Years had passed before Mrs. Breen and Lucy ever found the courage to
speak of that day when Lucy had hurried from the room, leaving Mrs.
Breen too surprised to follow her, or even speak. She sat thinking, so
glad and so happy and so proud of the courage shown by Lucy. She heard
the front door close softly and was not surprised, a little later, to
have one of the maids come and tell her that Miss Lucy had telephoned
that she was at Mrs. Hargrave's, and would stay for supper with Elise.
Mrs. Breen sat thinking for an hour, then the right thought came to her.
She hastened to the telephone and had a long talk with her husband, and
after a good deal of argument, she went to her room, packed a small
trunk, ordered the car, had a talk with the housekeeper, and went out.
She drove to her husband's office, and he ushered her into his private
room.
"Now what is all this?" he demanded.
"I told you over the telephone what happened in the library," Mrs. Breen
said. "My dear, I am _so_ happy and so proud of Lucy! But there will be
the most distressing awkwardness for a little, unless something out of
the ordinary happens to help her out. Now I have never been away without
you since we were married. So I have decided to give the child a chance
to regain her poise and strengthen her new resolutions. Something has
changed her, and I am contented to accept it without question until the
time comes when she will tell me of her own accord. I will go home for a
week, and you must spend all the time you can with Lucy. And when you
feel like it, speak well of me."
"That will be a hard job," said her husband, smiling.
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Breen. "Another thing, to keep her interest in
me, if you should decide to repaper my room and want to _surprise_ me, I
would be perfectly satisfied with Lucy's taste."
So when Lucy came in that night, dreading the next step toward the
right, she found only her father reading under the library light.
"Hello, Donna Lucia," he said, looking up. "Did you know that we are
orphans?"
"No," said Lucy. "What has happened?"
"Mamma decided very suddenly that she had to go home to Boston to attend
to some matters, and she did not have time to telephone you or call
around at Mrs. Hargrave's. But she managed to stop in at the office, and
she has left me in your charge."
Lucy heaved a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, she would have a little
time to herself anyway.
A couple of days later Mr. Breen approached the subject of the new
wall-paper. He merely _approached_ it, because at the first mention Lucy
fairly flung herself on it and appropriated it. The very thing, she
decided. She thought that room was about as shabby as it could be. Could
she select the paper? Of course she could! She knew exactly what mamma
would like.
At her use of the word mamma, Mr. Breen's heart leaped. He had been a
patient, but very unhappy man, and the thought that his little household
might become united was the greatest happiness he could imagine. So he
grumbled out that he was glad of that, because he never could tell the
_least_ thing about the silly strips of paper they showed in the stores,
and Lucy could go ahead and get whatever she wanted.
But the following morning, when a van backed up to the door and a couple
of men commenced to take away all the prettiest wicker furniture in the
house he demanded some explanation.
"Why, they have to be painted for mamma's new room," said the practical
Miss Breen. "You said I could go ahead, and I have gone!"
"All our furniture has gone too, I should say," said Mr. Breen.
"Just the best of the wicker," answered Lucy. "I thought and thought all
last night, and I have decided just what would be the _loveliest_ thing
in the world for her, with her violet blue eyes and golden hair. So when
you were shaving I telephoned for the men to come and take the chairs
and tables and that chaise-longue and they are all going to be painted.
"And today you had better write her that you think it would be a good
thing, as long as she is there, to stay another week. Don't let her
suspect, but _don't_ let her come home."
"Very well," said Mr. Breen with a twinkle in his eye, but outwardly
very meek. "Just as you say. Send the bills to me."
"Oh, I was going to," said Lucy with the happiest laugh he had heard
from her for months.
Mr. Breen did not come home for luncheon, and every day Lucy managed to
have Elise or Rosanna or Helen take that meal with her.
Lucy worked like mad and nearly wore the workmen out, she hurried them
so. Mrs. Breen decided to make a longer stay, but even then there was
but little time, because Lucy had decided that all the woodwork must be
re-enameled. When that was done and the paper on, she cast aside the old
rug with scorn, and took the three girls downtown to buy others. As the
days went on, Lucy found that her point of view was wholly changed. She
was so intent on the beautiful surprise she was planning that it seemed
to sweep her mind clean of all the dark and unworthy feelings that had
filled it. She even wrote to Mrs. Breen at a suggestion from Elise, a
pleasant friendly letter, ending, "With love, Lucy."
And to her surprise Mrs. Breen answered the letter at once, with a long
one all about her visit, and enclosing funny little cartoons of each one
of the family, including the boy who had spoken his mind to Lucy.
Strange to say, Lucy was able to acknowledge the truth of the young
man's remark.
