SHERM HEARS BAD NEWS
"Sherm, don't you just love this room?" Chicken Little gazed about
Captain Clarke's big library with a real affection. "I don't know why it
is, but this room makes me feel the same way a sunset, or the prairie
when it's all in bloom, does. I can't just tell you, but it makes me so
satisfied with everything ... as if the world was so beautiful it
couldn't possibly be very bad."
"I know--it's the harmony, like in music. The colors all seem to go
together ... everything seems to belong. I like that, too, but it
doesn't mean just that, to me. I see the Captain every time I step in
here. It's a part of him--almost as if he had worked his own bigness and
the kind of things he loves, into furniture and books and--fixings."
"Yes, there's so much room to breathe here--I s'pose being at sea so
much, he had to have that. And he picked up most of these things on his
voyages--he must have wanted them pretty bad or he wouldn't have carried
them half around the world with him."
The young people had come over to the Captain's for supper. School had
closed the day before, and Chicken Little was the proud possessor of an
elaborate autograph album, won as a spelling prize. Captain Clarke had
attended the closing exercises at her request. He had invited them over
to celebrate, this evening. He declared he had never learned to spell
himself and he wanted the honor of entertaining some one who knew how.
Chicken Little had brought the album along for the Captain's signature.
"And write something, too, won't you? Something specially for me," she
had begged winningly.
"Have they all written something--specially for you, Chicken Little? I
should like to read them."
"I haven't asked very many people yet, just Mr. Clay and Grant Stowe and
Mamie Jenkins' little sister--Mamie's in town you know. I asked Sherm,
but he hasn't thought up anything."
The Captain glanced at Sherm and smiled whimsically. "Now, if I were as
young as Sherm, I shouldn't have to think up things--the trouble would
be to restrain my eloquence."
Sherm grinned and looked uncomfortable.
The Captain was merciful; he changed the subject.
"Isn't the middle of May a little early to close school?"
"No, it is the usual time. You see the older children have to help at
home as soon as the weather gets warm."
"Of course. What are you going to do this summer?"
"Wish Ernest was home," Jane answered pertly, but there was a wistful
look in her eyes.
Before the Captain could reply, Wing came to the door to announce a man
to see him. The Captain was gone some time. When he returned, he
explained that it was a buyer from Kansas City after his corn, and he
should have to leave them to entertain themselves for a while.
"I'll tell you what you can do," he paused in the doorway as the idea
occurred to him. "You two may rummage in the drawers of the cabinet.
Take out anything you like the looks of. I think you will find a lot of
interesting stuff there. Make yourselves at home."
They lingered, discussing the room for several minutes after his
departure, then Jane went over to the cabinet.
"Come on--there are heaps of wonderful things here. He showed me some of
them the day I ran off and came to see him on my own hook. That's a year
ago! My, I feel as if it were a dozen--it seems as if I were just a
little girl then."
"And now?" Sherm adored to set Jane off.
"None of your sarcasm, Mr. Dart." Then soberly: "Truly, Sherm, I know
I'm a lot older. Things seem so different to me."
"I know you are, too, Lady Jane. I was only teasing you."
They had a beautiful half hour among the Captain's treasures. Sherm
gloated especially over the prints--their wonderful composition and soft
color.
"Say, the Japs know a thing or two, don't they? That wouldn't be my idea
of what to put into a picture, but it's awfully satisfying." He held the
print off and closed one eye to see the outlines more vividly.
"Sherm, you surely were intended for an artist." Chicken Little had gone
on to the drawer below. "Oh, Sherm, I believe this is the drawer the
Captain didn't show me before. Do you suppose he wants us to go through
it?"
"He said all of them. What's in it?"
"Oh, sashes and scarfs and things. I thought maybe they used to belong
to his wife."
Sherm lifted a Roman scarf of crimson and yellow and rich blue, and
examined it admiringly. "It doesn't look as if this had ever been worn.
