She moved her head from side to side slowly. And felt the cool touch of
the pillow against either cheek. Then she tried to lift her arms; but
found that one hand was still in a big grasp, the other in a clasp that
was softer.
Little by little, and with effort, she opened her gray eyes. In the
dimness she could see, to her left, scarcely more than an outline of a
dark-clad figure, stooped and watchful; of that other slender figure
opposite. After all the fatigue and worry of the night, her father and
mother were with her yet! And someone was standing at the foot of her
bed, leaning and looking down at her. That was the Doctor.
She lay very still. This was a novel experience, this having both
father and mother in the nursery at the same time--and plainly in no
haste to depart! The heaviness of deep sleep was gradually leaving her.
Yet she forbore to speak; and as each moment went she dreaded the
passing of it, lest her wonderful new happiness come to an end.
Presently she ventured a look around--at the pink-tinted ceiling, with
its cluster of full-blown plaster roses out of which branched the
chandelier; at the walls of soft rose, met here and there by the deeper
rose of the brocade hangings; at the plushy rug, the piano, the large
table--now scattered with an unusual assortment of bottles and glasses;
at the dresser, crystal-topped and strewn daintily, the deep upholstered
chair, and the long cushioned seat across the front window, over which,
strangely enough, no dome-topped cage was swinging.
And there was the tall toy-case. The shelves of it were unchanged. On
that one below the line of prettily clad dolls were the toys she favored
most--the black-and-red top, the handsome soldier in the scarlet coat,
the jointed snake beside its pipe-like box, and the somersault man,
poised heels over head. Beyond these, ranged in a buff row, were the six
small ducks acquired at Easter. She gave each plaything a keen glance.
They reminded her vividly of the long busy night just past!
Her small nose wrinkled in a quizzical smile.
At that the three waiting figures stirred.
Her look came back to them, to rest first upon her father's face, noting
how long and pale and haggard it was, how sunken the temples, how
bloodless the tightly pressed lips, how hollow the unshaven cheeks. When
she turned to gaze at her mother, as daintily clad as ever, and as
delicately perfumed--showing no evidence of dusty travel--she saw how
pitifully pale was that dear beautiful face. But the eyes were no longer
proud!--only anxious, tender and purple-shadowed.
Next, Gwendolyn lifted her eyes to the Doctor, and felt suddenly
conscience-stricken, remembering how she had always dreaded him, had
taken the mere thought of his coming as punishment; remembering, too,
how helpful and kind he had been to her through the night.
He began to speak, low and earnestly, and as if continuing something
already half said:
"Pardon my bluntness, but it's a bad thing when there's too much money
spent on forcing the brain before the body is given a chance--or the
soul. Does a child get food that is simple and nourishing, and enough of
it? Is all exercise taken in the open? Too often, I find, where there's
a motor at the beck and call of a nurse, the child in her charge is
utterly cut off--and in the period of quickest growth--from a normal
supply of plain walking. Every boy and girl has a right" (his voice
deepened with feeling) "to the great world out of doors. Let the warm
sun, and the fresh air, and God's good earth--"
Gwendolyn moved. "Is--is he praying?" she whispered.
There was a moment of silence. Then, "No, daughter," answered her
father, while her mother leaned to lay a gentle hand on her forehead.
The Doctor went aside to the larger table and busied himself with some
bottles. When he came back, her father lifted her head a trifle by
lifting the pillow--her mother rising quickly to assist--and the Doctor
put a glass to Gwendolyn's lips. She drank dutifully, and was lowered.
At once she felt stronger. "Is the sun up?" she asked. Her voice was
weak, and somewhat hoarse.
"Would you like to see the sky?" asked her father. And without waiting
for her eager nod, crossed to the front window and drew aside the heavy
silk hangings.
Serenely blue was the long rectangle framed by curtains and casing.
Across it not a single fat sheep was straying.
"Moth-er!"
"Yes, darling?"
"Is--is always the same piece of Heaven right there through the window?"
"No. The earth is turning all the time--just as your globe in the
school-room turns. And so each moment you see a new square of sky."
The Doctor nodded with satisfaction. "Um! Better, aren't we?" he
inquired, smiling down.
She returned the smile. "Well, _I_ am," she declared. "But--I didn't
know you felt bad."
He laughed. "Tell me something," he went on. "I sent a bottle of
medicine here yesterday."