"Some day," said Lucy to herself, "if this turns out all right, I will
tell him that he was _perfectly right_."
Lucy was coming to think, with a sense of deep chagrin, that she herself
had been the one in the wrong. And being an honest girl and wanting very
humbly and deeply to live up to the pledge of the Girl Scouts, she was
growing most anxious to make good her faults.
So she drove the painters and paperhangers and upholsterers almost wild,
and had the happiness of seeing the beautiful room all settled and in
order two days before Mrs. Breen was expected. It had a hard time
staying settled however, because Lucy spent all her time after school
trying things in new places to see if they looked any better. Her father
vowed that he would go up and nail the things down, but he was just as
proud and pleased as Lucy.
With all the planning and plotting, and various jaunts to the shops
together, and to some movies and once to the theatre, Lucy and her
father had entered a new epoch in their lives. They too seemed to have
forgotten the past.
As Elise said, they found that they could make a beginning anywhere. And
once begun, they found that it was like a door that had opened into a
beautiful place full of happiness and sunshine--a door that closed
softly behind them and shut out all the despair and gloom on the other
side.
When the day came for Mrs. Breen's return, Mr. Breen insisted on Lucy
coming to meet her, and Lucy, in whom some of the old dread seemed
struggling to awake, went silently. But when she was suddenly caught in
a warm embrace, before even her father was greeted, and when a sweet
voice said, "Oh, what a _long_ two weeks it has been, Lucy! _Do_ say you
have missed me!" Lucy felt that all was indeed well with her world.
Mrs. Breen had brought another brother with her: a shy, awkward boy,
evidently frightened to death of Lucy, a fact which of course set her
completely at her ease. They drove home, and Lucy and her father dogged
Mrs. Breen's footsteps up the stairs when she said she would go and take
off her things. Not for worlds would they have missed seeing her first
look at the newly decorated room. And it was worth all the trouble to
witness her delight and appreciation.
So Happiness and Love and Understanding came into the Breen home. Lucy
wore her trefoil with a new gratitude and a new understanding. Elise
felt a happiness that she had thought she could never feel, for she had
helped a sister Scout through a dark and dreadful place in her life.
Mrs. Breen was so happy that she sang and sang all the day long, and
when one day a baby boy set up a lusty roar in the beautiful room that
Lucy had made, it was Lucy who named him, and Lucy who assumed such airs
of superiority in speaking of "my baby brother" that the girls grew to
avoid the subject of children in general as it was sure to bring from
Lucy some anecdote to prove the vast superiority and beauty of the Breen
baby.
Rosanna was happy too. Uncle Robert had been away longer than Rosanna
liked. She was surprised to find how much she missed Uncle Robert. And
much as she loved him, and wanted him to be happy, she decided that it
was really a good thing that he did _not_ care for girls. The various
uncles who did like girls she noticed had a way of marrying one of them
and leaving home for good. That was a poor plan, thought Rosanna, as she
felt the silence in the big old house. No number of girls could make the
whistly noises Uncle Robert could when he ran upstairs three steps at a
time or dashed down again. No one but Uncle Robert could tootle so
entrancingly on the flute, or pick out such funny records for the
Victrola. No one in the world would think to bring one a box of candy
and leave it hidden in his hat, or just outside the door for one to find
after dinner. No other Uncle would remember a little girl's birthday
once a month with a new dollar bill.
Rosanna, driven by a real loneliness to confide in someone, spent much
time with Miss Hooker and while Rosanna honestly thought she was
attending strictly to Scout business, the conversation was sure to slip
around to Uncle Robert. Miss Hooker never appeared to join Rosanna in
her talk, but it was surprising what a good listener she proved to be.
The only time she said anything was when Rosanna would enlarge on the
way Uncle Robert felt about girls. Then Miss Hooker would always assert
that she thought he was perfectly right, because she herself thought
very little of men. Silly creatures she said they were, at which loyal
Rosanna would always declare, "But Uncle Robert isn't."
Miss Hooker would answer, "_Possibly_ not," in a manner that insinuated
that perhaps he wasn't, and perhaps he _was_, but Rosanna let it go.
However, Rosanna was happy because Uncle Robert had written her that he
was coming home in a day or two, and that she might get ready to look in
the left hand pocket of his overcoat, and whatever was there she could
have. When she told Miss Hooker she was grieved to hear her say that she
was not sure that she would be around to see the surprise, because she
was planning to go away herself, and wasn't it too bad?
"I should say it was!" said Rosanna. "Why, then you won't see Uncle
Robert either!"