I guess he wouldn't have told us to go ahead if there had been anything
here he didn't want us to find. Say, Chicken Little, this would look
dandy on you. Here, I'm going to fix you up for Captain Clarke to see."
Sherm shook out the glowing silken folds and proceeded to wreathe the
scarf around Chicken Little's head, turban fashion. Her brown eyes
glowed and the color in her cheeks grew deeper, as she met the
admiration in Sherm's eyes. He was staring at her, enchanted at the
result of his efforts. Jane moved restlessly.
"Hold still there, can't you? I want to try it another way. Didn't I see
one of those sleeveless jacket affairs in there?"
Jane rummaged and brought to light a crimson silk Turkish jacket
embroidered in gold thread. She noticed that it, too, seemed perfectly
fresh.
"Sherm, I do wonder how Captain Clarke happened to buy all these woman's
things. Do you suppose he bought them for his wife and she was dead when
he got home with them?"
"I wonder. Perhaps we oughtn't to be handling them. See all those queer
beads, and there's a bracelet! Isn't it a beauty? See, it is like silver
lace. I guess those blue stones must be turquoises."
"Isn't it dainty? That must be the filigree work we read about."
Sherm was staring thoughtfully at the contents of the drawer. "One thing
sure," he muttered, "he must have thought a heap of her."
Chicken Little had continued exploring. "Here's a photograph and two
locks of hair in a little frame. Oh, Sherm, it's her! Yes, it must be,
this is the same baby. I wonder why he doesn't have this on his bureau,
too."
Sherm took the picture and stared at it so long that Jane grew
impatient.
"What is it, Sherm? What's the matter?"
Sherm started, passing his hand over his forehead and eyes as if he were
dazed.
"Funny, the face seems sort of familiar. I had such a queer feeling
about it for a minute."
"I know why it looks familiar--there's a tiny bit of resemblance to
you--not as much as in the pictures of the baby. I suppose the baby got
it from the mother. Still, I think it looks like Captain Clarke, too,
don't you?"
"Let's put these things back, Chicken Little. Poor little lady, I wonder
what happened to her." Sherm laid the picture gently back in the bottom
of the drawer and helped Jane fold and lay away the other things. They
had both forgotten the Roman sash which still adorned her dark hair.
Captain Clarke, coming in soon after, started when he saw her and
glanced at the cabinet.
"Dressing up, Chicken Little? That gew gaw was evidently intended by
Providence for you. Won't you accept it as a present to keep that
autograph album company?"
Chicken Little put her hand to her head in dismay. Captain Clarke must
have thought she wanted it. She stammered awkwardly:
"Oh, Captain Clarke--I--couldn't take it. I oughtn't to have put it on."
Sherm calmly took the matter out of her hands.
"She didn't put it on, Captain Clarke. I'm the guilty party. I thought
it would be so becoming to Chicken Little--her dark hair and eyes--you
know. I didn't realize till we came across the picture that it belonged
to your wife--and--you might not like to have us handle it."
"It was never Mrs. Clarke's," the Captain said evenly. "I bought it for
her, but she"--he hesitated an instant--"she--died before my return. I
told you to rummage the drawers, and that scarf is entirely too becoming
to Chicken Little's bright eyes to be wasted in a drawer any longer. You
will be doing me a favor, my dear.
"You seem to have an eye for color, Sherm. Juanita loved color, too,
that is why I picked up so many gay things for her." Captain Clarke
seemed to have formed a sudden resolution. He plunged his hand down
among the rustling silks and brought up the picture. His hand trembled a
little as he handed it to Chicken Little. "I have never shown you her
picture before. She had eyes something like yours."
Chicken Little took the picture and tried to look as if nothing had
happened. She described the scene to Marian afterwards. "O Marian, I
felt as if I were standing in a story book. The Captain's face was as
white, but he went on talking just as if I knew all about his wife,
and--I do wonder! I felt so sorry for him. Sherm said he wanted to kick
himself for being so thoughtless."
