NEW FACES
"Ten miles more... three miles more ... five blocks more," Mr. John had
been saying at intervals as the big car rolled along, carrying Jerry
nearer and nearer to her new home.
For the two days of the trip Jerry had scarcely spoken; indeed, more
than once her breath had caught in her throat. Each moment brought
something new, more wonderful than anything her fancy had ever pictured.
She liked best the cities through which they passed, their life, the
bustle and confusion, the hurrying throngs, the rushing automobiles, the
gleaming railroad tracks like taut bands of silver, the smoke-screened
factories with their belching stacks, the rows upon rows of houses,
snuggling in friendly fashion close to one another.
John Westley had found himself fascinated in watching the eager
alertness of her observation. He longed to know just what was passing
back of those bright eyes; he tried to draw out some expression, but
Jerry had turned to him an appealing look that said more plainly than
words that she simply couldn't tell how wonderful everything seemed to
her, so he had to content himself with watching the rapture reflected in
her face and manner.
But when, after leaving Mrs. Allan at her brother's, Mr. John had said
"five blocks more," Jerry had clutched the side of the car in an ecstasy
of anticipation. From the deep store of her vivid imagination she had
drawn a mental picture of what the Westley home and Isobel, Gyp, Graham
and Tibby would be like. The house, in her fancy, resembled pictures of
turreted castles; however, when she saw that it was really square and
brick, with a little iron grille enclosing the tiniest scrap of a lawn,
she was too excited to be disappointed.
Two small carved stone lions guarded each side of the flight of steps
that led to the big front door; their stony, stoic stare drew a sharp
bark of challenge from Pepperpot, snuggled in Jerry's arms.
"Hush, Pepper," admonished Jerry. "You mustn't forget your manners."
As John Westley opened the door of the tonneau his eyes swept the front
of the house in a disappointed way. He had expected that great door to
open and his precious nieces and nephew to come tumbling out to welcome
him.
He could not know--because his glance could not penetrate the crisp
curtains at a certain window of the second floor--that from behind it
Gyp, Graham and Tibby had been watching the street for a half hour.
Isobel had resolutely affected utter indifference and had sat reading a
book, though more than once she had peeped covertly over Gyp's shoulder
down the broad avenue.
"_There_ they are!" Tibby had been the first to spy the big car.
"Isobel"--Gyp screamed--"_look_ at her hat!"
"I wish she was a boy," groaned Graham again. "Doesn't Uncle Johnny look
great? I say--come on, let's go down!"
It had been a prearranged pact among the young Westleys not to greet the
little stranger with any show of eagerness.
Tibby welcomed the suggestion. "Oh--_let's_!" she cried.
It was at that moment that Pepperpot had barked his disapproval of the
weather-worn lions. Graham and Gyp gave a shout of delight.
"Look! _Look_--a dog! Hurray!"
"Maybe now mother will have to let us keep him," Graham added. "Come on,
girls," he raced toward the stairs.
Their voices roused Mrs. Westley. She had not expected Uncle Johnny for
another hour. She flew with the children; there was nothing wanting in
_her_ welcome.
"John Westley--you look like a new man! And this is our little girl?
Welcome to our home, my dear. Did you have a nice trip? Did you leave
Pen Allan at the Everetts? How is she?" As she chattered away, with one
hand through John Westley's arm and the other holding Jerry's, she drew
them into the big hall and to the living-room beyond. Jerry's round,
shining eyes took in, with a lightning glance, the rich mahogany
woodwork, the soft rugs like dark pools on the shiny floor, the long
living-room with its amber-toned hangings, and the three curious faces
staring at her over Mr. John's shoulder.
"Gyp, my dear," John Westley untangled long arms from around his neck,
"here's a twin for you. Jerry, this boy is my nephew Graham--he's not
nearly as grown-up as he looks. And this is Tibby!"
Jerry flashed a smile. They seemed to her--this awkward, thin,
dark-skinned girl whom Uncle Johnny had called Gyp, the tall,
roguish-faced boy, and little Tibby, whose straight braids were black
like Gyp's and whose eyes were violet-blue--more wonderful than anything
she had seen along the way; they were, indeed, the "best of all."
"Oh," she stammered, in a laughing, excited way, "it's just wonderful
to--really--be--be here." Before her glowing enthusiasm the children's
prejudice melted in a twinkling. Gyp held out her hand with a friendly
gesture and Pepperpot, as though he understood everything that was
happening, stuck his head out from the shelter of Jerry's arm and thrust
his paw into Gyp's welcoming clasp.
Everyone laughed--Graham and Tibby uproariously.
"Goodness _me_--a _dog_!" Mrs. Westley cried, with a startled glance
toward John Westley.
"Let him down," commanded Graham, as though he and Jerry were old
friends. Jerry put Pepperpot down and the four children leaned over him.
