The car leaped forward up the smooth white road, and the great barn as
they looked back to it seemed to smile pleasantly to them in farewell.
Shirley looked back, and tried to think how it would seem to come home
every night and see Doris standing at the top of the grassy incline
waiting to welcome her; tried to fancy her mother in a hammock under
the big tree a little later when it grew warm and summery, and the boys
working in their garden. It seemed too heavenly to be true.
The car swept around the corner of Allister Avenue, and curved down
between tall trees. The white spire in the distance drew nearer now,
and the purplish hills were off at one side. The way was fresh with
smells of spring, and everywhere were sweet scents and droning bees and
croaking frogs. The spirit of the day seemed to enter into the young
people and make them glad. Somehow all at once they seemed to have
known one another a long time, and to be intimately acquainted with one
another's tastes and ecstasies. They exclaimed together over the
distant view of the misty city with the river winding on its far way,
and shouted simultaneously over a frightened rabbit that scurried
across the road and hid in the brushwood; and then the car wound round
a curve and the little white church swept into view below them.
"The little white church in the valley
Is bright with the blossoms of May,
And true is the heart of your lover
Who waits for your coming to-day!"
chanted forth George in a favorite selection of the department-store
victrola, and all the rest looked interested. It was a pretty church,
and nestled under the hills as if it were part of the landscape, making
a home-centre for the town.
"We can go to church and Sunday-school there," said Shirley eagerly.
"How nice! That will please mother!"
Elizabeth looked at her curiously, and then speculatively toward the
church.
"It looks awfully small and cheap," said Elizabeth.
"All the more chance for us to help!" said Shirley. "It will be good
for us."
"What could you do to help a church?" asked the wondering Elizabeth.
"Give money to paint it? The paint is all scaling off."
"We couldn't give much money," said Carol, "because we haven't got it.
But there's lots of things to do in a church besides giving. You teach
in Sunday-school, and you wait on table at suppers when they have
Ladies' Aid."
"Maybe they'll ask you to play the organ, Shirley," suggested George.
"Oh George!" reproved Shirley. "They'll have plenty that can play
better than I can. Remember I haven't had time to practise for ages."
"She's a crackerjack at the piano!" confided George to Graham in a low
growl. "She hasn't had a lesson since father died, but before that she
used to be at it all the time. She c'n sing too. You oughtta hear
her."
"I'm sure I should like to," assented Graham heartily. "I wonder if
you will help me get her to sing sometime if I come out to call after
you are settled."
"Sure!" said George heartily, "but she mebbe won't do it. She's awful
nutty about singing sometimes. She's not stuck on herself nor nothing."
But the little white church was left far behind, and the city swept on
apace. They were nearing home now, and Graham insisted on knowing
where they lived, that he might put them down at their door. Shirley
would have pleaded an errand and had them set down in the business part
of the town; but George airily gave the street and number, and Shirley
could not prevail upon Graham to stop at his office and let them go
their way.
And so the last few minutes of the drive were silent for Shirley, and
her cheeks grew rosy with humiliation over the dark little narrow
street where they would presently arrive. Perhaps when he saw it this
cultured young man would think they were too poor and common to be good
tenants even for a barn. But, when they stopped before the little
two-story brick house, you would not have known from the expression on
the young man's face as he glanced at the number but that the house was
a marble front on the most exclusive avenue in the city. He handed
down Shirley with all the grace that he would have used to wait upon a
millionaire's daughter, and she liked the way he helped out Carol and
spoke to George as if he were an old chum.
"I want you to come and see me next Saturday," called Elizabeth to
Carol as the car glided away from the curb; "and I'm coming out to help
you get settled, remember!"
The brother and two sisters stood in front of their little old dark
house, and watched the elegant car glide away. They were filled with
wonder at themselves that they had been all the afternoon a part of
that elegant outfit. Was it a dream? They rubbed their eyes as the
car disappeared around the corner, and turned to look up at the
familiar windows and make sure where they were. Then they stood a
moment to decide how they should explain to the waiting mother why they
happened to be home so early.