"Don't worry about it, Jane, and don't be trying to make a mystery out
of what was merely a big sorrow. It must have been an awful blow to him
to come home and find wife and baby both dead, but it happened years
ago. I expect it did him good to talk to you and Sherm about it."
Chicken Little forgot about it after a few days, except when she went to
the box where she kept the scarf. She always thought of the picture of
the young mother and baby whenever she saw it.
"I don't believe I ever can wear it," she told Sherm.
"Oh, yes, you will, some of these days; the Captain would be hurt if you
didn't."
* * * * *
Sherm hadn't heard from his mother for over a week when a neighbor came
one evening and handed Dr. Morton a yellow envelope. "No bad news, I
hope," he said.
It was addressed to Dr. Morton and read: "My husband died this morning.
Break news to Sherm--he must await letter."
Sherm, too, was older than he had been a year before. He was coming up
the lane whistling, swinging his supple young body along at a good pace,
as if he enjoyed being alive. Dr. Morton watched him, dreading to have
to tell him the bad news and wondering how he would take it. "It's a
pity," he thought, "Sherm's a fine manly fellow and ought to have his
education and a chance at life, and I am afraid this means more than
losing his father."
He waited until the boy came up to him. He was still holding the
telegram in his hand, but Sherm did not notice it until he spoke.
Dr. Morton's voice was very kind. "My boy, I am--afraid----" He got no
farther. Sherm saw the telegram and understood. "Father?" he questioned.
Dr. Morton nodded.
Sherm stood motionless, as if he were trying to realize that the blow he
had so long dreaded, had fallen. Presently he looked up at the Doctor.
"There isn't any train before to-morrow, is there?"
"No, Sherm, and I don't think your mother expects--here, read the
message."
Sherm's hand shook. He read the meager words through twice, then crushed
the paper in his fist.
"I am going home to-morrow," he said doggedly. "I've got enough saved up
for the railroad fare. He was my father--I haven't seen him for a year.
They might have told me! I am not a child any longer!"
Dr. Morton laid his hand on his shoulder. "Don't, Sherm--don't add
bitterness to grief. Your mother may not have known in time. Death often
comes suddenly at the last in such cases. And, my boy, I would think
twice before setting out rashly. Your mother asks you to wait for her
letter--she must have some good reason. The message was sent this
morning. There will probably be a letter to-morrow."
"I don't care whether there's a letter or not, I'm going." There was a
hard look on the boy's face.
Chicken Little came running up, with Jilly panting alongside. "My, we
had a good race, didn't we, Jilly Dilly? Why--what's----" She stopped
short at sight of their grave faces.
Dr. Morton told her.
She stood a moment awestruck; Chicken Little had never had death come so
near her before. Then she turned to Sherm, her face so full of tender
pity that his face softened a trifle.
"Don't worry about me, Chicken Little," he said gruffly, "I am all
right. If you'll help me knock my things together after a while, I'll be
grateful. I guess I'll take a--walk--now." His voice broke a little at
the last.
He did not wait for an answer, but walked hurriedly away. Jane gazed
after him, undecided whether to follow or not. Dr. Morton divined her
thought. "I wouldn't, dear. Let him have it out alone first--you can
comfort him later on. I want you to help me persuade him not to rush off
before he receives his mother's letter. I must say I don't blame Sherm
for resenting his mother's attitude. I think she is making a big
mistake."
Dusk came and the darkness closed round while Chicken Little strained
her eyes in vain for Sherm. It was almost ten before he came back. She
was standing at the gate watching for him. The rest of the family had
gone to bed. "Chicken Little can comfort him better than any of us," Dr.
Morton had told his wife. "He will be glad not to have to face any of
the rest of the family to-night."
