Carol and Elizabeth got on very well together. Shirley was amazed to
see the ease with which her sister entered into this new relation,
unawed by the garments of her hostess. Carol had more of the modern
young America in her than Shirley, perhaps, whose early life had been
more conventionally guarded. Carol was democratic, and, strange to
say, felt slightly superior to Elizabeth on account of going to a
public school. The high-school girls were in the habit of referring to
a neighboring boarding-school as "Dummy's Retreat"; and therefore Carol
was not at all awed by the other girl, who declared in a friendly
manner that she had always been crazy to go to the public school, and
asked rapid intelligent questions about the doings there. Before they
were out of the city limits the two girls were talking a steady stream,
and one could see from their eyes that they liked each other. Shirley,
relieved, settled back on the comfortable cushions, and let herself
rest and relax. She tried to think how it would feel to own a car like
this and be able to ride around when she wanted to.
On the front seat George and Graham were already excellent friends, and
George was gaining valuable information about running a car, which he
had ample opportunity to put into practice as soon as they got outside
the crowded thoroughfares.
They were perhaps half-way to the old barn and running smoothly on an
open road, with no one in sight a long way ahead, when Graham turned
back to Shirley, leaving George to run the car for a moment himself.
The boy's heart swelled with gratitude and utmost devotion to be thus
trusted. Of course there wasn't anything to do but keep things just as
he had been told, but this man realized that he would do it and not
perform any crazy, daring action to show off. George set himself to be
worthy of this trust. To be sure, young Graham had a watchful eye upon
things, and was taking no chances; but he let the boy feel free, and
did not make him aware of his espionage, which is a course of action
that will win any boy to give the best that is in him to any
responsibility, if he has any best at all.
It was not the kind of conversation that one would expect between
landlord and tenant that the young girl and the man carried on in these
brief sentences now and then. He called her attention to the soft
green tint that was spreading over the tree-tops more distinctly than
the day before; to the lazy little clouds floating over the blue; to
the tinting of the fields, now taking on every hour new colors; to the
perfume in the air. So with pleasantness of passage they arrived at
last at the old barn.
Like a pack of eager children they tumbled out of the car and hurried
up to the barn, all talking at once, forgetting all difference in
station. They were just young and out on a picnic.
Graham had brought a key for the big padlock; and clumsily the man and
the boy, unused to such manoeuvres, unlocked and shoved back the two
great doors.
"These doors are too heavy. They should have ball bearings," remarked
young Graham. "I'll attend to that at once. They should be made to
move with a light touch. I declare it doesn't pay to let property lie
idle without a tenant, there are so many little things that get
neglected."
He walked around with a wise air as if he had been an active landowner
for years, though indeed he was looking at everything with strange,
ignorant eyes. His standard was a home where every detail was perfect,
and where necessities came and vanished with the need. This was his
first view into the possibilities of "being up against it," as he
phrased it in his mind.
Elizabeth in her blue velvet cloak and blue cloudy veil stood like a
sweet fairy in the wide doorway, and looked around with delight.
"Oh Sid, wouldn't this be just a dandy place for a party?" she
exclaimed eagerly. "You could put the orchestra over in that corner
behind a screen of palms, and decorate with gray Florida moss and
asparagus vine with daffodils wired on in showers from the beams, and
palms all around the walls, and colored electrics hidden everywhere.
You could run a wire in from the street, couldn't you? the way they did
at Uncle Andy's, and serve the supper out on the lawn with little
individual rustic tables. Brower has them, and brings them out with
rustic chairs to match. You could have the tree wired, too, and have
colored electrics all over the place. Oh! wouldn't it be just
heavenly? Say, Sid, Carol says they are coming out here to live,
maybe; why couldn't we give them a party like that for a house-warming?"
Sidney Graham looked at his eager, impractical young sister and then at
the faces of the three Hollisters, and tried not to laugh as the
tremendous contrast of circumstances was presented to him. But his
rare tact served him in good stead.
