TORY’S DREAMS
Several weeks later Dorothy McClain and Victoria Drew were again in the
kitchen adjoining the living-room of the House in the Woods.
Upon this afternoon their state of mind was altogether unlike their
former one. This was apparent both in manner and expression.
Over their Girl Scout costumes they were wearing semiofficial nursing
uniforms, white cotton dresses and caps of their own design.
At present Dorothy McClain was leaning anxiously over the kitchen stove
stirring a kettle of simmering milk into which she had just measured
a proper amount of cocoa. Her face was flushed and she was looking so
pretty that Tory sat watching her with a smile of satisfaction. She
herself was engaged in cutting thin slices of bread. Of late more than
one cause had conspired to make Dorothy less happy than usual.
“I do hope the first visit from our entire Patrol of Girl Scouts will
not be too tiring for Miss Frean,” Dorothy remarked, aware that the
other girl’s eyes were upon her and desiring to change the current of
her thought.
Tory paused reflectively.
“I do not think it will hurt her in the least,” she announced. “You
seem to forget that your father gave his consent to our meeting here
a week ago and that Miss Mason, our Scout Captain, insisted on the
delay. If Memory has recovered sufficiently to give up her trained
nurse and submit to our ministrations for the past ten days, she is
well enough for our tea party. The Girl Scouts have haunted the place
ever since her illness. I suppose in a way it was a relief when she and
Dr. McClain agreed to allow us to do the nursing, provided only two
of us at a time would take charge. I specially asked to have you with
me, Dorothy, as we were together on the morning when we suffered such
suspense.”
Dorothy McClain straightened up and glanced around, the color slowly
ebbing from her face and her clear eyes becoming disturbed and wistful.
“I wish all suspense ended in so happy a fashion, Tory dear!”
In her white cap and gown, with her dark eyes, slender face and full
red lips, Tory appeared especially attractive. Her reddish gold hair,
worn short, could not be tucked out of sight, but made a bright effect
of contrasting color.
She drew her brows together and frowned, not angrily but seriously.
“The other thing you are thinking of will turn out happily soon,
Dorothy, I am sure. Lance is a dreamer and I suppose is selfish, but
Christmas is nearly here and he cannot let the Christmas season go by
without writing your father and you where he is and what he is doing.
It would be too hateful and too ungrateful!”
The other girl shook her head.
“You don’t know Lance as I do, Tory, although you may believe
you understand each other because you both possess the artistic
temperament, or think you possess it. Lance will never willingly let
us know what has become of him until he has accomplished at least a
portion of what he hoped for. You need not think he does not suffer
and long for father and Don and me. But he realized this before he
went away and decided at last he could not endure to wait longer for
a chance to study his beloved music. Lance used so often to tell me
music was not like the other arts; unless one learned when one was
young there was no opportunity afterwards.”
“Then you forgive Lance for all he has made you and your father and Don
suffer? You do care for him more than your other brothers?”
The girl who had been questioned shook her head thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. I have not been able to make up my mind; perhaps I shall
know some day. I only said I understood. If we could only be sure that
Lance would send for some one or let us know if he were ill, father
and I would be less miserable! We both realize that is just what Lance
will never do. If he has made a mistake, he will feel he should pay for
it. But please, Tory, let us talk of something else. I want to forget
everything but our Scout meeting this afternoon. You have finished the
bread and I’ll butter it. The chocolate will keep warm at the back of
the stove. Suppose you see if Miss Frean wishes anything before the
girls and Miss Mason arrive.”
Appreciating that Dorothy really wished to be alone for a few moments,
Tory slipped away.
The only girl in a family of six brothers, Dorothy McClain held a
peculiar affection for one of the brothers nearest her own age. Donald
and Lance McClain were twins, and yet totally unlike in appearance and
character. Donald was, like his sister, tall, with chestnut hair and
blue eyes, and a love for athletic sports and the outdoors. Simple and
normal in their habits and tastes, it had not always been easy for them
to endure the vagaries of Lance, in spite of their devotion to him.
