her and she
always lets me do everything I want to do but she is not like you or the
other girls at school. And though I have lived here many summers as the
poets say, I have no friends because there are only the children I used
to meet at silly parties and my mother's friends who are polite and
stupid and I shall pine with loneliness. It is all Celia's fault though
mother says she is very ill and that she has worn herself out doing war
work and she looked very pail and interesting and I guess maybe she
worried when Lieut Chauncey Merideth fell out of his airplane but I
guess he'll be more careful next time. You remember I never liked him
though when he comes back from war though he is only in Texas I guess
he'll treat me a little different for he will realise I am almost
fourteen if he comes back in time and does not fall out again. I do
love my mother but she has been most heartless leaving me sad and lonely
and with nothing to do. But as old English Sparrow says there is always
work for idle hands to do and I shall find something so as to write to
you all about it. I am too old to spend my hours repining. I remember
the words of E. Sparrow how we are captains of our souls and I shall
keep saying that in my loneliness. I guess now I will go down and order
the dessert for dinner----"
This sudden thought so comforted Patricia that she closed her diary
quickly, put it back under the pillow, slipped off the bed and ran
downstairs to the kitchen.
She found that Melodia, the cook, had already prepared mince tarts for
dinner. They were spread temptingly upon a shelf. Patricia tasted one
and immediately ordered Melodia to make nothing but mince tarts for
dessert during her mother's absence! Perched on a stool Patricia asked
several questions concerning the pleasant odors that came from the big
oven. But Melodia seemed to be very indifferent as to the importance of
her presence in the kitchen; Patricia was glad to remember that she had
promised her mother to carry a report to the Red Cross Headquarters that
very afternoon. So, slipping off her stool she stalked majestically
away.
Now almost at the same moment that Sheila and Mrs. Quinn were laughing
in their kitchen over their wonderful fortune and lonely Patricia was
cheering her heart by tasting mince tarts, kind-hearted Mrs. Atherton,
the official in charge at the Red Cross Headquarters on this October
day, was wrinkling her pretty brows over an unusual situation.
Before her, watching her face anxiously, stood a man in the uniform of a
captain of the United States Army.
"Perhaps I acted too hastily--bringing the child here, to leave on your
hands, but--you can see how it happened; I'd given my word to that boy
to take care of his little sister. If you could have known him! Why,
there wasn't a fellow in my company that wouldn't have given up his life
for him! They didn't need to--he did it first!" Capt. Allan's voice
broke. "I got my orders back to the States and I just had time to go
and find Renee."
"Wouldn't it have been better if you had left her somewhere in Paris?"
"You see you don't know the whole story, madam. This Emile LaDue was in
the French uniform but he was sort of an American. And that was my
promise--that I'd bring her back to America--somewhere. He didn't have
time to say anything more--he gave me the address when we were in a
shell hole waiting until it was dark enough to creep over to the enemy
lines. We went out a few seconds afterwards--crawling along on our
stomachs, he one way, I another. I--never saw him again."
Mrs. Atherton openly wiped her eyes.
The soldier went on: "I'd keep the little girl--just because I loved
Emile LaDue, but I haven't any folks or any place to leave her and I
have to report back over there! When I'm home for good----"
"If Mrs. Everett was here I am sure we could arrange something, but she
is out of town."
It was at that moment that Patricia walked past the open door on her way
from the Secretary's office where she had left her mother's report.
Mrs. Atherton's rather high-pitched voice reached her ear. She stood
quite still.
"The child would make any home happy--she's a dear little thing! Has
plenty of clothes, I guess, but right now more than anything else she
needs friends and love--quite a bit of that."
"A baby!" thought Patricia excitedly; "a war orphan!"
Patricia's mother had already adopted six French orphans; Patricia and
her classmates at school were supporting several Belgian families and
Celia was a godmother to ever so many disabled French soldiers. That
all meant only sending money away just so often, but this was quite
different--the baby was right here! Patricia had no time to think just
what her mother might do in such a case! There was an offended tone in
the man's voice as though he might take his war-orphan and go away and
not come back! So she walked straight into the room.
"Mrs. Atherton, I will take this child immediately."
Both Mrs. Atherton and the captain gasped at the sudden appearance of
Patricia. Patricia, seeing doubt in Mrs. Atherton's eyes, turned to the
soldier.
"My mother is away, but if you will bring the--the baby to my home I
will ask my father, and I know he will let her stay!"
Mrs. Atherton hurriedly explained. "This is Miss Patricia Everett, the
daughter of the lady of whom I was speaking. Perhaps----" she
hesitated. She was thinking rapidly--something, of course, must be done
with the child! "This might solve our problem--until you return and
wish to make other arrangements."