"You shouldn't have stayed up, Chicken Little," Sherm called, as soon as
he caught sight of her. "I forgot I asked you to help me--I'd have come
home sooner if I'd remembered. The duds can wait till morning--I can get
up early." He spoke quietly.
"Do you think you ought to go, Sherm?"
Sherm's eyes smouldered. Jane could not see him very distinctly, but she
could fairly feel his determination.
"It's no use talking, I'm going!"
They went up the walk in silence. The lilacs and the white syringia in
the borders were in bloom. She hoped Sherm did not notice the heavy
fragrance--it was so like a funeral. He did not say anything till they
got to the foot of the stairs.
"Thank you, Jane, for--for waiting." His voice broke pitifully.
When Dr. Morton discovered the next morning that Sherm was not to be
moved from his purpose, he decided to go into town early and see if by
any chance there might be another telegram or a letter. Letters from the
east sometimes came down by a branch line from the north. There was
nothing, and he finally resolved to telegraph Mrs. Dart as to Sherm's
state of mind. Sherm was to come later in the day with Frank in time to
catch the evening train, which was the only one that made close
connections at Kansas City. It was late afternoon before he received a
reply. The message was emphatic. "Sherm _must_ await letter."
"Mrs. Dart evidently knows her own mind," thought the Doctor. He drove a
little way out of town and waited for Frank and Sherm. Chicken Little
was with them. He gave the boy this second message, explaining what he
had done. Sherm read it over and over, as if he hoped in some way to
find a reason for his mother's decision lurking between the lines.
At length he said stolidly: "I'll wait till to-morrow. Perhaps the
letter will come to-night."
They talked it over and Sherm and Chicken Little went on to town with
the light buggy to wait for the mail, while Dr. Morton and Frank drove
home.
There was a handful of letters in the box. Sherm took them out hastily.
"I guess this is it," he said, stuffing one into his pocket. "And here's
three for you."
"Three? Whoever from?" Jane held out her hand. "Ernest and Katy--and
here's another with an Annapolis postmark. Who do you suppose?"
Sherm glanced over her shoulder. "That's Carol Brown's handwriting."
"Carol?--writing to me? How funny!"
They hurried out to the team.
"Let me drive while you read your letter, Sherm."
Sherm shook his head. "Read yours first--this will keep."
"The idea--I wouldn't be so piggy selfish."
"Please, Jane, I'd rather get out of town before I tackle it."
"Sherm, I wish I could----" She didn't need to finish. Sherm understood.
"Read Carol's first," he said.
She read it with a beaming face. Sherm was looking at her without seeing
her. She started to tell him the contents of the letter, then suddenly
stopped. She couldn't rejoice over being asked to a hop when Sherm was
in such trouble. Laying the letter in her lap, she took up Ernest's.
Sherm noticed the movement and, remembering, asked her what Carol had to
say.
She handed him the letter. He read it through absently. The houses were
thinning along the road. The prairie stretched ahead of them in solitary
sweeps of tender green, dappled with flowers. Jane reached for the
reins.
"Read your letter, Sherm."
He obeyed in silence. Chicken Little kept her eyes on the road ahead. A
sharp exclamation from Sherm startled her:
"God, it can't be true!"
Sherm swearing? She looked at him in amazement. The boy was not
swearing; he had cried out in utter agony. He dropped the letter on the
floor of the buggy and buried his face in his hands.
"Sherm, Sherm, what is it?" Chicken Little was frightened.
He did not answer. He did not seem to have noticed that she had spoken.
She reached over and touched him. "Sherm! Sherm!" He shook off her hand
impatiently.
Chicken Little hesitated a moment, then flicked the horses into a swift
trot. She must get him home. Perhaps he was going to be ill. The boy did
not move or look up for miles. When the horses splashed through the ford
at Elm Creek, he roused himself and looked dully at Jane.
"Sherm, please tell me. It will make it easier for you to tell somebody,
and I'm worried to death."
He stooped and picked up the letter. Smoothing it out, he thrust it into
her hand. "Read it." He took the reins.
