Quite early the next morning Sidney Graham was in his office at the
telephone. He conferred with the carpenter, agreeing to meet him out
at the barn and make final arrangements about the windows in a very
short time. Then he called up the trolley company and the electric
company, and made arrangements with them to have a wire run from the
road to his barn, with a very satisfactory agreement whereby he could
pay them a certain sum for the use of as much light as he needed. This
done, he called up an electrician, and arranged that he should send
some men out that morning to wire the barn.
He hurried through his morning mail, giving his stenographer a free
hand with answering some of the letters, and then speeded out to
Glenside.
Three men were already there, two of them stone-masons, working away
under the direction of the contractor. They had already begun working
at the massive stone around the windows, striking musical blows from a
light scaffolding that made the old barn look as if it had suddenly
waked up and gone to house-cleaning. Sidney Graham surveyed it with
satisfaction as he stopped his car by the roadside and got out. He did
delight to have things done on time. He decided that if this
contractor did well on the job he would see that he got bigger things
to do. He liked it that his work had been begun at once.
The next car brought a quartette of carpenters, and before young Graham
went back to the city a motor-truck had arrived loaded with lumber and
window-frames. It was all very fascinating to him, this new toy barn
that had suddenly come into his possession, and he could hardly tear
himself away from it and go back to business. One would not have
supposed, perhaps, that it was so very necessary for him to do so,
either, seeing that he was already so well off that he really could
have gotten along quite comfortably the rest of his life without any
more money; but he was a conscientious young man, who believed that no
living being had a right to exist in idleness, and who had gone into
business from a desire to do his best and keep up the honorable name of
his father's firm. So after he had given careful directions for the
electric men when they should come he rushed back to his office once
more.
The next two days were filled with delightful novelties. He spent much
time flying from office to barn and back to the office again, and
before evening of the second day he had decided that a telephone in the
barn was an absolute necessity, at least while the work was going on.
So he called up the telephone company, and arranged that connection
should be put in at once. That evening he wrote a short note to Miss
Shirley Hollister, telling her that the partitions were under way and
would soon be completed, and that in a few days he would send her the
key so that she might begin to transport her belongings to the new home.
The next morning, when Graham went out to the stone barn, he found that
the front windows were in, and gave a very inviting appearance to the
edifice, both outside and in. As Elizabeth had surmised, the big
latticed windows opening inwards like casement doors seemed quite in
keeping with the rough stone structure. Graham began to wonder why all
barns did not affect this style of window, they were so entirely
attractive. He was thoroughly convinced that the new tenants would not
be likely to remember or notice the difference in the windows; he was
sure he shouldn't have unless his attention had been called to them in
some way. Of course the sills and sashes were rather new-looking, but
he gave orders that they should at once be painted an unobtrusive dark
green which would well accord with the mossy roof, and he trusted his
particular young tenant would not think that he had done anything
pointed in changing the windows. If she did, he would have to think up
some excuse.
But, as he stood at the top of the grassy slope and looked about, he
noticed the great pile of stones under each window, from the masonry
that had been torn away to make room for the larger sashes, and an idea
came to him.
"Mr. Jones!" he called to the contractor, who had just come over on the
car to see how the work was progressing. "Wouldn't there be stones
enough all together from all the windows to build some kind of a rude
chimney and fireplace?" he asked.
Mr. Jones thought there would. There were stones enough down in the
meadow to piece out with in case they needed more, anyway. Where would
Mr. Graham want the fireplace? Directly opposite the front doors? He
had thought of suggesting that himself, but didn't know as Mr. Graham
wanted to go to any more expense.
"By all means make that fireplace!" said the young owner delightedly.
"This is going to be a jolly place when it gets done, isn't it? I
declare I don't know but I'd like to come out here and live."
"It would make a fine old house, sir," said the contractor
respectfully, looking up almost reverently at the barn. "I'd like to
see it with verandys, and more winders, and a few such. You don't see
many of these here old stone buildings around now. They knew how to
build 'em substantial in those old times, so they did."