"Oh _please_ bring her," cried Patricia in quite her natural manner. "I
can't go back to school because of the measles there and I'd lose my
hair and I am dreadfully lonesome, and I should _love_ a baby! We'll go
home and I'll send Watkins after Daddy and then we'll tell him."
It sounded so logical that even Mrs. Atherton nodded approvingly.
"Where is she?" asked Patricia, looking around the room as though some
corner might conceal a bundle that would prove to be the little
war-orphan.
"I left her outside, in the taxi. I wanted to find out what could be
done."
"Well, let's hurry!" commanded Patricia, turning toward the door. "I
know Daddy'll say yes, for you see my mother and sister have ever so
many orphans and this will be mine and Daddy's." She was running
eagerly ahead of Capt. Allan out of the door and down the long flight of
steps.
"Can she walk yet?" she whispered excitedly.
"I should say so!" he laughed, throwing open the door of the taxicab.
And within Patricia beheld staring gravely at her from a corner of the
automobile, her small hands clasped tightly in her lap, her pale face
framed by a wealth of golden hair that hung in soft curls over her
shabby coat--not the war-orphan she had pictured, but a little girl of
her own age!
"Miss Renee LaDue," the Captain said with a sweeping gesture. "And this
young lady----" he hesitated a moment, as though the name Mrs. Atherton
had spoken had slipped his mind.
Patricia, almost too astonished and too delighted to make a sound,
stammered:
"I'm Patricia Everett, but please, just call me Pat!"
*CHAPTER II*
*THE CAPTAIN'S STORY*
Certain that some serious catastrophe must have happened, Thomas Everett
ran up the steps of his house with the speed of a schoolboy. Watkins,
the chauffeur, had found him at his office.
"Miss Pat, sir, says you are to hurry home at once--that it is awfully
important." He had repeated her exact words and even imitated her
imperative tone.
When Mr. Everett had anxiously asked him "what had happened," he had
shaken his head and had said: "I don't know, sir, what it is, sir, but
I'm sure it is something because I've never seen Miss Pat so excited!"
Patricia was awaiting her father in the hall. There were not many things
that she had ever wanted that he had refused her--but then this was very
different and he might say "No!" She greeted him with a violent hug
and, talking so fast that he could not make out one word that she was
saying, she dragged him toward the library door.
"They're in there, Daddy, and oh, _please_ do let her stay!" she
whispered.
Within the room Mr. Everett found a tall soldier holding a shy little
girl by the hand. The officer introduced himself with a word or two,
and with the same directness he had used in telling his story to Mrs.
Atherton, he now plunged straight to the point.
"I have brought this little girl from France. She is one of--those
many--who has lost everyone and everything--through this war!" He was
trying to choose his words carefully so as to spare the little girl as
much as he could.
Realizing his embarrassment Mr. Everett interrupted him. "Pat, dear,
take the little girl and show her the birds." Patricia, rather
reluctantly led the little stranger off to the small conservatory beyond
the dining-room where, in beautiful cages, many different kinds of birds
sang joyously.
"Thanks, sir," the officer drew a breath. "Taking care of this small
lady has been the most difficult thing I ever attempted. I'll tell you
the story, sir, so that you can understand. About six months ago a
young French officer was attached to our company. He directed the
scouting. There were six of us picked out to work with him. I was one
of them. We did some mighty ticklish work, sir--for a few weeks there."
Almost involuntarily the man's fingers went to the small cross of honor
he wore on his tunic. "And we fellows get pretty well acquainted, you
know--just lying hours in a shell hole next to another man is like
knowing him for years and years back home. It was like that with this
Emile LaDue and me. I found out that his father and mother had been
born in America--they were both dead, for one night he told me that if
anything happened to him--and there was plenty of chance for something
to happen any minute--it would leave his little sister all alone in the
world. He never talked much about himself--back in the lines he was the
bravest, cheeriest one in the crowd, laughing at every sort of hardship,
but when we'd get out he'd get quiet and I knew what was on his mind.
He'd tell little things at different times. It seems he'd made a
promise to his mother that he'd bring the little girl to America to
live--and he'd kept putting it off, and then the war came along and he
thought it might be too late! That bothered him more than anything
else. The last night I was with him we were hiding in a dirty
hole--four of us--almost covered with mud and water. He and I lay close
together; we could only whisper, for some of the Boche had seen us and
we had to keep low until it was darker. We'd been there for hours, not
more'n just breathing when he whispered suddenly in my ear: 'Allan, I
may not come out of this--and you may. Will you----' You know some of
the boys over there have premonitions and they're pretty nearly always
true and I suppose he had one! I knew what he wanted to say, and he'd
been the bravest and best pal a man could ever find and we'd faced death
a hundred times, side by side, and he'd never flunked once, so I
whispered: 'Don't you worry--just tell me where I can find your little
sister.' He twisted around until he could get a hand into his pocket.