"Yes. It was a little bottle."
"How much of it did Jane give you? Can you remember?"
"Well, first she poured out one teaspoonful--"
The Doctor had been leaning again on the foot of the white-and-gold bed.
Now he fell back of a sudden. "A _teaspoonful!_" he gasped. And to
Gwendolyn's father, "Why, that wretched girl didn't read the directions
on the bottle!"
There was another silence. The two men stared at each other. But
Gwendolyn's mother, her face paler than before, bent above the yellow
head on the pillow.
"After I drank _that_ teaspoonful," went on Gwendolyn, "Jane wouldn't
believe me. And so she made me take the other."
"_Another!_"--it was the Doctor once more. He pressed a trembling hand
to his forehead.
Her father rose angrily. "She shall be punished," he declared. And began
to walk to and fro. "I won't let this pass."
Gwendolyn's look followed him tenderly. "Well, you see, she didn't know
about--about nursery work," she explained. "'Cause before she came here
she was just a cook."
"Oh, my baby daughter!" murmured Gwendolyn's mother, brokenly. She bent
forward until her face was hidden against the silken cover of the bed.
"Mother didn't know you were being neglected! She thought she was giving
you the _best_ of care, dear!"
"Two spoonfuls!" said the Doctor, grimly. "That explains everything!"
"Oh, but I didn't want to take the last one," protested Gwendolyn,
hastily, "--though it tasted good. She made me. She said if I didn't--"
"So!" exclaimed the Doctor, interrupting. "She frightened the poor
little helpless thing in order to get obedience!"
"Gwendolyn!" whispered her mother. "She _frightened_ you?"
The gray eyes smiled wisely. "It doesn't matter now," she said, a hint
of triumph in her voice. "I've found out that P'licemen are nice. And
so are--are Doctors"--she dimpled and nodded. "And all the bears in the
world that are outside of cages are just Puffy Bears grown up." Then
uncertainly, "But I didn't find out about--the other."
"What other?" asked her father, pausing in his walk.
The gray eyes were diamond-bright now. "Though I don't _really_ believe
it," she hastened to add. "But--_do_ wicked men keep watch of this
house."
"_Wicked men?_" Her mother suddenly straightened.
"Kidnapers."
This innocent statement had an unexpected effect. Again her father began
to stride up and down angrily, while her mother, head drooping once
more, began to weep.
"Oh, mother didn't know!" she sobbed. "Mother didn't guess what
terrible things were happening! Oh, forgive her! Forgive her!"
The Doctor came to her side. "Too much excitement for the patient," he
reminded her. "Don't you think you'd better go and lie down for a while,
and have a little rest?"
A startled look. And Gwendolyn put out a staying hand to her mother.
Then--"Moth-er _is_ tired," she assented. "She's tireder than I am.
'Cause it was hard work going round and round Robin Hood's Barn."
The Doctor hunted a small wrist and felt the pulse in it. "That's all
right," he said to her mother in an undertone. "Everything's still
pretty real to her, you see. But her pulse is normal," He laid cool
fingers across her forehead. "Temperature's almost normal too."
Gwendolyn felt that she had not made herself altogether clear. She
hastened to explain. "I mean," she said, "when moth-er was carrying that
society bee in her bonnet."
Confusion showed in the Doctor's quick glance from parent to parent.
Then, "I think I'll just drop down into the pantry," he said hastily,
"and see how that young nurse from over yonder is getting along." He
jerked a thumb in the direction of the side window as he went out.
Gwendolyn wondered just who the young nurse was. She opened her lips to
ask; then saw how painfully her mother had colored at the mere mention
of the person in question, and so kept silence.
The Doctor gone, her father came to her mother's side and patted a
shoulder. "Well, we shan't ever say anything more about that bee," he
declared, laughing, yet serious enough. "_Shall_ we, Gwendolyn!"
"No." She blinked, puzzling over it a little.
"There! It's settled." He bent and kissed his wife. "You thought you
were doing the best thing for our little girl--_I_ know that, dear. You
had her future in mind. And it's natural--and _right_--for a mother to
think of making friends--the right kind, too--and a place in the social
world for her daughter. And I've been short-sighted, and neglectful,
and--"
"Ah!" She raised wet eyes to him. "You had your worries. You were doing
_more_ than your share. You had to meet the question of money. While
I--"
He interrupted her. "We _both_ thought we were doing our very best," he
declared.
