Shirley was awake early that morning, almost too excited to sleep but
fitfully even through the night. Now that the thing was done and they
were actually moved into a barn she began to have all sorts of fears
and compunctions concerning it. She seemed to see her delicate mother
shrink as from a blow when she first learned that they had come to
this. Try as she would to bring back all the sensible philosophy that
had caused her to enter into this affair in the first place, she simply
could not feel anything but trouble. She longed to rush into her
mother's room, tell her all about it, and get the dreaded episode over.
But anyhow it was inevitable now. They were moved. They had barely
enough money to pay the cartage and get things started before next
pay-day. There was nothing for it but to take her mother there, even
if she did shrink from the idea.
Of course mother always had been sensible, and all that; but somehow
the burden of the great responsibility of decision rested so heavily
upon her young shoulders that morning that it seemed as if she could
not longer bear the strain.
They still had a good fire in the kitchen range, and Shirley hastened
to the kitchen, prepared a delicate piece of toast, a poached egg, a
cup of tea, and took it to her mother's room, tiptoeing lightly lest
she still slept.
But the mother was awake and glad to see her. She had been awake since
the first streak of dawn had crept into the little back window. She
had the look of one who was girded for the worst. But, when she saw
her daughter's face, the mother in her triumphed over the woman.
"What's the trouble, little girl? Has something happened?"
The tenderness in her voice was the last straw that broke Shirley's
self-control. The tears suddenly sprang into her eyes, and her lip
trembled.
"Oh mother!" she wailed, setting the tray down quickly on a box and
fumbling for her handkerchief. "I'm so worried! I'm so afraid you
won't like what we've done, and then what shall we do?"
"I _shall_ like it!" said the mother with instant determination.
"Don't for a minute think of anything else. Having done something
irrevocably, never look back and think you might have done something
better. You did the best you could, or you thought you did, anyway;
and there didn't seem to be anything else at the time. So now just
consider it was the very best thing in the world, and don't go to
fretting about it. There'll be _something_ nice about it, I'm sure,
and goodness knows we've had enough unpleasant things here; so we
needn't expect beds of roses. We are just going to _make_ it nice,
little girl. Remember that! We are going to like it. There's a tree
there, you say; so, when we find things we don't like, we'll just go
out and look up at our tree, and say, 'We've got _you_, anyway, and
_we're glad of it!_'"
"You blessed little mother!" laughed Shirley, wiping her tears away.
"I just believe you will like it, maybe, after all, though I've had a
lot of compunctions all night. I wondered if maybe I oughtn't to have
told you all about it; only I knew you couldn't really judge at all
until you had seen it yourself, and we wanted to surprise you."
"Well, I'm determined to be surprised," said the brave little woman;
"so don't you worry. We're going to have a grand good time to-day.
Now run along. It's almost time for your car, and you haven't had any
breakfast yet."
Shirley kissed her mother, and went smiling down to eat her breakfast
and hurry away to the office.
There was a big rush of work at the office, or Shirley would have asked
for a half-holiday; but she did not dare endanger her position by
making a request at so busy a season. She was glad that the next day
was Sunday and they would have a whole day to themselves in the new
home before she would have to hurry away to the office again. It would
serve to make it seem less lonely for her mother, having them all home
that first day. She meant to work fast to-day and get all the letters
written before five if possible. Then she would have time to get home
a few minutes before Graham arrived with his car, and see that her
mother was all comfortably ready. It was a good deal to put upon Carol
to look after everything. It wasn't as if they had neighbors to help
out a little, for they were the very last tenants in the doomed block
to leave. All the others had gone two or three weeks before.
Thinking over again all the many details for the day, Shirley walked
down to the office through the sunshine. It was growing warm weather,
and her coat felt oppressive already. She was so thankful that mother
would not have to sleep in those breathless rooms after the heat began.
The doctor had said that her mother needed rest and air and plenty of
sunshine more than anything else. She would at least have those at the
barn, and what did other things matter, after all? Mother was game.