He gave me a card. He said: 'She's all alone in the world! Take her
back to America--I didn't make good! All her life my mother planned
that and when she died I promised to do it!' He tried to tell me
something about a box, but a star shell burst right next to us and we
had to dig down into the mud and we scarcely breathed for fear the Boche
snipers would hear us!" Capt. Allan's voice, halting through the story
as though it hurt him to recall the bitter memories, suddenly broke.
"Just after that we crawled out--we had to do our job and get back with
the stuff the Colonel wanted to know! We divided up--two of us went one
way and two the other. I got over and through and back to our lines
with the information and I won this"--touching his cross--"and got a
sniper's bullet in the shoulder. I was put out of business then--for
three weeks." He stopped again--it was very hard for him to tell his
tale. Mr. Everett was giving occasional nods of sympathy.
"When I got back to my company they told me the Jerries had caught
LaDue! He had almost gotten away when he was killed by a hand grenade.
The other man with him was made a prisoner. The boys found LaDue when
they advanced--they buried him out there with a lot of others! That was
always the worst, sir--these good pals that you'd messed with and bunked
with under the same muddy blankets and lived with through hours and
hours of waiting for no one ever knew what--and then--just flesh and
bones out in that desolation and buried--any old place----" He pulled
himself together. "Excuse me, sir--I loved the boy--I'd have liked to
have just said--oh, good luck, old chap--or something like that! Well,
I asked for a furlough to hunt up the little sister and what did they do
but order me back to the States on a special mission to the Intelligence
Department. I had just twenty-four hours to find the child. I had no
trouble, though--she was at the address out in St. Cloud, living with a
queer old couple--the man was a veteran of the Franco-Prussian war and
the wife raises flowers--only no one in France is buying flowers now! I
suppose they were all living on what Emile was sending to them. They
didn't want to let the child go--I think they were truly fond of her,
but when I told them what I had promised Emile they never said another
word. I had to break it to them that he had been killed! I was afraid
of Renee crying and wondering how I'd comfort her and then I wished that
she _would_ cry! She was such a pathetic little thing--all she'd say
was 'He told me it would be for America and France!' I tell you, sir,
even the little ones are as brave as any!"
"Well, old Susette packed her clothes and I started back with her,
though I hadn't the ghost of an idea where to take her! I haven't a
home or any folks of my own, sir, but I said to myself--there's the Red
Cross, they'll tell me! I had come to this town first, sir, so I just
brought her along with me and--here we are!" He laughed ruefully. "I
guess I didn't think the thing out very much! Over there, you know,
homes are smashed up in a twinkling, and so many kiddies--like this
little one--are left along by the wayside, that you don't stop to think
but just gather 'em in! Our boys can't stand seeing the children
suffer, sir--why, I've watched many a one just turn his whole mess right
over to a bunch of kids--they're so hungry looking." He paused for a
moment. "That's all, sir, and if you can find a place for Renee to live
where she'll be safe and--happy, I'll gladly give half my pay and take
her when I come back!"
The story of Renee LaDue finished, the officer stood very straight and
looked anxiously at his listener.
Often during the story Mr. Everett had brushed something suspiciously
like tears from his eyes. He rose quickly now and held out his hand.
"With what you boys are doing--and giving up--there isn't anything we
who have to stay at home could refuse to do! Renee shall be taken care
of--I promise you that! Nothing must be said about money. When the war
is over and you return--then you shall come and claim her if you wish!"
The soldier's face beamed with pleasure.
"Oh, sir, that is splendid! You can't imagine how responsible I feel
about my promise to Emile--or what a fine chap he was!"
Mr. Everett took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket.
"Please give me some of the facts concerning this child," he said in a
business-like manner.
As Capt. Allan repeated them he entered each in the little book.
"And you know nothing more concerning Emile's family?"
"Only a little more--back in the hospital I talked with a French surgeon
who had known Emile's father. He said he had been a sculptor--until he
grew blind. I imagine they were very poor. The doctor said that Emile
had been studying, too--in Paris. I remembered he had said something
once to me that had made me think he was just waiting to finish his
studies to keep his promise to his mother--to come to America to live!"
Thomas Everett shook his head. "Oh, what this war has done! The boy
was doubtless gifted!" He sighed deeply. "When it is possible go to
Paris and, for the child's sake, find out all you can of her family. In
the meantime----"
But at this point Patricia, too impatient to longer await her father's
decision, burst into the room!