Chicken Little ran over the letter hurriedly. It bore a date some days
previous.
* * * * *
"My Dear Boy:
"Dr. Jones has just told me it can be only a question of days now. I
have been studying whether to send for you or not. Father settled the
question for me. He said he wanted sorrowfully to see you, but in view
of the things that must be told you, it would be too painful an ordeal
for all of us. He said to tell you you were very precious to him--as
precious as if you had really been his own son."
* * * * *
Chicken Little gave a little cry. "Sherm, what does she mean?"
"Read it all."
* * * * *
"For, Sherm, you are not our own. If Father could have lived, we never
intended you to know this--at least not until you were a man and had
made a place for yourself. But Father's illness is leaving us penniless.
Sue's husband has offered Grace and myself a home with them, but he
thinks you must be told the truth--that it is only fair to you. We took
you when you were about two and a half years old under very peculiar
circumstances. It was while we were still living in New York, and Sue
was a tot of five. We were going up to my father's in Albany and were a
little late. Father told the hackman to drive fast; he'd give him an
extra dollar if he'd catch the train. The man had been drinking and
drove recklessly. He was just dashing round the corner to the
station--the train was already whistling--when he knocked down, and ran
over, a woman with a child in her arms. The child was pitched to one
side and escaped with a few bruises. The woman never regained
consciousness. You have probably guessed that you were that child. We
could never find out who she was, though we advertised for several
weeks. We decided to bring you up with Sue, and when we moved to
Centerville, soon after, no one knew you were not our own child. We had
you baptized Sherman after the great general who had just won his way to
notice then. I have saved the clothing you wore, and a brooch and
wedding ring of your mother's. I will send them to you, together with a
hundred dollars, which is all I can give you to start you on your way."
The remainder of the letter was filled with her grief over parting with
her husband, and her separation from Sherm himself.
Chicken Little swallowed hard--something seemed to be gripping her by
the throat.
"And your father isn't your father, Sherm?--or your mother or Sue or
Grace?" The tragic extent of what had happened was dawning slowly upon
Jane.
Sherm's lips trembled.
"No, I--haven't any father--I've never had a father!... I haven't got
anybody.... I haven't even got a name that belongs to me!" Sherm's voice
grew shriller and shriller till it broke with a dry sob.
Chicken Little slipped her hand into his and the boy clung to it
spasmodically, as if that slim, brown hand were all he had in the world
to cling to. The tears were raining down Jane's cheeks, but Sherm's eyes
were dry and burning. The team trotted along evenly. They turned
mechanically into the stable yard when they reached the ranch. It was
growing dusk.
Sherm helped her out, saying: "Will you please tell them, Chicken
Little? I won't come in just yet."
She ran to the house and poured out her tale. Her father hurried to the
stable. Sherm was not there. Jim Bart, who was milking in the corral
near by, said he had saddled Caliph and gone off down the lane. Dr.
Morton talked it over with Frank and they decided that Sherm had done
the wisest thing possible in going for a gallop.
"He doesn't mean to do anything rash or he wouldn't have taken Ernest's
horse," Frank declared.
But as hour after hour went by, the family grew more and more anxious.
At eleven o'clock, Frank saddled Calico and tried to find him. He
returned some time later in despair.
"You might as well try to look for a needle in a haystack. Poor lad, I
have faith he will ride the worst of it off and Caliph is a pretty
steady little beast now. He'll bring him home."
A few moments after his return, a messenger came from Captain Clarke,
saying that he had been wakened by Caliph neighing at the gate and had
gone out to find Sherm dazed and apparently completely exhausted. He had
got him to bed where he was sleeping heavily. Captain Clarke was afraid
they must be worried. He would care for him till morning, but he would
be glad to have some inkling of what had happened so that he might know
what to say to the boy when he waked.
Dr. Morton got out his medicine case and went back with the man.