Mother wouldn't let herself feel badly over such a silly thing. They
certainly were going to be more comfortable than they had been for
several years. Think of that wonderful electric light. And clear cold
water from the spring! Oh, it was great! And a little thrill of
ecstasy passed over her, the first she had let herself feel since she
had taken the great responsibility of transplanting her family to a
barn.
After all, the day passed very quickly; and, when at half-past four the
telephone-bell rang and Graham's voice announced that he would be down
at the street door waiting for her in half an hour, that she needn't
hurry, he would wait till she was ready, her heart gave a little jump
of joy. It was as if school was out and she was going on a real picnic
like other girls. How nice of him! How perfectly lovely of him! And
yet there hadn't been anything but the nicest friendliness in his
voice, such as any kindly disposed landlord might use if he chose,
nothing that she need feel uncomfortable about. At least, there was
the relief that after to-night mother would know all about it; and, if
she didn't approve, Shirley could decline any further kindness, of
course. And now she was just going to take mother's advice and forget
everything but the pleasant part.
At home Carol and Harley bustled about in the empty house like two
excited bumble-bees, washing up the few dishes, putting in an open box
everything that had been left out for their last night's sleeping,
getting lunch, and making mother take a nap. Doris, vibrating between
her mother's room and down-stairs, kept singing over to herself: "We
goin' to tuntry! We goin' to tuntry! See birdies an' twees and walk
on gween gwass!"
After lunch was over and the dishes were put carefully into the big box
between comfortables and blankets Carol helped her mother to dress, and
then made her lie down and take a good long nap, with Doris asleep by
her side. After that Carol and Harley tiptoed down to the bare
kitchen, and sat on a box side by side to converse.
"Gee! Ain't you tired, Carol?" said the boy, pushing his hair back
from his hot face. "Gee! Don't it seem funny we aren't coming back
here any more? It kind of gets my goat I sha'n't see the fellows so
often, but it'll be great to ask 'em to see us sometimes. Say, do you
suppose we really can keep chickens?"
"Sure!" said Carol convincingly. "I asked Mr. Graham if we
might,--George said we ought to, he was such a good scout you'd want to
be sure he'd like it, and he said, 'Sure, it would be great.' He'd
like to come out and see them sometimes. He said he used to keep
chickens himself when he was a kid, and he shouldn't wonder if they had
a few too many at their place they could spare to start with. He told
me he'd look it up and see soon's we got settled."
"Gee! He's a peach, isn't he? Say, has he got a case on Shirl?"
"I don't know," said the girl thoughtfully; "maybe he has, but he
doesn't know it yet, I guess. But anyhow you must promise me you will
never breathe such a word. Why, Shirley would just bust right up if
you did. I said a little something to her like that once; it wasn't
much, only just that he was awfully nice and I guessed he liked her by
the way he looked at her, and she just fairly froze. You know the way
her eyes get when she is sore at us? And she said I must never,
_never_ even _think_ anything like that, or she would give the place
right up, and get a few rooms down on South Street, and stay in the
city all summer! She said Mr. Graham was a gentleman, and she was only
a working girl, and it would be a disgrace for her to accept any favors
from him except what she could pay for, and an insult for him to offer
them, because she was only a working girl and he was a gentleman, you
know."
"H'm!" growled Harley. "I guess our sister's as good as he is any day."
"Of course!" snapped Carol; "but then he might not think so."
"Well, if he don't, he can go to thunder!" bristled Harley wrathfully.
"I'm not going to have him looking down on Shirley. She's as good as
his baby-doll sister with her pink cheeks, and her little white hands,
and her high heels and airs, any day! She's a nut, she is."
"Harley! You stop!" declared Carol, getting wrathful. "Elizabeth's a
dear, and you're not going to talk about her that way. Just because
she is pretty and doesn't have to work."
"Well, you said her brother looked down on our sister," declared Harley.