The odd member of the family, Lance McClain had a passionate devotion
for music with which no one of them could sympathize. He did not seem
possessed of a remarkable genius; at least his father considered that
he had only talent, and that music was no profession for a boy who was
forced to earn his own living.
With six sons and a daughter, Dr. McClain, a village physician, did
not see how it would be possible to give the delicate, erratic boy
the musical education he would require. A few weeks before Lance had
disappeared from his home in the small town of Westhaven, and so far
no word had come from him. Remembering that he had threatened to spend
the winter in New York, there could be but little doubt that he was in
hiding there.
To-day the living-room of the House in the Woods was more than
ordinarily lovely. Its simplicity, which approached austerity, was
relieved by half a dozen vases and bowls of flowers. The eye fell at
once upon a bouquet of red roses and violets in the center of a table
near a big chair where a woman was half seated and half reclining. An
open book was in her hands.
Tory looked from one to the other.
She was aware that the older woman had become handsomer since her
illness. The heavy dark hair was more carefully arranged, since Tory
herself was responsible for it. The weeks of rest and, had the girl
known it, companionship, as well as other things, had softened and made
more gentle the strong face with the blue, serious eyes.
“You appear to have grown into a very popular person in Westhaven,
Memory,” Tory said irrelevantly, “and yet I recall that at our first
meeting I was made to believe by you that you possessed only a few
friends in the village. I wonder why you thought this? Please put down
what you are reading and tell me.”
Miss Frean closed her book.
“Do you know, Tory, that since I have been nursed by seven of the
eight girls of your Eagle’s Wing Patrol and the one Girl Guide who is
a guest of honor, I have reached this conclusion: You are the most
autocratic of the group, even if your manner now and then conceals the
fact. Still, you saved my life, didn’t you, dear? I consider you saved
it, spending the night here and coming to search for me, and the first
aid you gave me before any one else was here to help. So I presume I
owe you thanks.”
The girl shook her head.
“I have explained to you half a dozen times, Memory, that it was Uncle
Richard who saved you, not I. I had made up my mind I did not dare
face the storm alone, when he made his unexpected appearance at your
door. It is not like you to seem so unwilling to be grateful to him. I
told him that you said he was not to send you flowers every day. As he
made no answer, I don’t think he intends to obey. Still, you have not
answered my question.”
“Oh, yes, I have, Tory. I _was_ unpopular in the village before we
made friends and I became a member of your Girl Scout Council. Don’t
you hear the others coming? I am as excited as a girl having a first
party.”
Miss Frean crossed the room toward the window. She wore a dress of
heavy blue silk, made simply, with a cord as a girdle. Tory had
insisted upon her buying the dress, as she owned no proper costume in
which to be a convalescent. As a matter of fact, Tory had made the
discovery that the older woman was not so poor as the simplicity of her
living made one believe. She was possessed of only a small income, but
had written several books upon birds and flowers under an assumed name
which increased the amount. This she did not care to have people know.
She preferred bestowing the money upon persons who were in need without
allowing them to guess the source.
“You are a beauty, Memory Frean! I did not think so when I first knew
you,” Tory remarked, following her friend to the window and drawing her
back toward the warmer shelter of the room.
“Remember, please, Dr. McClain says you are not yet to expose yourself
to the cold. It was dreadfully stupid of any one who knows as much as
you do of the outdoors to have attempted to reach home in such a storm
as you dared. Henceforth in spite of your nature lore you will have
sometimes to do what you are told.”
Leaning over, the older woman gave Tory a sudden, unexpected embrace.
Demonstration was unusual with her.
“You flatter and scold in the same breath, Tory. I am glad you think I
am prettier. No woman ever grows too old or too sensible not to wish to
hear this compliment.
“Now I am convinced I hear our visitors; please open the front door, if
I am not to be allowed to do it.”
An hour later eight girls, their hostess and Sheila Mason, the Scout
Captain, were seated close together, facing the log fire.
“I think you might tell your dream now, Tory,” Miss Frean suggested,
half amused and half serious.
“My dream?” Tory answered, bright spots of color showing in her
ordinarily pale cheeks. “I studied the background of my dream on the
long winter night when I stayed here alone awaiting Memory Frean’s
return.”