"H'm! Yes. It would make a fine site for a house, wouldn't it?" said
the young man, looking about thoughtfully. "Well, now, we'll have to
think about that sometime, perhaps. However, I think it looks very
nice for the present"; and he walked about, looking at the improvements
with great satisfaction.
At each end of the barn a good room, long and narrow, had been
partitioned off, each of which by use of a curtain would make two very
large rooms, and yet the main section of the floor looked as large as
ever. A simple stairway of plain boards had been constructed a little
to one side of the middle toward the back, going up to the loft, which
had been made safe for the children by a plain rude railing consisting
of a few uprights with strips across. The darkening slats at the small
windows in the loft had been torn away and shutters substituted that
would open wide and let in air and light. Rough spots in the floor had
been mended, and around the great place both up-stairs and down, and
even down in the basement underneath, electric wires ran with simple
lights and switches conveniently arranged, so that if it became
desirable the whole place could be made a blaze of light. The young
man did not like to think of this family of unprotected women and
children coming out into the country without all the arrangements
possible to make them feel safe. For this reason also he had
established the telephone. He had talked it over with the agent,
paying a certain sum for its installation, and had a telephone put in
that they could pay for whenever they desired to use it. This would
make the young householder feel more comfortable about leaving her
mother out in the country all day, and also prevent her pride from
being hurt. The telephone was there. She need not use it unless
necessity arose. He felt he could explain that to her. If she didn't
like it, of course she could have it taken away.
There were a lot more things he would like to do to make the place more
habitable, but he did not dare. Sometimes even now his conscience
troubled him. What did he know about these people, anyway? and what
kind of a flighty youth was he becoming that he let a strange girl's
appealing face drive him to such lengths as he was going now?
Telephone, and electric lights, and stairs, and a fireplace in a barn!
It was all perfectly preposterous; and, if his family should hear of
it, he would never hear the last of it; that he was certain.
At such times he would hunt up his young sister and carry her off for a
long drive in the car, always ending up at Glenside Road, where she
exclaimed and praised to his heart's satisfaction, and gave anew her
word not to tell anybody a thing about it until he was ready.
Indeed, Elizabeth was wild with delight. She wanted to hunt up some of
her mother's old Turkish rugs that were put away in dark closets, to
decorate the walls with pictures and bric-â-brac from her own room, and
to smother the place in flowering shrubs for the arrival of the
tenants; but her brother firmly forbade anything more being done. He
waited with fear and trembling for the time when the clear-eyed young
tenant should look upon the changes he had already made; for something
told him she would not stand charity, and there was a point beyond
which he must not go if he wished ever to see her again.
At last one morning he ventured to call her up on the telephone at her
office.
"My sister and I were thinking of going out to see how things are
progressing at the Glenside place," he said after he had explained who
he was. "I was wondering if you would care to come along and look
things over. What time do you get through at your office this
afternoon?"
"That is very kind of you, Mr. Graham," said Shirley, "but I'm afraid
that won't be possible. I'm not usually done until half-past five. I
might get through by five, but not much sooner, and that would be too
late for you."
"Not at all, Miss Hollister. That would be a very agreeable time. I
have matters that will keep me here quite late to-night, and that will
be just right for me. Shall I call for you, then, at five? Or is that
too soon?"
"Oh, no, I can be ready by then, I'm sure," said Shirley with
suppressed excitement. "You are very kind----"
"Not at all. It will be a pleasure," came the answer. "Then I will
call at your office at five," and the receiver clicked at the other
end, leaving Shirley in a whirl of doubt and joy.
How perfectly delightful! And yet ought she to go? Would mother think
it was all right? His little sister was going, but was it quite right
for her to accept this much attention even in a business way? It
wasn't at all customary or necessary, and both he and she knew it. He
was just doing it to be nice.
And then there was mother. She must send a message somehow, or mother
would be frightened when she did not come home at her usual time.
She finally succeeded in getting Carol at her school, and told her to
tell mother she was kept late and might not be home till after seven.
Then she flew at her work to get it out of the way before five o'clock.