"I did not! I only said he _might_! I only meant that was the way
_some_ gentlemen would. I only said people kind of expect gentlemen to
do that."
"Not if they're real gentlemen, they won't. And anyhow _he_ won't. If
I find him looking down on my sister Shirley, I'll punch his face for
him. Yes, I will! I'm not afraid. George and I could beat the
stuffing out of him, and we will if he does any looking-down stunts,
and don't you forget it!"
"Well, I'm sure he doesn't," said Carol pacifically, trying to put a
soothing sound into her voice as wise elder sisters learn to do. "You
see if he did look down on her, Shirley would know it; right away she'd
know it. Nobody would have to tell _her_! She'd see it in his voice
and smile and everything. And, if he had, she wouldn't have gone out
there to live in the place he owns, you know. So I guess you can trust
Shirley. _I_ think he's been just dandy, fixing up that fireplace and
stairs and lights and water and everything."
"Well, mebbe!" said Harley grudgingly. "Say, this is slow. I'm going
out to meet the fellows when they come from school, and see what the
score of the game is. Gee! I wish I could play to-day!"
"You'll be sure to come back in time?" asked Carol anxiously.
"Sure! You don't suppose I'd miss going out in that car, do you?" said
the brother contemptuously. "Not on your tintype!"
"Well, maybe there won't be room for you. Maybe Elizabeth'll come
along, and you'll have to go in the trolley with George."
"No chance!" declared the boy. "Mr. Graham said I should ride with him
in the front seat, and he looks like a man that kept his word."
"You see! _You_ know he's a gentleman!" triumphed Carol. "Well, I
think you'd better stay here with me. You'll forget and be late, and
make a mess waiting for you."
"No, I won't!" said the restless boy. "I can't be bothered sticking
round this dump all afternoon"; and Harley seized his cap, and
disappeared with a whoop around the corner. After he was gone Carol
found she was tired out herself, and, curling up on a mattress that was
lying ready for the cartman, was soon asleep. It was so that Harley
found her when he hurried back an hour later, a trifle anxious, it must
be confessed, lest he had stayed too long. He stirred up the small
household noisily, and in no time had Carol in a panic brewing the cup
of tea that was to give her mother strength to take the journey,
dressing Doris, smoothing her own hair, putting the last things into
bags and baskets and boxes, and directing the cartman, who arrived half
an hour sooner than he promised. Carol was quite a little woman, going
from one thing to another and taking the place of everybody.
Meantime Elizabeth Graham and her brother had been spending the
afternoon in business of their own. It was Elizabeth who had suggested
it, and her brother saw no reason why she should not carry out her plan
and why he should not help her.
She came down in the car after lunch, the chauffeur driving her, a
great basket of cut and potted flowers from the home conservatory in
the tonneau beside her, carefully wrapped in wax-paper. She stopped at
the office for her brother, and together they went about to several
shops giving orders and making purchases. When they had finished they
drove out to Glenside to unpack their bundles and baskets. Graham left
Elizabeth with the old servant to help her, and drove rapidly back to
his office, where he telephoned to Shirley.
Certainly Elizabeth had never had such fun in her life. She scarcely
knew which delightful thing to do first, and she had only about two
hours to complete her arrangements before the family would arrive.
She decided to decorate first, and the great hamper of flowers was
forthwith brought into the barn, and the chauffeur set to work twining
ropes and sprays of smilax and asparagus fern over doorways and
pictures, and training it like a vine about the stone chimney. Then
came the flowers. Pots of tall starry lilies, great, heavy-headed,
exquisite-breathed roses, pink, white, yellow, and crimson; daffodils
and sweet peas, with quantities of sweet violets in the bottom of the
basket. Elizabeth with deft fingers selected the flowers skilfully,
putting pots of lilies on the window-sills, massing a quantity of pink
roses in a dull gray jar she found among the kitchen things, that
looked to the initiated amazingly as though it might once have been
part of a water-filter, but it suited the pink roses wonderfully. The
tall vases on the bookcases each side of the fireplace held daffodils.