"Why, Elizabeth, that would doubtless be very delightful; but Miss
Hollister tells me her mother has been quite ill, and I'm sure, while
that might be the happiest thing imaginable for you young folks, it
would be rather trying on an invalid. I guess you'll have to have your
parties somewhere else for the present."
"Oh!" said Elizabeth with quick recollection, "of course! They told me
about their mother. How thoughtless of me! But it would be lovely,
wouldn't it, Miss Hollister? Can't you see it?"
She turned in wistful appeal to Shirley, and that young woman, being a
dreamer herself, at once responded with a radiant smile:
"Indeed I can, and it would be lovely indeed, but I've been thinking
what a lovely home it could be made, too."
"Yes?" said Elizabeth questioningly, and looking around with a dubious
frown. "It would need a lot of changing, I should think. You would
want hardwood floors, and lots of rugs, and some partitions and
windows----"
"Oh, no," said Shirley, laughing. "We're not hardwood people, dear;
we're just plain hard-working people; and all we need is a quiet, sweet
place to rest in. It's going to be just heavenly here, with that tree
outside to shade the doorway, and all this wide space to walk around
in. We live in a little narrow city house now, and never have any
place to get out except the street. We'll have the birds and the brook
for orchestra, and we won't need palms, because the trees and vines
will soon be in leaf and make a lovely screen for our orchestra. I
imagine at night the stars will have almost as many colors as
electrics."
Elizabeth looked at her with puzzled eyes, but half convinced.
"Well, yes, perhaps they would," she said, and smiled. "I've never
thought of them that way, but it sounds very pretty, quite like some of
Browning's poetry that I don't understand, or was it Mrs. Browning? I
can't quite remember."
Sidney Graham, investigating the loft above them, stood a moment
watching the tableau and listening to the conversation, though they
could not see him; and he thought within himself that it might not be a
bad thing for his little sister, with her boarding-school rearing, to
get near to these true-hearted young working people, who yet were
dreamers and poets, and get her standards somewhat modified by theirs.
He was especially delighted with the gentle, womanly way in which
Shirley answered the girl now when she thought herself alone with her.
George and Carol had grasped hold of hands and run wildly down the
slope to the brook after a most casual glance at the interior of the
barn. Elizabeth now turned her dainty high-heeled boots in the brook's
direction, and Shirley was left alone to walk the length and breadth of
her new abode and make some real plans.
The young man in the dim loft above watched her for a moment as she
stood looking from one wall to the other, measuring distances with her
eye, walking quickly over to the window and rubbing a clear space on
the dusty pane with her handkerchief that she might look out. She was
a goodly sight, and he could not help comparing her with the girls he
knew, though their garments would have far outshone hers. Still, even
in the shabby dark-blue serge suit she seemed lovely.
The young people returned as precipitately as they had gone, and both
Carol and George of their own accord joined Shirley in a brief council
of war. Graham thoughtfully called his sister away, ostensibly to
watch a squirrel high in the big tree, but really to admonish her about
making no further propositions like that for the party, as the young
people to whom he had introduced her were not well off, and had no
money or time for elaborate entertainments.
"But they're lovely, Sid, aren't they? Don't you like them just
awfully? I know you do, or you wouldn't have taken the trouble to
bring them out here in the car with us. Say, you'll bring me to see
them often after they come here to live, won't you?"
"Perhaps," said her brother smilingly. "But hadn't you better wait
until they ask you?"
"Oh, they'll ask me," said Elizabeth with a charming smile and a
confident little toss of her head. "I'll make them ask me."
"Be careful, kid," he said, still smiling. "Remember, they won't have
much money to offer you entertainment with, and probably their things
are very plain and simple. You may embarrass them if you invite
yourself out."
Elizabeth raised her azure eyes to her brother's face thoughtfully for
a moment, then smiled back confidently once more.
"Don't you worry, Sid, dear; there's more than one way. I won't hurt
their feelings, but they're going to ask me, and they're going to want
me, and I'm going to come. Yes, and you're going to bring me!"