It was finally decided that George should go to hunt up a drayman and
find out what he would charge to move their things to the country, and
Shirley should go to a neighbor's to inquire about a stove she heard
they wanted to sell. Then Carol could go in alone, and there would be
nothing to explain. There was no telling when either George or Shirley
would have a holiday again, and it was as well to get these things
arranged as soon as possible.
Meantime Elizabeth Graham was eagerly interviewing her brother, having
taken the vacant front seat for the purpose.
"Sid, where did you find those perfectly dear people? I think they are
just great! And are they really going to live in that barn? Won't
that be dandy? I wish mother'd let me go out and spend a month with
them. I mean to ask her. That Carol is the nicest girl ever. She's
just a dear!"
"Now, look here, kid," said Graham, facing about to his sister. "I
want you to understand a thing or two. I took you on this expedition
because I thought I could trust you. See?"
Elizabeth nodded.
"Well, I don't want a lot of talk at home about this. Do you
understand? I want you to wait a bit and go slow. If things seem to
be all right a little later on, you can ask Carol to come and see you,
perhaps; but you'll have to look out. She hasn't fine clothes to go
visiting in, I imagine, and they're pretty proud. I guess they've lost
their money. Their father died a couple of years ago, and they've been
up against it. They do seem like awfully nice people, I'll admit; and,
if it's all right later on, you can get to be friends, but you'll have
to go slow. Mother wouldn't understand it, and she mustn't be annoyed,
you know. I'll take you out to see them sometime when they get settled
if it seems all right, but meantime can you keep your tongue still?"
Elizabeth's face fell, but she gave her word immediately. She and her
brother were chums; it was easy to see that.
"But can't I have her out for a week-end, Sid? Can't I tell mother
anything about her? I could lend her some dresses, you know."
"You go slow, kid, and leave the matter to me. I'll tell mother about
them pretty soon when I've had a chance to see a little more of them
and am sure mother wouldn't mind. Meantime, don't you fret. I'll take
you out when I go on business, and you shall see her pretty soon again."
Elizabeth had to be content with that. She perceived that for some
reason her brother did not care to have the matter talked over in the
family. She knew they would all guy him about his interest in a girl
who wanted to rent his barn, and she felt herself that Shirley was too
fine to be talked about in that way. The family wouldn't understand
unless they saw her.
"I know what you mean, Sid," she said after a thoughtful pause. "You
want the folks to see them before they judge what they are, don't you?"
"That's just exactly the point," said Sidney with a gleam of
satisfaction in his eyes. "That's just what makes you such a good pal,
kid. You always understand."
The smile dawned again in Elizabeth's eyes, and she patted her
brother's sleeve.
"Good old Sid!" she murmured tenderly. "You're all right. And I just
know you're going to take me out to that barn soon. Aren't you going
to fix it up for them a little? They can't live there that way. It
would be a dandy place to live if the windows were bigger and there
were doors like a house, and a piazza, and some fireplaces. A great
big stone fireplace in the middle there opposite that door! Wouldn't
that be sweet? And they'll have to have electric lights and some
bathrooms, of course."
Her brother tipped back his head, and laughed.
"I'm afraid you wouldn't make much of a hand to live in a barn, kid,"
he said. "You're too much of an aristocrat. How much do you want for
your money? My dear, they don't expect tiled bathrooms, and electric
lights, and inlaid floors when they rent a barn for the summer."
"But aren't you going to do anything, Sid?"
"Well, I can't do much, for Miss Hollister would suspect right away.
She's very businesslike, and she has suspicions already because I said
I was going to put in partitions. She isn't an object of charity, you
know. I imagine they are all pretty proud."
Elizabeth sat thoughtful and still. It was the first time in her life
she had contemplated what it would be to be very poor.
Her brother watched her with interest. He had a feeling that it was
going to be very good for Elizabeth to know these Hollisters.
Suddenly he brought the car to a stop before the office of a big
lumber-yard they were passing.
"I'm going in here, kid, for just a minute, to see if I can get a man
to put in those partitions."