"We almost did our worst! Oh, what would it all have amounted to--what
would _anything_ have mattered--if we'd lost our little girl!"
The pink came rushing to Gwendolyn's cheeks. "Why, I wasn't lost at
all!" she declared happily. "And, oh, it was so good to have my
questions all answered, and understand so many things I didn't once--and
to be where all the put-out lights go, and--and where soda-water comes
from. And I was _so_ glad to get rid of Thomas and Jane and Miss Royle,
and--"
The hall-door opened. She checked herself to look that way. Someone was
entering with a tray. It was a maid--_a maid wearing a sugar-bowl cap_.
Gwendolyn knew her instantly--that pretty face, as full and rosy as the
face of the French doll, and framed by saucy wisps and curls as fair as
Gwendolyn's own--and freckleless!
"Oh!" It was a low cry of delight.
The nurse smiled. She had a tray in one hand. On the tray was a blue
bowl of something steaming hot. She set the tray down and came to the
bed-side.
Gwendolyn's eyes were wide with wonder. "How--how--?" she began.
Her mother answered. "Jane called down to the Policeman, and he ran to
the house on the corner."
Now the dimples sprang into place, "Goody!" exclaimed Gwendolyn, and
gave a little chuckle.
Her mother went on: "We never can feel grateful enough to her, because
she was such a help. And we're so glad you're friends already."
Gwendolyn nodded. "She's one of my window-friends," she explained.
"I'm going to stay with you," said the nurse. She smoothed Gwendolyn's
hair fondly. "Will you like that?"
"It's fine! I--I wanted you!"
The Doctor re-entered. "Well, how does our sharp little patient feel
now?" he inquired.
"I feel hungry."
"I have some broth for you," announced the pretty nurse, and brought
forward the tray.
Gwendolyn looked down at the bowl. "M-m-m!" she breathed. "It smells
good! Now"--to the Doctor--"if I had one of your nice bread-pills--"
At that, curiously enough, everyone laughed, the Doctor heartiest of
all. And "Hush!" chided her mother gently while the Doctor shook a
teasing finger.
"Just for that," said he, "we'll have eating--and _no_ conversation--for
five whole minutes." Whereupon he began to scribble on a pad, laughing
to himself every now and then as he wrote.
"That must be a cheerful prescription," observed Gwendolyn's father. He
himself looking happier than he had.
"The country," answered the Doctor, "is always cheerful."
Gwendolyn's spoon slipped from her fingers. She lifted eager, shining
eyes. "Moth-er," she half-whispered, "does the Doctor mean _Johnnie
Blake's?_"
The Doctor assented energetically. "I _prescribe_ Johnnie Blake's," he
declared.
"A-a-ah!" It was a deep breath of happiness. "I _promised_ Johnnie that
I'd come back!"
"But if my little daughter isn't strong--" Her father gave a sidewise
glance at the steaming bowl on the tray.
Thus prompted, Gwendolyn fell to eating once more, turning her
attention to the _croutons_ bobbing about on the broth Each was square
and crunchy, but not so brown as a bread-pill.
"I shall now read my Johnnie Blake prescription," announced the Doctor,
and held up a leaf from the pad. "Hm! Hm!" Then, in a business-like
tone; "_Take two pairs of sandals, a dozen cheap gingham dresses with
plenty of pockets and extra pieces for patches, and a bottle of
something good for wild black-berry scratches_." He bowed. "_Mix all
together with one strong medium-sized garden-hoe_--"
"Oh, fath-er," cried Gwendolyn, her hoarse voice wistful with pleading,
"_you_ won't mind if I play with Johnnie, _will_ you?"
"Play all the time," answered her father. "Play hard--and then play
some more."
"He _isn't_ a common little boy." Whereupon, satisfied, she returned to
the blue bowl.
"And now," went on the Doctor, "as to directions." He held up other
leaves from the pad. "First week (you'll have to go easy the first
week), use the prescription each day as follows; When driving; also when
lying on back watching birds in trees (and have a nap out of doors if
you feel like it); also when lighting the fire at sundown. Nurse, here,
will watch out for fingers."
At that, another pleased little chuckle.
"Second week:" (the Doctor coughed, importantly) "When riding your own
fat pony, or chasing butterflies--assisted by one good-natured, common,
ordinary, long-haired dog; or when fishing (stream or bath-tub, it
doesn't matter!) or carrying kindling in to Cook--whether you're tired
or not!"