*CHAPTER III*
*RENEE FINDS A HOME*
At her first introduction in the taxi-cab Patricia had undertaken to
converse with Miss Renee in the stilted French she had learned at Miss
Prindle's. But Renee had answered in perfect English.
Now, with the singing of the birds to tune their voices to a happy note,
with the pretty flowers bringing a smile to Renee's sad little face, it
was easy to bridge over the formality of "getting acquainted." Renee
exclaimed in delight over the birds and the flowers and Pat rattled on
like a small magpie, though all the while straining her ears to catch a
single word or tone of her father's voice from the library.
She had her own way--sometimes a rather naughty way--of getting what she
wanted from her family, but this was so different, and she wanted it so
very much that she felt very anxious and uncertain! So after she had
waited what seemed to her a very long time she abruptly led Renee back
to the library. As they entered the room her father held out both
hands. One took one of hers, with the other he drew Renee close to him.
"My dear little girl, Capt. Allan is going to leave you with us for a
little while! And I have given him my promise that you shall be as safe
and happy as it is possible for us to make you----" He wanted to say a
great deal more to make Renee feel at home but Patricia interrupted him
with a tempestuous hug that almost swept him from his feet.
"Oh, you dear, dear Daddy!" Then she threw her arms around Renee's
neck. "Oh, I am so happy!" she was crying over and over, as though she
had been the homeless one and Renee had taken her in.
"Don't forget me, Miss Everett," the soldier put in so comically that
Patricia almost embraced him, too! Instead she shook both his hands
delightedly. As Renee turned to Capt. Allan her lips trembled a little,
for she had learned to love and trust him and already looked upon him as
her guardian.
"Just you be brave and happy, little sister!" he said softly to her,
"and as soon as I can I will come back!"
Then he shook hands with each one of them and Renee shyly kissed him.
Mr. Everett went with him to the door. Patricia, knowing how hard the
parting was for her little guest, seized her hand and dragged her toward
a door at the end of the big hall.
"Let's go and find Melodia! I know something she's got!"
Only a few moments before Melodia had been telling the butler and the
upstairs maid about "that Miss Pat's giving her orders so comical" and
they were all laughing merrily over it when Miss Pat burst in upon them,
leading Renee by the hand.
"Melodia, I have a guest only she's going to live with us! Please make
lots of tarts, and can't Renee have just a little one now? Jasper,
carry Miss Renee's trunk to my room--it's in the front hall! Maggie,
please get a cot from the storeroom and put it right next to my bed."
She turned toward the pantry. "I'll take some tarts now, Melodia, for
Miss Renee is hungry! Don't all stand and stare like that, but please
do as I tell you!" She helped herself as she spoke to two of the
juiciest of the tempting tarts.
"Well, I never!" Jasper and Maggie and Melodia all exclaimed.
Patricia turned with dignity. "Miss Renee has come from France. She is
a--a----" She was going to say "war-orphan" but suddenly it occurred to
her that that might make Renee unhappy. So she finished: "Her brother
has died for us in France and left her all alone!" Patricia used an
expression she had heard often. "You three and Daddy and me have a debt
to pay--and we are going to pay it!"
The three servants were deeply impressed by the grandness of Patricia's
words and manner; and, too, Renee's sad little face won their hearts in
an instant. Jasper coughed violently and hurried away to find the
trunk. Melodia wiped her eye with the corner of her apron.
"The dear little thing! Well, we'll just make you happy and put flesh
on your bones, bless your heart, missy!"
Patricia, satisfied that she had properly established Renee in the
household, then led her upstairs to her own room. Renee, accustomed to
the tiny chamber under the gable at St. Cloud, exclaimed with admiration
when Patricia opened the door. Already Jasper had put down the queer
old trunk and was busily engaged unfastening its buckles and straps.
Maggie was watching, much disturbed.
"Miss Pat, I wish your mother was home! I know she wouldn't want me to
bring a cot in here a-cluttering up the tidiness of your room when
there's the blue room and the violet room empty and that room on the
third floor----"
Alarmed that Maggie might separate them, Patricia exclaimed quickly: "I
don't--_care_! We _won't_ make things untidy! I _want_ her in here!"
"What's all this about?" interrupted Mr. Everett, coming at that moment
to the door.
Patricia, Renee, Jasper and Maggie all turned to him. But Patricia,
catching his coat, pulled him to her so that, by reaching on tip-toe,
she could whisper in his ear:
"You see, Daddy, I want her right in here! Maggie says that it will make
things untidy but we can't let her get homesick or--or unhappy, and she
might if she's left all alone in the blue room or the vi'let room----"
Patricia rubbed her cheek coaxingly against her father's shoulder, then
added solemnly: "I guess _I_ know what it is to be lonesome, for I have
been lots and lots of times--just because everyone was so grownup and I
hadn't anyone to be with like a little sister, and now--please, Daddy,
we will keep the room as neat as can be!"
