It was a particularly warm July evening, but a faint breeze from the
west stirred the leaves of the Crimson Rambler that climbed over the
front veranda at Five Oaks, and brought the first relief from the
scorching heat. The great stone lions loomed out of the shadows and
caught the moonlight full on their shaggy heads. To the doctor, sitting
alone on the veranda steps, they seemed almost alive, and he smiled at
the thought that came to him.
"So you think you, too, are guarding her," he chuckled quietly. "Pray,
and are you also her 'Lawfull Protectur'?"
A light step sounded on the floor behind him, and he sprang to his feet.
"She's asleep," said Mrs. Kendall softly. "She dropped asleep almost as
soon as she touched the pillow. Dear child!"
"Yes, children are apt---- Amy, dearest!" broke off the doctor, sharply,
"you are crying!"
"No, no, it is nothing," assured Mrs. Kendall, as the doctor led her to
a chair. "It is always this way, only to-night it was a--a little more
heart-breaking than usual."
"'Always this way'! 'Heart-breaking'! Why, Amy!"
Mrs. Kendall smiled, then raised her hand to brush away a tear.
"You don't understand," she murmured. "It's the bedtime
prayer--Margaret's;" then, at the doctor's amazed frown, she added: "The
dear child goes over her whole day, bit by bit, and asks forgiveness for
countless misdemeanors, and it nearly breaks my heart, for it shows how
many times I have said 'don't' to the poor little thing since morning.
And as if that were not piteous enough, she must needs ask the dear
Father to tell her how to handle her fork, and how to sit, walk, and
talk so's to please mother. Harry, what _shall_ I do?"
"But you are doing," returned the doctor. "You are loving her, and you
are surrounding her with everything good and beautiful."
"But I want to do right myself--just right."
"And you are doing just right, dear."
"But the results--they are so irregular and uneven," sighed the mother,
despairingly. "One minute she is the gentle, loving little girl I held
in my arms five years ago; and the next she is--well, she isn't Margaret
at all."
"No," smiled the doctor. "She isn't Margaret at all. She is Mag of the
Alley, dependent on her wits and her fists for life itself. Don't worry,
sweetheart. It will all come right in time; it can't help it!--but it
will take the time."
"She tries so hard--the little precious!--and she does love me."
A curious smile curved the doctor's lips.
"She does," he said dryly.
"Why, Harry, what----" Mrs. Kendall's eyes were questioning.
The doctor hesitated. Then very slowly he drew from his pocket a large,
somewhat legal-looking document.
"I hardly know whether to share this with you or not," he began; "still,
it _is_ too good to keep to myself, and it concerns you intimately;
moreover, you may be able to assist me with some advice in the matter,
or at least with some possible explanation." And he held out the paper.
Mrs. Kendall turned in her chair so that the light from the open
hall-door would fall upon the round, cramped handwriting.
"'To whom it may concern,'" she read aloud. "'Whereas, I, the
Undersigned, being in my sane Mind do intend to commit Matremony.' Why,
Harry, what in the world is this?" she demanded.
"Go on,--read," returned the doctor, with a nonchalant wave of his hand;
and Mrs. Kendall dropped her eyes again to the paper.
"Harry, what in the world does this mean?" she gasped a minute later as
she finished reading, half laughing, half crying, and wholly amazed.
"But that is exactly what I was going to ask you," parried the doctor.
"You don't mean that Margaret wrote--but she couldn't; besides, it isn't
her writing."
"No, Margaret didn't write it. For that part I think I detect the
earmarks of young McGinnis. At all events, it came from him."
"Bobby?"
"Yes."
"But who----" Mrs. Kendall stopped abruptly. A dawning comprehension came
into her eyes. "You mean--Harry, she _was_ at the bottom of it! I
remember now. It was only a week or two ago that she used those same
words to me. She insisted that you would beat me and--and bang me 'round.
Oh, Margaret, Margaret, my poor little girl!"
The doctor smiled; then he shook his head gravely.
"Poor child! She hasn't seen much of conjugal felicity; has she?" he
murmured; then, softly: "It is left for us, sweetheart, to teach
her--that."
The color deepened in Mrs. Kendall's cheeks. Her eyes softened, then
danced merrily.
"But you haven't signed--this, sir, yet!" she challenged laughingly, as
she held out the paper.
He caught both paper and hands in a warm clasp.
"But I will," he declared. "Wait and see!"
Not twenty hours later Bobby McGinnis halted at the great gate of the
driveway at Five Oaks and gave a peculiar whistle. Almost instantly
Margaret flew across the lawn to meet him.
"Oh, it's jest a little matter of business," greeted Bobby, with
careless ease. "I've got that 'ere document here all signed. I reckoned
the doctor wouldn't lose no time makin' sure ter do his part."
"Bobby, not the contract--so soon!" exulted Margaret.
"Sure! Why not? I told him ter please sign to once an' return. An' he
did, 'course. I reckoned he meant business in this little matter, an' he
reckoned I did, too. There wa'n't nothin' for him ter do but sign,
'course."
Margaret drew her brows together in a thoughtful frown.
"But he might have--refused," she suggested.
Bobby gave her a scornful glance.
"Refused--an' lost the chance of marryin' at all? Not much!" he asserted
with emphasis.
"Well, anyhow, I'm glad he didn't," sighed Margaret, as she clutched the
precious paper close to her heart. "I should 'a' hated to have refused
outright to let him marry her when mother--Bobby, mother actually seems
to _want_ to have him!"