She turned with a laughing pirouette, and danced down the length of the
barn to Carol, catching her hand and whirling her after her in a
regular childish frolic.
"Well, do you think we ought to take it? Do you think I dare give my
final word without consulting mother?" Shirley asked her brother when
they were thus left alone for a minute.
"Sure thing! No mistake! It's simply _great_. You couldn't get a
place like this if you went the length and breadth of the city and had
a whole lot more money than you have to spend."
"But remember it's a barn!" said Shirley impressively. "Mother may
mind that very much."
"Not when she sees it," said Carol, whirling back to the consultation.
"She'll think it's the sensiblest thing we ever did. She isn't foolish
like that. We'll tell her we've found a place to camp with a shanty
attached, and she can't be disappointed. I think it'll be great. Just
think how Doris can run in the grass!"
"Yes," put in George. "I was telling Carol down by the spring--before
that _girl_ came and stopped us--I think we might have some chickens
and raise eggs. Harley could do that, and Carol and I could raise
flowers, and I could take 'em to town in the morning. I could work
evenings."
Shirley smiled. She almost felt like shouting that they agreed with
her. The place seemed so beautiful, so almost heavenly to her when she
thought of the close, dark quarters at home and the summer with its
heat coming on.
"We couldn't keep a lodger, and we'd have that much less," said Shirley
thoughtfully.
"But we wouldn't have their laundry nor their room-work to do," said
Carol, "and I could have that much more time for the garden and
chickens."
"You mustn't count on being able to make much that way," said Shirley
gravely. "You know nothing about gardening, and would probably make a
lot of mistakes at first, anyway."
"I can make fudge and sandwiches, and take them to school to sell,"
declared Carol stoutly; "and I'll find out how to raise flowers and
parsley and little things people have to have. Besides, there's
watercress down by that brook, and people like that. We could sell
that."
"Well, we'll see," said Shirley thoughtfully, "but you mustn't get up
too many ideas yet. If we can only get moved and mother is satisfied,
I guess we can get along. The rent is only ten dollars."
"Good _night_! That's cheap enough!" said George, and drew a long
whistle. Then, seeing Elizabeth approaching, he put on an indifferent
air, and sauntered to the dusty window at the other end of the barn.
Sidney Graham appeared now, and took Shirley over to the east end to
ask her just where she thought would be a good place to put the
partition, and did she think it would be a good thing to have another
one at the other end just like it? And so they stood and planned,
quite as if Shirley were ordering a ten-thousand-dollar alteration put
into her ten-dollar barn. Then suddenly the girl remembered her fears;
and, looking straight up into the interested face of the young man, she
asked earnestly:
"You are sure you were going to put in these partitions? You are not
making any change on my account? Because I couldn't think of allowing
you to go to any trouble or expense, you know."
Her straightforward look embarrassed him.
"Why, I----" he said, growing a little flushed. "Why, you see I hadn't
been out to look things over before. I didn't realize how much better
it would be to have those in, you know. But now I intend to do it
right away. Father put the whole thing in my hands to do as I pleased.
In fact, the place is mine now, and I want to put it in good shape to
rent. So don't worry yourself in the least. Things won't go to wrack
and ruin so quickly, you know, if there is someone on the place."
He finished his sentence briskly. It seemed quite plausible even to
himself now, and he searched about for a change of topic.
"You think you can get on here with the rough floor? You might put
padding or something under your carpets, you know, but it will take
pretty large carpets----" He looked at her dubiously. To his
conventional mind every step of the way was blocked by some impassable
barrier. He did not honestly see how she was going to do the thing at
all.
"Oh, we don't need carpets!" laughed Shirley gayly. "We'll spread down
a rug in front of mother's bed, and another one by the piano, and the
rest will be just perfectly all right. We're not expecting to give
receptions here, you know," she added mischievously. "We're only
campers, and very grateful campers at that, too, to find a nice, clean,
empty floor where we can live. The only thing that is troubling me is
the cooking. I've been wondering if it will affect the insurance if we
use an oil-stove to cook with, or would you rather we got a wood-stove
and put the pipe out of one of the windows? I've seen people do that
sometimes. Of course we could cook outdoors on a camp-fire if it was
necessary, but it might be a little inconvenient rainy days."