Renee's eyes echoed Patricia's pleadings.
"Well, well, Maggie, we'll have to let them decide things, I guess," he
laughed, "at least until Miss Penelope comes!"
In all the excitement Patricia had quite forgotten the approaching
arrival of Aunt Pen.
"Aunty Pen, Aunty Pen," she cried, catching Renee's hands and, swinging
her around. "I'd just clean forgotten she was coming! You'll _love_
her!"
Certainly little Renee had not time to be unhappy--each moment seemed to
bring something new! While Patricia was explaining all about Aunty Pen
and why she was coming, and her story had, of course, to include Celia
and even the Lieut. Chauncey Meredith and his fall from his airplane,
Maggie, scolding a little under her breath, was spreading snowy sheets
over a bed-lounge which Patricia had drawn up close to her own little
bed.
In the next moment, Aunt Pen again forgotten, Patricia was tumbling her
own possessions from one of the drawers of the mahogany chest to make
room for the contents of Renee's little trunk.
"We'll just share everything," she cried. "We'll have just the same
halves! And let's hang up your dresses now!"
Poor Renee did not need the generous space of one-half of Patricia's
wardrobe for her shabby dresses--they were only four in number and sadly
worn! But she hung them away proudly, telling Patricia that no one in
France now wore new things!
"Poor Susette used to spend hours mending my clothes, trying to make
them hold together," laughed Renee, tenderly recalling her good old
friend at St. Cloud.
"Tell me all about her!"
So, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the almost empty trunk,
Renee described Susette and the cottage at St. Cloud and the wonderful
flowers that had used to sell so well before the war, and the school
where she had gone after her mother had died; how she and Emile always
talked in English because her mother had made them promise, and how in
the long, anxious, lonely days after Emile had gone, she had used to
teach simple English words to Susette as they sat together among the
flowers that nobody wanted to buy!
From the bottom of the trunk Renee drew a box covered with worn leather,
tooled and colored like the binding of a beautiful book. So old was it
that the colors blended and looked all blue and gold and green. Renee
lifted it tenderly, as though it was precious!
"Oh, how queer and how be-_ut_-iful!" cried Patricia, all admiration and
curiosity. "What do you keep in it?"
Renee held the box very close to her.
"I don't know! It was my mother's and now it's Emile's and mine,
or"--she carefully corrected herself--"I suppose it's just mine. But we
don't know what is in it for we never had the key! My mother died
before she could tell Emile where it was! And Emile made me promise
before he went away that I would keep the box and never let anyone open
it!"
"And you haven't even the teeniest idea what is in it? Didn't you ever
just shake it?"
"Oh, lots of times!" confessed Renee. "But nothing makes any noise.
And of course I would keep my promise to Emile."
Patricia rocked back and forth on her heels in joy.
"Oh, what a _spliffy_ mystery! I can't wait to write to the girls!"
Then she laughed at Renee's bewilderment. "Spliffy is a word we learned
at Miss Prindle's and it means scrumptious or delicious or grand! Don't
you _love_ a mystery? And isn't it the lov-li-est box?"
"Emile said it must have been made by some Italian master years and
years ago. I have this queer locket, too--it was my mother's," and from
a little bag, wrapped in folds and folds of tissue paper, Renee drew a
curious gold locket. "It is much too big to wear but I am very careful
of it--it is all I have! I pretend that the box and the locket both
once upon a time belonged to some royal prince in Venice! Once, when I
was little, mother took Emile and me to Venice--she had been sick and
she had to go where the sun was warm!"
Patricia, who had always considered herself an experienced and much
traveled young lady, suddenly felt very small and young compared to
Renee and all that she had done!
"Is Venice like the pictures--all colors like shells and funny boats and
people singing?"
But Renee had no chance to answer. The doorbell clanged and in a moment
they heard a cheery voice answering Mr. Everett's greeting.
"It's Aunt Pen--_come_ on!" cried Patricia, rushing headlong down the
stairs.
*CHAPTER IV*
*GARDENS*
"I'm certainly very glad you've come, Penelope; my family, which has so
suddenly increased, is going to need a guiding hand!"
Penelope Everett, called by some a "strong-minded woman" because she
had, since her college days, worn low-heeled shoes, boyish coats,
comfortable hats and simple dresses, was Thomas Everett's favorite
sister. Though many years younger than he, there was a directness about
her, a something in the way she carried her head, poised squarely, that
made him feel he could put anything upon her shoulders.