Promptly Pepperpot stood on his hind legs and executed a merry dance.
"He cut through the woods and headed us off, miles away from the
Notch--we couldn't do anything else but bring him along," Uncle Johnny
whispered to Mrs. Westley under cover of the children's laughter. "For
Heaven's sake, Mary, let him stay."
There had been for years a very fixed rule in the Westley household that
dogs were "not allowed." "They bring their dirty feet and their greasy
bones and things on the rugs and the chairs," was the standing
complaint, though Mrs. Westley had never minded telltale marks from
muddy little shoes nor the imprint of sticky fingers on satin
upholstery; nor had she ever allowed painters to gloss over the initials
that Graham had carved with his first jackknife on one of the broad
window-sills of the library. "When he's a grown man and away from the
nest--I'll have _that_," she had explained.
"I don't know what Mrs. Hicks will say," she answered rather helplessly,
knowing, as she watched the young people, that she would not have the
heart to bar Pepper from their midst.
"I say, Jerry,"--Graham had Pepper's nose in his hand--"can I have him
for my dog? Nearly all the fellows have dogs, but mother----" he glanced
quickly in her direction.
Graham might just as well have asked Jerry to cut out a part of her
heart and hand it over; however, his face was so wistful that she
answered, impulsively: "He can belong to all of us!"
"Where's Isobel?" cried Uncle Johnny, looking around.
Isobel had been listening from the turn of the stairway. She had really
wanted, more than anything else, to race down the stairs and throw
herself in Uncle Johnny's arms. (He was certain to have some pretty gift
for her concealed in one of his pockets.) But she must show the others
that _she_ would stick to her word. So, in answer to his call, she
walked slowly down the stairway, with a smile that carefully included
only Uncle Johnny.
Jerry thought that she had never in her whole life seen anyone quite as
pretty as Isobel! She stared, fascinated. To Uncle Johnny's introduction
she answered awkwardly, uncomfortably conscious that Isobel's eyes were
unfriendly. She wished, with all her heart, that Isobel would say
something nice, but Isobel, after a little nod, turned back to her
uncle.
"Gyp, take Jerry to her room. Graham, carry her bags up," directed Mrs.
Westley.
"Pepper, too?" cried Tibby.
But Pepper had dashed up the stairs, and had turned at the landing and,
standing again on his hind legs, had barked. Even Mrs. Westley laughed.
"Pepper's answering that question himself," she replied. She turned to
Uncle Johnny. "If it comes to a choice between Mrs. Hicks and that dog I
plainly see Mrs. Hicks will have to go."
John Westley declared he had not known how "good" it would feel to get
"home" again. Though he really lived in an apartment a few blocks away,
he had always looked upon his brother's house as home and spent the
greater part of his leisure time there. Mrs. Westley ordered tea. Uncle
Johnny slipped Isobel's hand through his arm and followed Mrs. Westley
into the cheery library.
Above, Jerry was declaring that her room was just "wonderful." She ran
from one window to another to gaze rapturously out over the neighboring
housetops. The brick, wall-enclosed court below, with its iron gate
letting into an alleyway, was to her an enchanted battlement!
Graham's trophies, Tibby's dolls, Isobel's drawing tools had
disappeared; a little old-fashioned white wooden bed had been put up in
one corner; its snowy linen cover, with woven pink roses in orderly
clusters, gave it an inviting look; there was a pink pillow in the deep
chair in the bay-window; a round table stood near the chair; on it were
some of Gyp's books and a little work-basket. And the toys had been left
in the old bookcase, so that, Mrs. Westley had decided, the room would
look as if a little girl could really live in it! Little wonder that
Jerry thought it all "wonderful."
When Gyp heard the rattle of tea-cups below, they all tore downstairs
again, Pepper at their heels. They gathered around Uncle Johnny and
drank iced tea and ate little frosted cakes and demanded to be told how
he had felt when he knew he was lost on that "big mountain." They were
all so nice and jolly, Jerry thought, and, though Isobel ignored her,
she must be as nice as the others, because Uncle Johnny kept her next to
him and held her hand. The late afternoon sun slanted through the long
windows with a pleasant glow; the rows and rows of books on the open
shelves made Jerry feel at home; the great, deep-seated chairs gave her
a delicious sense of refuge.
It was Uncle Johnny who, after dinner, sent Jerry off to bed early;
though she declared she was not one little bit tired, he had noticed
that the brightness had gone from her face. Gyp and Tibby went upstairs
with her; Graham disappeared with Pepperpot.
"What do you think of my girl?" John Westley asked his sister-in-law.
They had gone back to the library. Isobel sat on a stool close to Uncle
Johnny's chair.
