There was a high wind blowing, and the newly washed garments hanging on
the roofs of nearby buildings were writhing and twisting violently, and
tugging at the long swagging clothes-lines. Gwendolyn, watching from the
side window of the nursery, pretended that the garments were so many
tortured creatures, vainly struggling to be free. And she wished that
two or three of the whitest and prettiest might loose their hold and go
flying away--across the crescent of the Drive and the wide river--to
liberty and happiness in the forest beyond.
Among the flapping lines walked maids--fully a score of them. Some were
taking down wash that was dry and stuffing it into baskets. Others were
busy hanging up limp pieces, first giving them a vigorous shake; then
putting a small portion of each over the line and pinching all securely
into place with huge wooden pins.
It seemed cruel.
Yet the faces of the maids were kind--kinder than the faces of Miss
Royle and Jane and Thomas. Behind Gwendolyn the heavy brocade curtains
hung touching. She parted them to make sure that she was alone in the
nursery. After which she raised the window--just a trifle. The roofs
that were white with laundry were not those directly across from the
nursery, but over-looked the next street. Nevertheless, with the window
up, Gwendolyn could hear the crack and snap of the whipping garments,
and an indistinct chorus of cheery voices. One maid was singing a
lilting tune. The rest were chattering back and forth. With all her
heart Gwendolyn envied them--envied their freedom, and the fact that
they were indisputably grown-up. And she decided that, later on, when
she was as big and strong, she would be a laundry-maid and run about on
just such level roofs, joyously hanging up wash.
Presently she raised the window a trifle more, so that the lower sill
was above her head. Then, "_Hoo_-hoo-oo-oo!" she piped in her clear
voice.
A maid heard her, and pointed her out to another. Soon a number were
looking her way. They smiled at her, too, Gwendolyn smiled in return,
and nodded. At that, one of a group snatched up a square of white cloth
and waved it. Instantly Gwendolyn waved back.
One by one the maids went. Then Gwendolyn suddenly recalled why she was
waiting alone--while Miss Royle and Jane made themselves extra neat in
their respective rooms; why she herself was dressed with such unusual
care--in a pink muslin, white silk stockings, and black patent-leather
pumps, the whole crowned by a pink-satin hair-bow. With the remembrance,
the pretend-game was forgotten utterly: The lines of limp, white
creatures on the roofs flung their tortured shapes about unheeded.
At bed-time the previous evening Potter had telephoned that Madam would
pay a morning visit to the nursery. The thought had kept Gwendolyn awake
for a while, smiling into the dark, kissing her own hands for very
happiness; it had made her heart beat wildly, too. For she reviewed all
the things she intended broaching to her mother--about eating at the
grown-up table, and not having a nurse any more, and going to
day-school.
Contrary to a secret plan of action, she slept late. At breakfast,
excitement took away her appetite. And throughout the study-hour that
followed, her eyes read, and her lips repeated aloud, several pages of
standard literature for juveniles that her busy brain did not
comprehend. Yet now as she waited behind the rose hangings for the
supreme moment, she felt, strangely enough, no impatience. With three to
attend her, privacy was not a common privilege, and, therefore, prized.
She fell to inspecting the row of houses across the way--in search for
other strange but friendly faces.
There were exactly twelve houses opposite. The corner one farthest from
the river she called the gray-haired house. An old lady lived there who
knitted bright worsted; also a fat old gentleman in a gay skull-cap who
showed much attention to a long-leaved rubber-plant that flourished
behind the glass of the street door. Gwendolyn leaned out, chin on palm,
to canvass the quaintly curtained windows--none of which at the moment
framed a venerable head. Next the gray-haired house there had been--up
to a recent date--a vacant lot walled off from the sidewalk by a high,
broad bill-board. Now a pit yawned where formerly was the vacant space.
And instead of the fascinating pictures that decorated the bill-board
(one week a baby, rosy, dimpled and laughing; the next some huge
lettering elaborately combined with a floral design; the next a mammoth
bottle, red and beautiful, and flanked by a single gleaming word:
"Catsup") there towered--above street and pit, and even above the
chimneys of the gray-haired house--the naked girders of a new steel
structure.
The girders were black, but rusted to a brick-color in patches and
streaks. They were so riveted together that through them could be seen
small, regular spots of light. Later on, as Gwendolyn knew, floors and
windowed walls and a tin top would be fitted to the framework. And what
was now a skeleton would be another house!