Graham gasped at the coolness with which this slip of a girl discoursed
about hardships as if they were necessities to be accepted pleasantly
and without a murmur. She actually would not be daunted at the idea of
cooking her meals on a fire out-of-doors! Cooking indeed! That was of
course a question that people had to consider. It had never been a
question that crossed his mind before. People cooked--how did they
cook? By electricity, gas, coal and wood fires, of course. He had
never considered it a matter to be called in any way serious. But now
he perceived that it was one of the first main things to be looked out
for in a home. He looked down at the waiting girl with a curious
mixture of wonder, admiration, and dismay in his face.
"Why, of course you will need a fire and a kitchen," he said as if
those things usually grew in houses without any help and it hadn't
occurred to him before that they were not indigenous to barns. "Well,
now, I hadn't thought of that. There isn't any chimney here, is there?
H'm! There ought to be a chimney in every barn. It would be better
for the--ah--for the hay, I should think; keep it dry, you know, and
all that sort of thing. And then I should think it might be better for
the animals. I must look into that matter."
"No, Mr. Graham," said Shirley decidedly. "There is no necessity for a
chimney. We can perfectly well have the pipe go through a piece of tin
set in the back window if you won't object, and we can use the little
oil-stove when it's very hot if that doesn't affect the insurance. We
have a gas stove, of course, that we could bring; but there isn't any
gas in a barn."
Graham looked around blankly at the cobwebby walls as if expecting
gas-jets to break forth simultaneously with his wish.
"No, I suppose not," he said, "although I should think there ought to
be. In a _barn_, you know. But I'm sure there will be no objection
whatever to your using any kind of a stove that will work here. This
is a stone barn, you know, and I'm sure it won't affect the insurance.
I'll find out and let you know."
Shirley felt a trifle uneasy yet about those partitions and the low
price of the rent, but somehow the young man had managed to impress her
with the fact that he was under no unpleasant delusions concerning
herself and that he had the utmost respect for her. He stood looking
down earnestly at her for a moment without saying a word, and then he
began hesitatingly.
"I wish you'd let me tell you," he said frankly, "how awfully brave you
are about all this, planning to come out here in this lonely place, and
not being afraid of hard work, and rough floors, and a barn, and even a
fire out-of-doors."
Shirley's laugh rang out, and her eyes sparkled.
"Why, it's the nicest thing that's happened to me in ages," she said
joyously. "I can't hardly believe it's true that we can come here,
that we can really _afford_ to come to a great, heavenly country place
like this. I suppose of course there'll be hard things. There always
are, and some of them have been just about unbearable, but even the
hard things can be made fun if you try. This is going to be grand!"
and she looked around triumphantly on the dusty rafters and rough stone
walls with a little air of possession.
"You are rather"--he paused--"unusual!" he finished thoughtfully as
they walked toward the doorway and stood looking off at the distance.
But now Shirley had almost forgotten him in the excitement of the view.
"Just think of waking up to that every morning," she declared with a
sweep of her little blue-clad arm toward the view in the distance.
"Those purply hills, the fringe of brown and green against the horizon,
that white spire nestling among those evergreens! Is that a church?
Is it near enough for us to go to? Mother wouldn't want us to be too
far from church."
"We'll go home that way and discover," said Graham decidedly. "You'll
want to get acquainted with your new neighborhood. You'll need to know
how near there is a store, and where your neighbors live. We'll
reconnoitre a little. Are you ready to go?"
"Oh, yes. I'm afraid we have kept you too long already, and we must
get home about the time Carol usually comes from school, or mother will
be terribly worried. Carol is never later than half-past four."
"We've plenty of time," said the driver of the car, looking at his
watch and smiling assurance. "Call the children, and we'll take a
little turn around the neighborhood before we go back."
And so the little eager company were reluctantly persuaded to climb
into the car again and start on their way.