"No," said Miss Hooker, "but it really doesn't make any difference. I
don't suppose I am any more anxious to see him than he is to see me."
When Uncle Robert appeared and came up the front steps three at a time
as usual, Rosanna was at the door to meet him. She jumped into his arms
and hugged him until he begged for mercy.
As she let him go, she happened to think of the left hand pocket, and
had to think which was the left. While she was deciding, she heard a
funny noise, and there in the pocket was a fuzzy head. The most adorable
little head! It was a tiny baby collie, looking like a small bear.
Rosanna had him out in a second, and Uncle Robert left her with her new
pet while he went to speak to his mother.
That night he came up to show Rosanna how to put her puppy to bed for
the night, and when the little fellow at last snuggled down in his
basket, and went to sleep, Uncle Robert settled down in his favorite
chair and lighted a cigarette and wanted to hear all the news.
"What shall I start with?" asked Rosanna, listening to the soft
breathing of the little collie.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Uncle Robert. "Begin with Miss--er
Gwenny."
"Why, you needn't call her _Miss_," said Rosanna. "You never used to! I
thought first you were going to say begin with Miss Hooker."
"Ridiculous!" laughed Uncle Robert, cocking his eye up at the ceiling.
"Begin with Gwenny, of course."
"Well," said Rosanna, "we have only had two letters from her mother. One
was soon after you went away, and said that Gwenny was very comfortable
indeed, and had a fine room, and was making a great many friends. The
doctor couldn't tell when he would operate, because he would have to
take Gwenny any time she happened to be at her best. That was about all
of that letter. The next one was just the other day. And Uncle Robert,
they have operated! They telegraphed for Doctor Rick, and he is there
now. But Mrs. Harter wrote that the operation was over and Doctor
Branshaw thinks it will be perfectly successful."
"Well, that is perfectly splendid!" said Uncle Robert. "Did she tell you
how Gwenny stood it?"
"Yes. She said for a couple of hours they were afraid her heart was
going to stop, but that Doctor Branshaw stood right over her, and had
everything ready to start it again if they could. He stayed with her all
night. You ought to hear the way Mrs. Harter talks about him. She thinks
he is a saint, as well as the greatest doctor in the whole world."
"He assays pretty well toward solid gold," said Uncle Robert.
"Mrs. Harter says they don't know when they will be able to get home,
but already Gwenny sleeps better and is beginning to want to eat. She
never did, you know."
"That is certainly fine news," said Uncle Robert. "Anything else
happened while I was away?"
"You know that Lucy Breen?" asked Rosanna.
Uncle Robert shook his head.
"She has turned out to be a real nice girl, and Helen and Elise and I go
over there a lot. And her mother (it's really her stepmother, only Lucy
is mad if you call her that) is perfectly lovely. If you could only
marry _her_, Uncle Robert!"
"Thank you, Rosanna, but Mr. Breen looks husky and he might object."
"Oh, that was a joke," said Rosanna. "Like the time you said you pretty
near loved Miss Hooker. I wish you could have heard her laugh when I
told her that."
"Oh, you told her, did you?" said Uncle Robert.
"It was so funny I had to."
"What did she say?" asked Uncle Robert, sitting up suddenly.
"She said she thought you were the most amusing person she had ever met
and that no one could possibly take you seriously. I agreed with her."
"I'll bet you did!" said Uncle Robert.
"She has gone away," said Rosanna as an afterthought. "She went today. I
told her I was sorry she wouldn't be able to see what you brought me,
and wouldn't see you either, but she said it didn't make any difference
as she wasn't any more anxious to see you than she supposed you were to
see her."
Uncle Robert laughed a short, queer laugh.
"Well, Rosanna, just you watch what happens now! I will just pay her up
for that."
"What do you care?" asked Rosanna. "I don't see what difference it
makes. She likes you all right; she thinks you are so funny."
"I will show her how funny I can be," said Uncle Robert. "Where has she
gone?"
"To Atlantic City," said Rosanna.
"I may see her there," said Uncle Robert. "The doctor says the sea air
would be great for me."
"What ails you?" said Rosanna anxiously. "You look perfectly well."
"A little trouble with my heart," said Uncle Robert soberly. "It acts
like the very deuce, Rosanna. Part of the time it feels sort of--sort
of, well, sort of _empty_, and then it has spells when I get to thinking
hard and beats as fast as it can. It is awful, Rosanna."
"I should say it was!" said Rosanna, "Oh, Uncle Robert, _do_ try to get
it well! If anything should happen to you, I would think it was that
benefit. You had to work so hard."
"I think myself that had something to do with it," said Robert, "but of
course I only did my duty, and I don't blame a soul."