Directly opposite the nursery, on that part of the side street which
sloped, were ten narrow houses, each four stories high, each with
brown-stone fronts and brown-stone steps, each topped by a large chimney
and a small chimney. In every detail these ten houses were precisely
alike. Jane, for some unaccountable reason, referred to them as private
dwellings. But since the roof of the second brown-stone house was just a
foot lower than the roof of the first, the third roof just a foot lower
than the roof of the second, and so on to the very tenth and last,
Gwendolyn called these ten the step-houses.
The step-houses were seldom interesting. As Gwendolyn's glances traveled
now from brown-stone front to brown-stone front, not one presented even
the relief of a visiting post-man.
Her progress down the line of step-houses brought her by degrees to the
brick house on the Drive--a large vine-covered house, the wide entrance
of which was toward the river. And no sooner had she given it one quick
glance than she uttered a little shout of pleased surprise. The
brick-house people were back!
All the shades were up. There was smoke rising from one of the four tall
chimneys. And even as Gwendolyn gazed, all absorbed interest, the net
curtains at an upper window were suddenly drawn aside and a face looked
out.
It was a face that Gwendolyn had never seen before in the brick house.
But though it was strange, it was entirely friendly. For as Gwendolyn
smiled it a greeting, it smiled her a greeting back!
She was a nurse-maid--so much was evident from the fact that she wore a
cap. But it was also plain that her duties differed in some way from
Jane's. For her cap was different--shaped like a sugar-bowl turned
upside-down; hollow, and white, and marred by no flying strings.
And she was not a red-haired nurse-maid. Her hair was almost as fair as
Gwendolyn's own, and it framed her face in a score of saucy wisps and
curls. Her face was pretty--full and rosy, like the face of Gwendolyn's
French doll. Also it seemed certain--even at such a distance--that she
had no freckles. Gwendolyn waved both hands at her. She threw a kiss
back.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Gwendolyn, out loud. She threw kisses with
alternating finger-tips.
The nurse-maid shook the curtains at her. Then--they fell into place.
She was gone.
Gwendolyn sighed.
The next moment she heard voices in the direction of the hall--first,
Thomas's; next, a woman's--a strange one this. Disappointed, she turned
to face the screening curtains. But she was in no mood to make herself
agreeable to visiting friends of Miss Royle's--and who else could this
be?
She decided to remain quietly in seclusion; to emerge for no one except
her mother.
A door opened. A heavy step advanced, followed by the murmur of trailing
skirts upon carpet. Then Thomas spoke--his tone that full and measured
one employed, not to the governess, to Jane, to herself, or to any other
common mortal, but to Potter, to her father and mother, and to guests.
"This is Miss Gwendolyn's nursery," he announced.
Beyond the curtains were persons of importance!
She shrank against the window, taking care not to stir the brocade.
"We will wait here,"--the voice was clear, musical.
"Thank you." Thomas's heavy step retreated. A door closed.
There was a moment of perfect stillness. Then that musical voice began
again:
"Where do you suppose that young one is?"
A second voice rippled out a low laugh.
Gwendolyn laughed too,--silently, her face against the glass. The fat
old gentleman in the gray-haired house chanced to be looking in her
direction. He caught the broad smile and joined in.
"In the school-room likely,"--it was the first speaker, answering her
own inquiry--"getting stuffed."
Stuffed! Gwendolyn could appreciate _that_. She choked back a giggle
with one small hand.
Someone else thought the declaration amusing, for there was another
well-bred ripple; then once more that murmur of trailing skirts, going
toward the window-seat; going the opposite way also, as if one of the
two was making a circuit of the room.
Presently, "Just look at this dressing-table, Louise! Fancy such a piece
of furniture for a _child!_ Ridiculous!"
Gwendolyn cocked her yellow head to one side--after the manner of her
canary.
"Bad taste." Louise joined her companion. "_Crystal_, if you please!
Must've cost a fabulous sum."
One or two articles were moved on the dresser. Then, "Poor little girl!"
observed the other woman. "Rich, but--"
Gwendolyn puckered her brows gravely. Was the speaker referring to
_her?_ Clasping her hands tight, she leaned forward a little, straining
to catch every syllable. As a rule when gossip or criticism was talked
in her hearing, it was insured against being understood by the use of
strange terms, spellings, winks, nods, shrugs, or sudden stops at the
most important point. But now, with herself hidden, was there not a
likelihood of plain speech?