"I _love_ it!"
"Third week: When baking mudpies, or gathering ferns (but put 'em in
water when you get home); when jaunting in old wagon to hay-field,
orchard or vegetable-patch--this includes tomboy yelling. And go
barefoot."
Gwendolyn's spoon, _crouton_-laden, wabbled in mid-air. "Go _barefoot?_"
she repeated, small face flushing to a pleased pink. "Right _away?_
Before I'm eight?"
"Um!" assented the Doctor. "And shin up trees (but don't disturb eggs if
you find 'em). Also do barefoot gardening,--where there isn't a plant to
hurt! _And wade the creek_."
Again the dimples came rushing to their places. "I like squashing," she
declared, smiling round.
"Then isn't there a hill to climb?" continued the Doctor, "with your hat
down your back on a string? And stones to roll--?"
The small face grew suddenly serious. "No, thank you," she said, with a
slow shake of the head, "I'd rather not turn any stones."
"Very well--hm! hm!"
"Oh, and there'll be jolly times of an evening after supper," broke in
her father, enthusiastically. The stern lines of his face were relaxed,
and a score of tiny ripples were carrying a smile from his mouth to his
tired eyes. "We'll light all the candles--"
"Daddy!" She relinquished the bowl, and turned to him swiftly. "Not--not
candles that burn at both ends--"
"No." He stopped smiling.
"You're a wise little body!" pronounced the Doctor, taking her hand.
"How's the pulse now?" asked her mother. "Somehow"--with a nervous
little laugh--"she makes me anxious."
"Normal," answered the Doctor promptly. "Only thing that isn't normal
about her is that busy brain, which is abnormally bright." Thereupon he
shook the small hand he was holding, strode to the table, and picked up
a leather-covered case. It was black, and held a number of bottles. In
no way did it resemble the pill-basket. "And if a certain person is to
leave for the country soon--"
Gwendolyn's smile was knowing. "You mean 'a certain party.'" He was
trying to tease her with that old nursery name!
"--She'd better rest. Good-by." And with that mild advice, he beckoned
the nurse to follow him, whispered with her a moment at the door, and
was gone.
Gwendolyn's father resumed his place beside the bed. "She _can_ rest,"
he declared, "--the blessed baby! Not a governess or a teacher is to
show as much as a hat-feather."
She nodded. "We don't want 'em quacking around."
Someone tapped at the door then, and entered--Rosa, bearing a card-tray
upon which were two square bits of pasteboard. "To see Madam," she said,
presenting the tray. After which she showed her white teeth in greeting
to Gwendolyn, then stooped, and touched an open palm with her lips.
Gwendolyn's mother read the cards, and shook her head. "Tell the
ladies--explain that I can't leave my little daughter even for a moment
to-day--"
"Oh, yes, Madam."
"And that we're leaving for the country _very_ soon."
Rosa bobbed her dark head as she backed away.
"And, Rosa--"
"Yes, Madam?"
"You know what I need in the country--where we were before."
A bow.
"Pack, Rosa. And you will go, of course."
"And Potter, Madam?"
"Potter, too. You'll have to pack a few things up here also." A white
hand indicated the wardrobe door.
"Very well, Madam."
As the door closed, the telephone rang. Gwendolyn's father rose to
answer it. "I think it's the office, dear," he explained; and into the
transmitter--"Yes?... Hello?... Yes. Good-morning!... Oh, thanks! She's
better.... And by the way, just close out that line of stocks. Yes.... I
shan't be back in the office for some time. I'm leaving for the country
as soon as Gwendolyn can stand the trip. To-morrow, maybe, or the next
day.... No; don't go into the market until I come back. I intend to
reconstruct my policy a good deal. Yes.... Oh, yes.... Good-by."
He went to the front window. And as he stood in the light, Gwendolyn lay
and looked at him. He had worn green the night before. But now there was
not a vestige of paper money showing anywhere in his dress. In fact, he
was wearing the suit--a dark blue--he had worn that night she penetrated
to the library.
"Fath-er."
"Well, little daughter?"
"I was wondering has anybody scribbled on the General's horse?--with
chalk?"