But, when she came down at the appointed time, she found Carol sitting
excitedly in the back seat with Elizabeth, fairly bursting with the
double pleasure of the ride and of surprising her sister.
"They came to the school for me, and took me home; and I explained to
mother that I was going with you to look at a place we were going to
move to. I put on the potatoes, and put the meat in the oven, and
mother is going to tell George just what to do to finish supper when he
gets home," she exclaimed eagerly. "And, oh, isn't it lovely?"
"Indeed it is lovely," said Shirley, her face flushing with pleasure
and her eyes speaking gratitude to the young man in the front seat who
was opening the door for her to step in beside him.
That was a wonderful ride.
The spring had made tremendous advances in her work during the ten days
since they went that way before. The flush of green that the willows
had worn had become a soft, bright feather of foliage, and the maples
had sent out crimson tassels to offset them. Down in the meadows and
along the roadside the grass was thick and green, and the bare brown
fields had disappeared. Little brooks sang tinklingly as they glided
under bridges, and the birds darted here and there in busy, noisy
pairs. Frail wavering blossoms starred the swampy places, and the air
was sweet with scents of living things.
But, when they came in sight of the barn, Elizabeth and her brother
grew silent from sheer desire to talk and not act as if there was
anything different about it. Now that they had actually brought
Shirley here, the new windows seemed fairly to flaunt themselves in
their shining mossy paint and their vast extent of diamond panes, so
that the two conspirators were deeply embarrassed, and dared not face
what they had done.
It was Carol who broke the silence that had come upon them all.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she shouted. "Shirley, just look! New, great big
windows! Isn't that great? Now you needn't worry whether it will be
dark for mother days when she can't go out! Isn't that the best ever?"
But Shirley looked, and her cheeks grew pink as her eyes grew starry.
She opened her lips to speak, and then closed them again, for the words
would not come, and the tears came instead; but she drove them back,
and then managed to say:
"Oh, Mr. Graham! Oh, you have gone to so much trouble!"
"No, no trouble at all," said he almost crossly; for he had wanted her
not to notice those windows, at least not yet.
"You see it was this way. The windows were some that were left over
from another order, and I got a chance to get them at a bargain. I
thought they might as well be put in now as any time and you get the
benefit of them. The barn really needed more light. It was a very
dark barn indeed. Hadn't you noticed it? I can't see how my
grandfather thought it would do to have so little light and air. But
you know in the old times they didn't use to have such advanced ideas
about ventilation and germs and things----" He felt he was getting on
rather famously until he looked down at the clear eyes of the girl, and
knew she was seeing right straight through all his talk. However, she
hadn't the face to tell him so; and so he boldly held on his way,
making up fine stories about things that barns needed until he all but
believed them himself; and, when he got through, he needed only to
finish with "And, if it isn't so, it ought to be" to have a regular
Water-Baby argument out of it. He managed to talk on in this vein
until he could stop the car and help Shirley out, and together they all
went up the now velvety green of the incline to the big door.
"It is beautiful! beautiful!" murmured Shirley in a daze of delight.
She could not yet make it seem real that she was to come to this
charmed spot to live in a few days.
Graham unlocked the big doors, and sent them rolling back with a touch,
showing what ball bearings and careful workmanship can do. The group
stepped inside, and stood to look again.
The setting sun was casting a red glow through the diamond panes and
over the wide floor. The new partitions, guiltless of paint, for
Graham had not dared to go further, were mellowed into ruby hangings.
The stone fireplace rose at the opposite side of the room, and the new
staircase was just at the side, all in the ruddy evening glow that
carried rich dusky shadows into the corners, and hung a curtain of
vagueness over blemishes.
Then all suddenly, before they had had time to take in the changes,
more than the fact of the partitions which they expected, Graham
stepped to the side of the door, and touched a button, and behold a
myriad of lights burst forth about the place, making it bright like
noontime.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" breathed Carol in awe and wonder, and "Oh!" again, as
if there were nothing else to say. But Shirley only looked and caught
her breath. It seemed a palace too fine for their poor little means,
and a sudden fear gripped hold upon her.