She gave a cheery laugh now in response to the seriousness of his
manner.
Patricia and Renee had long since gone to bed, side by side. Renee had
cuddled down under the soft coverings with a little sigh of content.
Very tired with long days of travel she had dropped off to sleep
quickly, while Patricia's voice, pitched to a low tone, had gone on in
an endless account of "what we'll do to-morrow!" Aunt Pen, tiptoeing in
a little later, had found Patricia's hand clasping Renee's tightly under
the covers.
She recalled that now as she sat with her brother before the library
fire.
"Do you know, Thomas, you've done the most wonderful thing in the world
for Pat?"
Pat's father stared at her. He had thought she meant to praise him for
taking in the lonely little girl from France!
"Why--what do you mean?"
"Just this--Pat's going to have something now that she's never had
before--true comradeship!"
Thomas Everett nodded his head. "That is so! Pat said something queer
to me, about being lonely lots of times!"
"Of course she's been lonely--often! She's almost a stranger in her own
home! You whisk her from school to the seashore or some such place and
then back--to another school! And everything on earth is done for her,
she doesn't have to think of anything for herself, let alone for anyone
else!"
Pat's father laughed. "Why, I thought we were bringing her up along the
most model lines! But perhaps you have some new fads now!" He liked to
tease Penelope.
"Poor Pat has been the victim of too many fads already! I tell you,
brother, this war has shown us a whole lot of silly mistakes we were
making in our living!"
"Before you go one bit further, Penelope dear, do promise to speak in
words of one syllable! I know all about steel but I must admit I'm very
stupid about girls!"
"Thomas, you're not stupid--you just don't think about them and yet your
two girls are more precious to you than the whole steel market! And
what are you doing with them? Look at Celia--how has she stood the
trials of this wartime? Goodness knows, you've spent enough money on
her to have made a strong woman of her!"
"But she's young, Pen----"
"Celia's twenty-one--that's the age they've been drafting the boys to go
and fight for us! She's a few years older than some who have died over
in France. And now she's had a nervous breakdown! Why in the world
should Celia have any nerves at all?"
"You're right, Pen, but----"
"This draft we have had in this country has been a wonderful thing; it
has sorted out our manhood. But I'm sorry the women couldn't have had
it, too, I wonder how many would have measured up to the standards, and
why not? Because we older ones make mistakes with the girls--like Pat!"
Penelope was standing now, very straight, before the fire, her eyes
bright in her earnestness.
"I tell you we've reached a wonderful day, brother--we can see things as
we never saw them before! Silly old prejudices and habits and notions
have been swept aside. Do you know one thing we've learned? That it is
something even greater than love for one's country that has made men go
out and fight--to victory; it's a love for right and justice! And in
one of John Randolph's books he tells us that it is that love for right
and justice that will make the real brotherhood of men and nations! Who
is going to carry on this ideal as we have found it? Why, our boys and
girls--girls like Pat!"
"Pen, your eloquence makes me feel as though I had never known the real
meaning of the word duty!"
"Oh, it isn't half so much--duty, Tom, as it is plain common sense.
I've often thought that raising girls and boys is something like a
garden! If you were planning a garden and wanted to grow something
beautiful--oh, say larkspur, for I don't think any garden is perfect
without it and no flower is harder to get started--wouldn't you want to
know that you were putting in seed that would grow into hardy blossoms,
blooming year after year, keeping your garden lovely and the world
richer for their beauty?"
Penelope paused long enough to draw a deep breath.
"There at Miss Prindle's Pat is learning to speak French and Latin and
how to use her hands and feet and walk out of a room properly and a
dinner-table-speaking acquaintance with art and the masters and ancient
history--and that's all very well, but how much will she know of the
problems she must face by and by unless she begins to mingle with the
sort of people that make up this world? And above all else--unless you
build up for her a strong body that will mean a brave heart and a clear
head, what service, I ask you, can she give to her fellowmen and her
country?"
"You're certainly right, Pen! And now, if you've finished a very good
sermon, let's get down to business. I take it you want to--raise
larkspur! I don't know much about 'em, even in gardens! I've left these
things to the children's mother!"
Penelope dropped into a chair with a little, ashamed laugh.
"My sermon does sound as though I was criticizing Caroline dreadfully!
I know she is devoted to the girls. And so am I--and so are you. She's
bringing them up just the way she was brought up!"
"Well, what shall _we_ do?" asked Pat's father with the tone of a
conspirator.
"You've started doing right now the very best thing in the
world--bringing that poor little girl into the family! Patricia loves
her already and she'll learn for the first time to consider another
child before herself. She's never had to do it before! Why, to-night I
found her carefully dividing her clothes so that Renee might have just
as many things as she had."