Her father looked down at the Drive. "The General's there!" he
announced, glancing back at her over a shoulder. "And his horse seems in
_fine_ fettle this morning, prancing, and arching his neck. And nobody's
scribbled on him, which seems to please the General very much, for he's
got his hat off--"
Gwendolyn sat up, her eyes rounding. "To hundreds and hundreds of
soldiers!" she told her mother. "Only everybody can't see the soldiers."
Her father came back to her. "_I_ can," he declared proudly. "Do you
want to see 'em, too?--just a glimpse, mother! Come! We'll play the game
together!" And the next moment, silk coverlet and all, Gwendolyn was
swung up in his arms and borne to the window-seat.
"And, oh, there's the P'liceman!" she cried out.
"His name is Flynn," informed her father. "And _twice_ this morning he's
asked after you."
"Oh!" she stood up among the cushions to get a better view. "He takes
lost little boys and girls to their fath-ers and moth-ers, daddy, and he
takes care of the trees, and the flowers, and the fountains, and--- and
the ob'lisk. But he only likes it up here in summer. In winter he likes
to be Down-Town. And he _ought_ to be Down-Town, 'cause he's got a
_really_ level head--"
"Wave to him now," said her father. "There! He's swinging his
cap!--When we're out walking one of these times we'll stop and shake
hands with him!"
"With the hand-organ man, too, fath-er? Oh, you like him, _don't_ you?
And you won't send him away!"
"Father won't."
He laid her back among the pillows then. And she turned her face to her
mother.
"Can't you sleep, darling?--And don't dream!"
"Well, I'm pretty tired."
"We know what a hard long night it was."
"Oh, I'm _so_ glad we're going back to Johnnie Blake's, moth-er. 'Cause,
oh, I'm tired of pretending!"
"Of pretending," said her father. "Ah, yes."
Her mother nodded at him. "I'm tired of pretending, too," she said in a
low voice.
Gwendolyn looked pleased. "I didn't know you ever pretended," she said.
"Well, of course, you know that _real_ things are so much nicer--"
"Ah, yes, my little girl!" It was her father. His voice trembled.
"Real grass,"--she smiled up at him--"and real trees, and real people."
After that, for a while, she gave herself over to thinking. How
wonderful that one single night could bring about the changes for which
she had so longed!--the living in the country; the eating at the
grown-up table, and having no governess.
One full busy night had done all that! And yet--
She glanced down at herself. Under her pink chin was the lace and ribbon
of a night-dress. She could not remember being put to bed--could not
even recall coming up in the bronze cage. And was the plaid gingham with
the patch-pocket now hanging in the wardrobe? Brows knit, she slipped
one small foot sidewise until it was close to the edge of the
bed-covers, then of a sudden thrust it out from beneath them. The foot
was as white as if it had only just been bathed! Not a sign did it show
of having waded any stream, pattered through mud, or trudged a forest
road!
Presently, "Moth-er,"--sleepily.
"Yes, darling?"
"_Who_ are Law and Order?"
A moment's silence. Then, "Well--er--"
"Isn't it a fath-er-and-moth-er question?"
"Why, _yes_, my baby. But I--"
"Father will tell you, dear." He was seated beside her once more. "You
see it's this way:"
"Can you tell it like a story, fath-er?"
"Yes."
"A once-upon-a-time story?"
"I'll try. But first you must understand that law and order are not two
people. Oh, no. And they aren't anything a little girl could see--as she
can see the mirror, for instance, or a chair--"
Gwendolyn looked at the mirror and the chair--thence around the room.
These were the same things that had been there all the time. Now how
different each appeared! There was the bed, for instance. She had never
liked the bed, beautiful though it was. Yet to-day, even with the sun
shining on the great panes of the wide front window, it seemed good to
be lying in it. And the nursery, once a hated place--a very
prison!--the nursery had never looked lovelier!
Her father went on with his explaining, low and cheerily, and as
confidentially as if to a grown-up. Across from him, listening, was her
mother, one soft cheek lowered to rest close to the small face
half-hidden in the pillow.
When her father finished speaking, Gwendolyn gave a deep breath--of
happiness and content. Then, "Moth-er!"
"Yes?"--with a kiss as light as the touch of a butterfly.
Her eyelids, all at once, seemed curiously heavy. She let them flutter
down. But a drowsy smile curved the pink mouth. "Moth-er," she
whispered; "moth-er, the Dearest Pretend has come true!"
End of Project Gutenberg's The Poor Little Rich Girl, by Eleanor Gates