It came.
The voice went on: "This is the first time you've met the mother, isn't
it?"
"I think so,"--indifferently. "Who is she, anyhow?"
"_No_body."
Gwendolyn stared.
"Nobody at all--_absolutely_. You know, they say--" She paused for
emphasis.
Now, Gwendolyn's eyes grew suddenly round; her lips parted in surprise.
_They_ again!
"Yes?" encouraged Louise.
Lower--"They say she was just an ordinary country girl, pretty, and
horribly poor, with a fair education, but no culture to speak of. She
met him; he had money and fell in love with her; she married him. And,
oh, _then!_" She chuckled.
"Made the money fly?"
The two were coming to settle themselves in chairs close to the side
window.
"Not exactly. Haven't you heard what's the matter with her?"
Gwendolyn's face paled a little. There was something the matter with her
mother?--her dear, beautiful, young mother! The clasped hands were
pressed to her breast.
"Ambitious?" hazarded Louise, confidently.
"It's no secret. Everybody's laughing at her,--at the rebuffs she takes;
the money she gives to charity (wedges, you understand); the quantities
of dresses she buys; the way she slaps on the jewels. She's got the
society bee in her bonnet!"
Gwendolyn caught her breath. _The society bee in her bonnet?_
"Ah!" breathed Louise, as if comprehending. Then, "Dear! dear!"
"She _talks_ nothing else. She _hears_ nothing else. She _sees_ nothing
else."
"Bad as that?"
"Goes wherever she can shove in--subscription lectures and musicales,
hospital teas, Christmas bazars. And she benches her Poms; has boxes at
the Horse Show and the Opera; gives gold-plate dinners, and Heaven knows
what!"
"Ha! ha! _You_ haven't boosted her, dear?"
"Not a bit of it! Make a point of never being seen _any_where with
her."
"And he?"
Gwendolyn swallowed. _He_ was her father.
"Well, it has kept the poor fellow in harness all the time, of course.
You should have seen him when he _first_ came to town--straight and
boyish, and _very_ handsome. (You know the type.) He's changed! Burns
his candles at both ends."
"Hm!"
Gwendolyn blinked with the effort of making mental notes.
"You haven't heard the latest about him?"
"Trying to make some Club?"
Whispering--"On the edge of a _crash_."
"Who told you?"
"Oh, a little bird."
Up came both palms to cover Gwendolyn's mouth. But not to smother
mirth. A startled cry had all but escaped her. A little bird! She knew
of that bird! He had told things against _her_--true things more often
than not--to Jane and Miss Royle. And now here he was chattering about
her father!
"It's the usual story," commented Louise calmly, "with these _nouveaux
riches_."
"Sh!" A moment of stillness, as if both were listening. Then, "_Sprechen
Sie Deutsch?_"
"I--er--read it fairly well."
"_Parlez-vous Francais?_"
"_Oh, oui! Oui!_"
"_Allors._" And there followed, in undertones, a short, spirited
conversation in the Gallic.
Gwendolyn made a silent resolution to devote more time and thought to
the peevish and staccato instruction of Miss Du Bois.
The two were interrupted by a light, quick step outside. Again the hall
door opened.
"Oh, you'll pardon my having to desert you, _won't_ you?" It was
Gwendolyn's mother. "I didn't intend being so long."
Gwendolyn half-started forward, then stopped.
"Why, of course!"--with sounds of rising.
"_Cer_tainly!"
"Differences below stairs, I find, require prompt action."
"I fancy you have oceans of executive ability," declared Louise, warmly.
"That Orphans' Home affair--I hear you managed it tre_men_dously!"
"No! No!"
"Really, my dear,"--it was the other woman--"to be _quite_ frank, we
must confess that we haven't missed you! We've been enjoying our glimpse
of the nursery."
"It's simply _lovely!_" cried Louise.
"And what a perfectly sweet dressing-table!"
"Have you seen my little daughter?--Thomas!"
"Yes, Madam."
"There's a draught coming from somewhere--"
"It's the side window, Madam."
Instinctively Gwendolyn flattened herself against the wood-work at her
back.
Three or four steps brought Thomas across the floor. Then his two big
hands appeared high up on the hangings. The next moment, the hands
parted, sweeping the curtains with them.
To escape detection was impossible. A quick thought made Gwendolyn
raise a face upon which was a forced expression that bore only a faint
resemblance to a smile.
"Boo!" she said, jumping out at him.