"Does Renee need clothes? I'll----"
"Now don't spoil it all by buying new things--let Patricia give up some
of her own! It is making her very happy. Through Renee she is going to
know something of the trials that come to others and she is going to
learn to want to be helpful. She has gone to sleep now holding Renee's
hand."
Both their minds turned to Renee.
"A curious tragedy--this, that has brought this child into our circle!
Caroline might have made some other arrangement, but Pat's heart was set
upon keeping her--and she _will_ have her own way!"
"Pat's mother is too absorbed now in Celia to think much about it and
when she returns Renee will win her love with her little face! What a
story the child's life makes with just what we know! The family must
have been American--evidently exiled; they loved this country, else why
would the mother have made the brother promise to come back? I hope
sometime we will know more about them!"
"Capt. Allan has promised to look them up as soon as he can!"
"Captain Allan----" Penelope breathed, her face flaming, then turning
white. When her brother had told her Renee's story, so intent had she
been upon the tragedy of little Renee and the poor Emile that she had
not heeded the name of the American officer.
"Can it be the same?" she thought now, a wild fluttering at her heart.
Then she sternly admonished herself. "Of course not! Don't be silly!
There are hundreds of Allans and I don't even know that he joined the
army!"
She said aloud, very calmly: "Love has given to Renee what money
couldn't--she has been well educated, I believe! Her mother taught her,
she says, and after her mother's death she went to a communal school
near St. Cloud. She will help our Pat a great deal!"
"Yes, I'm very glad we have her with us! And now, Pen, I'll put you in
command--head gardener, or whatever you want to call yourself! Raise
your larkspur--only let a mere father be of what help he can! Things
are pressing pretty hard at the Works--I can't help but fear that the
winter may bring serious problems of unemployment and we must be ready
to solve them! A few weeks will see the end of this war--it is in sight
now! By the way, we are just completing the formula for a new
explosive--more powerful than any the world has ever known! If the
enemy knew it the war would end to-morrow!"
Penelope shuddered. "Why do we need it?"
"My dear, that little formula alone, scrap of paper as it is, will be a
safeguard against future wars! The government is sending on experts to
go over the experiments and the formulas. And, if they are satisfied,
it will be my gift--the gift of my men--to our country!"
Penelope listened with divided attention, her mind not so much upon the
wonders of shot and shell as upon the problems of the two little girls
upstairs. She stared into the crackling flames.
"Do you think Miss Pat will fall into your plans, sister? Remember she
is sadly spoiled!"
Pen laughed. "She'll never know we're making plans--wait and see! The
first thing we must do is to make Renee feel that this is home and
then--well, we must fill their days with sunshine--flowers and children
grow better with that, you know! And I promise you, Thomas, that after
a few months--if I'm let alone that long--you'll agree that my hobbies
are commonsense things after all!"
"You're generally right, sister--I've found that out from long, sad
experience! Grow your larkspur and I'll help! And now I move that we
call the plot finished and go to bed--you've worn me out!"
With two fingers he tipped her face toward him and kissed her
good-night. Each was very fond of the other--it was this affection that
bound Penelope's heart so closely to her brother's children.
Long after he had gone she sat alone before the fire, her elbows on her
knees, her chin dropped into the palms of her hands. And as she mused
over her plans, between her and the flames danced pictures of what she
would like to do to help Pat, and now Renee, grow into "hardy blossoms,
blooming year after year, keeping the garden lovely and the world richer
for their beauty!"
*CHAPTER V*
*FIRST AID*
Renee wakened to find the sun streaming through the pink-flowered
curtains and Patricia sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at her. She
had been dreaming of Susette and Gabriel; she had to rub her eyes once
or twice before she could remember that this was America and her new
home!
"I thought you'd _never_ wake up! I was just sitting here thinking how
nice it is to have you here. Miss Prindle would never let any of us have
a room-mate. Let's dress fast--there's _so_ much I want to show you!
I'll ring for Maggie."
As she spoke Patricia sprang from her bed and ran barefooted across the
floor to the bell. With the sunshine and Pat's enthusiasm, the little
homesick feeling that had begun to ache its way into Renee's heart
disappeared in an instant.
Aunt Pen answered the bell instead of Maggie.
"Lazy girlies!" she cried cheerily. "I have been waiting an hour to eat
breakfast with you! Melodia has a touch of her "rheumtics" and I've
told Maggie that she may stay downstairs and help her. You and Renee
can put away your things and make your beds." She was throwing back the
bedclothes as she spoke and did not notice the surprise that flashed
across Pat's face. Pat did not guess that this was one of Aunt Pen's
"plans" because she did not know, yet, that Aunt Pen was "planning"; she
had never made a bed in her life, nor had she ever had to hang away her
clothes! But already Renee was neatly tucking into a corner of the
wardrobe her warm, comfy slippers and was hanging her nightgown upon a
hook, so, although Patricia had opened her lips to utter a protest, she
closed them, suddenly ashamed.