"Oh Mr. Graham! You have done too much!" she choked. "You shouldn't
have done it! We can never afford to pay for all this!"
"Not at all!" said young Graham quickly. "This isn't anything. The
electric people gave permission for this, and I thought it would be
safer than lamps and candles, you know. It cost scarcely anything for
the wiring. I had our regular man do it that attends to the wiring and
lights at the office. It was a mere trifle, and will make things a lot
more convenient for you. You see it's nothing to the company. They
just gave permission for a wire to be run from the pole there. Of
course they might not do it for every one, but I've some pretty good
friends in the company; so it's all right."
"But the fireplace!" said Shirley, going over to look at it. "It's
beautiful! It's like what you see in magazine pictures of beautiful
houses."
"Why, it was just the stones that were left from cutting the windows
larger. I thought they might as well be utilized, you know. It wasn't
much more work to pile them up that way while the men were here than if
we had had them carted away."
Here Carol interrupted.
"Shirley! There's a telephone! A real telephone!"
Shirley's accusing eyes were upon her landlord.
"It was put in for our convenience while the workmen were here," he
explained defensively. "It is a pay phone, you see, and is no expense
except when in use. It can be taken out if you do not care to have it,
of course; but it occurred to me since it was here your mother might
feel more comfortable out here all day if she could call you when she
needed to."
Shirley's face was a picture of varying emotions as she listened, but
relief and gratitude conquered as she turned to him.
"I believe you have thought of everything," she said at last. "I have
worried about that all this week. I have wondered if mother would be
afraid out in the country with only the children, and the neighbors not
quite near enough to call; but this solves the difficulty. You are
sure it hasn't cost you a lot to have this put in?"
"Why, don't you know the telephone company is glad to have their phones
wherever they can get them?" he evaded. "Now, don't worry about
anything more. You'll find hardships enough living in a barn without
fretting about the few conveniences we have been able to manage."
"But this is real luxury!" she said, sitting down on the steps and
looking up where the lights blazed from the loft. "You have put lights
up there, too, and a railing. I was so afraid Doris would fall down
some time!"
"I'm glad to find you are human, after all, and have a few fears!"
declared the owner, laughing. "I had begun to think you were Spartan
through and through and weren't afraid of anything. Yes, I had the men
put what lumber they had left into that railing. I thought it wasn't
safe to have it all open like that, and I didn't want you to sue me for
life or limb, you know. There's one thing I haven't managed yet, and
that is piping water up from the spring. I haven't been able to get
hold of the right man so far; but he's coming out to-morrow, and I hope
it can be done. There is a spring on the hill back of us, and I
believe it is high enough, to get the water to this floor. If it is it
will make your work much easier and be only the matter of a few rods of
pipe."
"Oh, but, indeed, you mustn't do anything more!" pleaded Shirley. "I
shall feel so ashamed paying such a little rent."
"But, my dear young lady," said Graham in his most dignified business
manner, "you don't at all realize how much lower rents are in the
country, isolated like this, than they are in the city; and you haven't
as yet realized what a lot of inconveniences you have to put up with.
When you go back to the city in the winter, you will be glad to get
away from here."
"Never!" said Shirley fervently, and shuddered. "Oh, never! You don't
know how dreadful it seems that we shall have to go back. But of
course I suppose we shall. One couldn't live in a barn in the winter,
even though it is a palace for the summer"; and she looked about
wistfully. Then, her eyes lighting up, she said in a low tone, for the
young man's benefit alone:
"I think God must have made you do all this for us!" She turned and
walked swiftly over to one of the new casement windows, looking out at
the red glow that the sun in sinking had left in the sky; and there
against the fringes of the willows and maples shone out the bright
weather-vane on the spire of the little white church in the valley.
"I think God must have sent you to teach me and my little sister a few
things," said a low voice just behind Shirley as she struggled with
tired, happy tears that would blur her eyes. But, when she turned to
smile at the owner of the voice, he was walking over by the door and
talking to Carol. They tumbled joyously into the car very soon, and
sped on their way to the city again.
That night the Hollister children told their mother they had found a
place in which to live.