"She seems like an unusually nice, jolly child. But----" Mrs. Westley
looked a little distressed. "May she not be homesick here, John--so far
from her folks?" She hated to think of such a possibility.
"I thought of that," John Westley chuckled. "I said something about it
to her. What do you think she said? She waited a moment before she
answered me--as though she was carefully considering it. 'Well,' she
said, 'anyway, one wouldn't be homesick for very long, would one?' As
though it'd be like measles--or mumps. This is an Adventure to her;
she's been dreaming about it all her life!" He told, then, about the
Wishing-rock.
"I tell you, Mary, there's some sort of spirit about the girl that's
unusual! It must come from some fire of genius further back than her
hermit-parents. I'm as certain as anything that there's a mystery about
the child. I've knocked about among all sorts of people, but I never
found such a curious family before--in such a place. Dr. Travis is one
of those mortals whose feet touch the earth and whose head is in the
clouds; Mrs. Travis is a cultured, beautiful woman with a look in her
eyes as though she was always afraid of something--just behind. And then
Jerry--like them both and not a bit like 'em--her head in the clouds,
all right--a girl who sees beauty and a promise and a vision in
everything--a girl of dreams! You can imagine almost any sort of a story
about her."
As Mrs. Allan had done, Mrs. Westley laughed at her brother-in-law's
enthusiasm.
"She's probably just a healthy girl who has been brought up in a simple
way by very sensible parents." Her matter-of-fact tone made John Westley
feel a little foolish. "She's a dear, sunny child and I hope she will be
happy here."
"What got me was her utter lack of self-consciousness and her faith in
herself. Not an affectation about her--that's why I wanted her at
Lincoln school."
"No one'll _look_ at her there--she's so dowdy!" burst out Isobel.
Her uncle turned quickly, surprised and a little hurt at the pettishness
of her tone.
"Isobel, dear--" protested her mother.
Then Uncle Johnny laughed. "I rather guess, from my observation of the
vagaries of you young people, that sometimes one little thing can make
even a 'dowdy' girl popular--then, if she has the right stuff in her,
she can be a leader. What is it starts you all wearing these little
black belts round your waists, or this mousetrap," poking the puffs of
pretty silk hair that hid her ears; "it's a psychology that's beyond
most of us! Maybe my Jerry will set a new style in Lincoln."
Isobel blazed in her scorn.
"Well, I'd _die_ before _I'd_ look like her!" she cried. "I'm going to
bed." She felt very cross. She had wanted Uncle Johnny to tell her that
she looked well; she had on a new dress and her hair was combed in a
very new way; she had grown, too, in the summer. Instead he had talked
of nothing but Jerry, Jerry--and such silly talk about her eyes shining
as though they reflected golden visions within! She stalked away with a
bare good-night.
Uncle Johnny might have said something if Isobel's mother had not given
a long sigh.
"I can't--always--understand Isobel now," she said. "She has grown so
self-centered. I'll be glad when school begins." Mrs. Westley, like many
another perplexed parent, looked upon school as a cure for all evils.
Jerry and Gyp had been busily unpacking Jerry's belongings and putting
them away in the little white bureau.
"Where's Pepper?" asked Jerry, in sudden alarm. The children had been
warned to keep the little dog from "under Mrs. Hicks' feet." In a flash
Jerry had a horrible vision of some cruel fate befalling her pet.
"I'll just bet Graham has him," declared Gyp, indignantly.
They tiptoed down the hall and up the stairs to Graham's door. Graham
lay in bed, sound asleep; beside him lay Pepper, carefully tucked under
the bedclothes. One of Graham's arms was flung out over the dog.
Some instinct told Jerry that a long-felt yearning in this boy's heart
had at last been satisfied. And Pepper must have felt it, too, for,
though at the sight of his little mistress a distressed quiver shot
through him, he bravely pretended to be soundly sleeping.
"Let him have him," whispered Jerry.
But, for a long time, Jerry, under the pink and white cover, blinked at
the little circle of brightness reflected from the electric light
outside, trying hard not to wish she had Pepperpot with her "to keep
away the lonesomes." The night sounds of the city hummed in eerie
cadences in her ears. She resolutely counted one-two-three to one
hundred and back again to one to keep the thoughts of mother and
Sunnyside out of her head; then, just as she felt a great choking sob
rise in her throat, she heard a little scratch-scratch at her door.
"Oh, _Pepper_--I'm so _glad_ you came!" She caught the shaggy little
form to her. She could not let him lie on the pink-and-whiteness, so she
carefully spread it over the footboard and folded her own coat for him
to sleep on.
How magically everything changed--when a shaggy terrier snuggled against
her feet. The haunting shadows fled, the sob gave way to a contented
little sigh and Jerry fell asleep with the memory of Gyp's dark, roguish
face in her thoughts and a consuming eagerness to have the morning come
quickly.