Over their breakfast Aunt Pen and Pat made the plans for the day. It
must be like a holiday to celebrate Renee's coming! She must be taken
about the city and shown every spot of interest.
"It will seem stupid to you after Paris," declared Pat.
Renee smiled. "Oh, it couldn't! Paris is beautiful but--this is
America! Always my mother told us stories of America. She loved it and
she wanted us to love it, too! She used to say that America was like a
splendid, growing boy! I think she meant that everything here is young
and over there in France it is so old! But I love France!" The child's
eyes grew dark with feeling. "Only I feel so sorry for France! She's
like poor Susette and her flowers!"
"It's Susette's cheery, brave soul that you love, my dear--as we love
the cheery, brave soul of France," finished Aunt Pen.
"Well, maybe France has a soul but does she have pancakes like these?"
put in Pat, for she felt that Renee and Aunt Pen were growing far too
serious for such a glorious morning.
The day was full of interest for them both; for Patricia, because she
suddenly found a new pride in showing to her little guest the various
things in her home city of which she was justly proud. Then Aunt Pen
gave bits of historical information that added to everything they saw.
Pat had not known that over the stretch of pretty park near her home the
early settlers had once fought with the Indians; that the huge boulder
in the park, shadowed by old elms, marked the grave where some unknown
soldiers, who had given their lives in the war of 1812, were buried.
Aunt Pen also pointed out the street, thronged now with trucks, wagons
and street-cars, that had once been the trail through the forest over
which, when the Indians had burned the village, Patricia's great-great
grandmother had escaped, hidden under sacking and straw in the back of
the old farm wagon, drawn by oxen.
"Oh, how thrilling!" cried Pat with a little shiver of delight. "What
fun it would be to have to escape now! Only we'd just go in this car
with Watkins driving about fifty miles an hour!"
Later in the day Patricia begged that she might take Renee again along
the river road, past the old fort that had once leveled its wooden
cannon toward the shore of Canada, past the huge factories with their
countless chimneys belching forth flame and smoke. Aunt Pen had let
them go alone and the ride had been one of endless interest. They were
returning swiftly along the maple-shaded street that led toward home
when the car swerved sideways, Watkins gave a quick laugh, and the air
was pierced by the sharp cry of a dog in pain.
"Watkins--it was a dog!" cried Patricia.
"I know it. He'll be more careful next time!"
Renee had covered her eyes. Pat sprang from her seat and leaned toward
the chauffeur.
"_Stop!_" she cried so commandingly that he ground on the brake. "I
think you're--you're _awful_ to go on and leave the poor dog!" Tears
threatened her voice. She opened the door and sprang out, followed by
Renee.
But another little girl had gone to the dog's rescue. Sheila Quinn,
walking homeward from school, had seen the accident. She had run out
into the street and had gathered the dog into her arms. When Pat and
Renee had reached the spot she had laid Mr. Dog upon the grass and was
examining him.
"Is he dead?" cried Pat and Renee in one voice.
"Oh, no! See him try to lick my hand! He knows we want to help him! I
guess he's more scared than hurt! Here, it is his leg. See, it is
broken."
"How can you tell?" asked Pat, filled with admiration at the quick
careful way Sheila had examined their patient.
"Run your hand gently over his body; see, it doesn't hurt him! But look
at his leg--how it hangs! And watch him, he'll wince if I just move as
though to touch it! We won't hurt you, doggie dear, just keep quiet and
we'll fix you up all nice."
"What will we do?" asked Pat anxiously.
"We must put it in a splint and bandage it," promptly answered Sheila,
looking around her as though to find the necessary things.
"I know--I know! There's the white stuff Aunt Pen got at the Red Cross,
we can use that! She forgot it--it's in the car."
"That will be just the thing!"
"Get it, Renee! And here are some sticks--won't they do for splints?"
asked Patricia eagerly.
"It ought to be something firmer, at least until the bone is set."
Sheila was straightening out the poor little leg with so gentle a touch
that the dog only whimpered. "If you'd let me use your scarf we could
make a sort of pillow----"
For answer Pat snatched the woolen scarf from her shoulders. Sheila,
rolled it tightly into a firm pillow. Renee had returned with Aunt
Pen's package and she and Patricia commenced tearing it into strips.
Their fingers, eager though they were, made awkward work of it.