Startled, he fell back. "Why, Miss Gwendolyn!"
"Gwendolyn?" repeated her mother, surprised. "Why, what were you doing
there, darling?"
"_Gwendolyn!_"--this in a faint gasp from both visitors.
Gwendolyn came slowly forward. She did not raise her eyes; only
curtsied.
"So _this_ is your little daughter!" A gloved hand was reached out, and
Gwendolyn was drawn forward. "How _cunning!_"
Gwendolyn recognized the voice of Louise. Now, she looked up. And saw a
pleasant face, young, but not so pretty as her mother's. She shook
hands bashfully. Then shook again with an older woman, whose plain
countenance was dimly familiar. After which, giving a sudden little
bound, and putting up eager arms, she was caught to her mother.
"My baby!"
"_Moth-er!_"
Cheek caressed cheek.
"She's six, isn't she, my dear?" asked the plain, elderly one.
"Oh, she's seven." A soft hand stroked the yellow hair.
"As much as that? Really?"
The inference was not lost upon Gwendolyn. She tightened her embrace.
And turning her head on her mother's breast, looked frank resentment.
The visitors were not watching her. They were exchanging glances--and
smiles, faint and uneasy. Slowly now they began to move toward the hall
door, which stood open. Beside it, waiting with an impressive air, was
Miss Royle.
"I think we must go, Louise."
"Oh, we must,"--quickly. "Dear me! I'd almost forgot! We've promised to
lunch with one or two people down-town."
"I wish you were lunching here," said Gwendolyn's mother. She freed
herself gently from the clinging arms and followed the two. "Miss Royle,
will you take Gwendolyn?"
As the governess promptly advanced, with a half-bow, and a set smile
that was like a grimace, Gwendolyn raised a face tense with earnestness.
Until half an hour before, her whole concern had been for herself. But
now! To fail to grow up, to have her long-cherished hopes come short of
fulfillment--that was _one_ thing. To know that her mother and father
had real and serious troubles of their own, that was another!
"Oh, moth-er! Don't _you_ go!"
"Mother must tell the ladies good-by."
"What touching affection!" It was the elder of the visiting pair.
Miss Royle assented with a simper.
"Will you come back?" urged Gwendolyn, dropping her voice. "Oh, I want
to see you"--darting a look sidewise--"all by myself."
There was a wheel and a flutter at the door--another silent exchange of
comment, question and exclamation, all mingled eloquently. Then Louise
swept back.
"What a bright child!" she enthused. "Does she speak French?"
"She is acquiring two tongues at present," answered Gwendolyn's mother
proudly, "--French and German."
"_Splendid!_" It was the elder woman. "I think every little girl should
have those. And later on, I suppose, Greek and Latin?"
"I've thought of Spanish and Italian."
"_Eventually_," informed Miss Royle, with a conscious, sinuous shift
from foot to foot, "Gwendolyn will have _seven_ tongues at her command."
"How _chic!_" Once more the gloved hand was extended--to pat the
pink-satin hair-bow.
Gwendolyn accepted the pat stolidly. Her eyes were fixed on her mother's
face.
Now, the elder of the strangers drew closer. "I wonder," she began,
addressing her hostess with almost a coy air, "if we could induce _you_
to take lunch with us down-town. Wouldn't that be jolly,
Louise?"--turning.
"_Awfully_ jolly!"
"_Do_ come!"
"Oh, _do_!"
"Moth-er!"
Gwendolyn's mother looked down. A sudden color was mounting to her
cheeks. Her eyes shone.
"We-e-ell," she said, with rising inflection.
It was acceptance.
Gwendolyn stepped back the pink muslin in a nervous grasp at either
side. "Oh, _won't_ you stay?" she half-whispered.
"Mother'll see you at dinnertime, darling. Tell Jane, Miss Royle."
A bow.
Louise led the way quickly, followed by the elderly lady. Gwendolyn's
mother came last. A bronze gate slid between the three and Gwendolyn,
watching them go. The cage lowered noiselessly, with a last glimpse of
upturned faces and waving hands.
Gwendolyn, lips pouting, crossed toward the school-room door. The door
was slightly ajar. She gave it a smart pull.
A kneeling figure rose from behind it. It was Jane, who greeted her with
a nervous, and somewhat apprehensive grin.
"I was waitin' to jump out at Miss Royle and give her a scare when she'd
come through," she explained.
Gwendolyn said nothing.