Elizabeth sat meditatively studying the office window through whose
large dusty panes could be seen tall strips of moulding, unpainted
window-frames, and a fluted column or two, evidently ready to fill an
order. The sign over the door set forth that window-sashes, doors, and
blinds were to be had. Suddenly Elizabeth sat up straight and read the
sign again, strained her eyes to see through the window, and then
opened the car door and sprang out. In a moment more she stood beside
her brother, pointing mutely to a large window-frame that stood against
the wall.
"What is it, kid?" he asked kindly.
"Sid, why can't you put on great big windows like that? They would
never notice the windows, you know. It would be so nice to have plenty
of light and air."
"That's so," he murmured. "I might change the windows some without its
being noticed."
Then to the man at the desk:
"What's the price of that window? Got any more?"
"Yes," said the man, looking up interested; "got half a dozen, made
especially for a party, and then he wasn't pleased. Claimed he ordered
sash-winders 'stead of casement. If you can use these six, we'll make
you a special price."
"Oh, take them, Sid! They're perfectly lovely," said Elizabeth
eagerly. "They're casement windows with diamond panes. They'll just
be so quaint and artistic in that stone!"
"Well, I don't know how they'll fit," said the young man doubtfully.
"I don't want to make it seem as if I was trying to put on too much
style."
"No, Sid, it won't seem that way, really. I tell you they'll never
notice the windows are bigger, and casement windows aren't like a
regular house, you know. See, they'll open wide like doors. I think
it would be just grand!"
"All right, kid, we'll see! We'll take the man out with us; and, if he
says it can be done, I'll take them."
Elizabeth was overjoyed.
"That's just what it needed!" she declared. "They couldn't live in the
dark on rainy days. You must put two in the front on each side the
door, and one on each end. The back windows will do well enough."
"Well, come on, kid. Mr. Jones is going out with me at once. Do you
want to go with us, or shall I call a taxi and send you home?" asked
her brother.
"I'm going with you, of course," said Elizabeth eagerly, hurrying out
to the car as if she thought the thing would be done all wrong without
her.
So Elizabeth sat in the back seat alone, while her brother and the
contractor discoursed on the price of lumber and the relative values of
wood and stone for building-purposes, and the big car went back over
the way it had been before that afternoon.
They stopped on the way out, and picked up one of Mr. Jones's
carpenters who was just leaving a job with his kit of tools, and who
climbed stolidly into the back seat, and sat as far away from the
little blue-velvet miss as possible, all the while taking furtive notes
to tell his own little girl about her when he went home.
Elizabeth climbed out, and went about the barn with them, listening to
all they had to say.
The two men took out pencils and foot rules, and went around measuring
and figuring. Elizabeth watched them with bright, attentive eyes,
putting a whispered suggestion now and then to her brother.
"They can't go up and down a ladder all the time," she whispered.
"There ought to be some rough stairs with a railing, at least as good
as our back stairs at home."
"How about it?" said Graham aloud to the contractor. "Can you put in
some steps, just rough ones, to the left? I'm going to have a party
out here camping for a while this summer, and I want it to be safe.
Need a railing, you know, so nobody will get a fall."
The man measured the space up with his eye.
"Just want plain steps framed up with a hand-rail?" he said, squinting
up again. "Guess we better start 'em up this way to the back wall and
then turn back from a landing. That'll suit the overhead space best.
Just pine, you want 'em, I s'pose?"
Elizabeth stood like a big blue bird alighted on the door-sill,
watching and listening. She was a regular woman, and saw big
possibilities in the building. She would have enjoyed ordering
parquetry flooring and carved newel-posts and making a regular palace.
The sun was setting behind the purply hill and sending a glint from the
weather-vane on the little white church spire when they started back to
the city. Elizabeth looked wistfully toward it, and wondered about the
rapt expression on Shirley's face when she spoke of "working" in the
church. How could one get any pleasure out of that? She meant to find
out. At present her life was rather monotonous, and she longed to have
some new interests.
That night after she had gone to her luxurious little couch she lay in
her downy nest, and tried to think how it would be to live in that big
barn and go to sleep up in the loft, lying on that hay. Then suddenly
the mystery of life was upon her with its big problems. Why, for
instance, was she born into the Graham family with money and culture
and all the good times, and that sweet, bright Carol-girl born into the
Hollister family where they had a hard time to live at all?