Sweet peas were glowing in small vases and glasses and bowls, and
violets in saucers filled the air with fragrance. White and yellow
roses were on the dining-table, and three exquisite tall crimson
rosebuds glowed in a slender glass vase Elizabeth had brought with her.
This she placed in Mrs. Hollister's room on the little stand that she
judged would be placed beside the bed when the bed arrived. The
flowers certainly did give an atmosphere to the place in more senses
than one; and the girl was delighted, and fluttered from one spot to
another, changing the position of a vase or bowl, and then standing off
to get the effect.
"Now bring me the big bundle, Jenkins, please," she said at length when
she was satisfied with the effect. "Oh, and the little long box. Be
careful. It is broken at one end, and the screws may fall out."
Jenkins was soon back with the things.
"Now, you get the rods put up at the windows, Jenkins, while I get out
the curtains," and she untied the big bundle with eager fingers.
Jenkins was adaptable, and the rods were simple affairs. He was soon
at work, and Elizabeth ran the rods into the curtains.
They were not elegant curtains. Graham had insisted that she should
get nothing elaborate, nothing that would be out of keeping with the
simplicity. They were soft and straight and creamy, with a frost-like
pattern rambling over them in threads of the same, illuminated here and
there with a single rose and a leaf in color. There was something
cheerful and spring-like to them, and yet they looked exceedingly plain
and suitable, no ruffles or trimming of any kind, just hems. To
Elizabeth's mind they had been very cheap. Shirley would have
exclaimed over their beauty wistfully and turned from them with a gasp
when she heard their price. They were one of those quiet fitting
things that cost without flaunting it. They transformed the room into
a dream.
"Oh, isn't it _beautiful_!" exclaimed Elizabeth, standing back to look
as the first curtain went up.
"Yes, Miss, it's very stunning, Miss," said the man, working away with
good will in his face.
When the curtains were all up, Elizabeth pinned one of her cards to the
curtain nearest the front door, inscribed, "With love from Elizabeth."
Then in a panic she looked at her watch.
"Oh Jenkins! It's almost six o'clock," she cried in dismay. "They
might get here by half-past, perhaps. We must hurry! Bring the other
things in quick now, please."
So Jenkins brought them in, bundles and bags and boxes, an ice-cream
freezer, and last of all the cooking-outfit belonging to their
touring-car.
"Now you get the hot things ready, Jenkins, while I fix the table,"
directed the girl.
Jenkins, well trained in such things, went to work, opening cans and
starting his chafing-dish fire. Elizabeth with eager fingers opened
her parcels.
A great platter of delicious triangular chicken sandwiches, a dish of
fruit and nut salad surrounded by crisp lettuce leaves, a plate of
delicate rolls, cream puffs, chocolate éclairs, macaroons, a cocoanut
pie, things she liked herself; and then because she knew no feast
without them there were olives, salted almonds, and bonbons as a matter
of course.
Delicious odors from the kitchen end of the room began to fill the air.
Jenkins was heating a pail of rich soup--chicken with rice and
gumbo--from one of the best caterers in the city. He was making rich
cocoa to be eaten with whipped cream that Elizabeth was pouring into a
glass pitcher; the pitcher came from the ten-cent store if she had only
known it. Jenkins was cooking canned peas and heating lovely little
brown potato croquettes. The ice-cream freezer was out in full sight,
where they could never miss it. Everything was ready now.
"Jenkins, you better light up that queer stove of theirs now if you're
sure you know how,--she said it was just like a lamp the way it
worked,--and put those things in the oven to keep warm. Then we'll
pack up our things, and hide them out in the grass where they can't
see, and get them in the car when they get out. Hurry, for they'll be
here very soon now, I think."
Elizabeth stuck a card in the middle of the rose-bowl that said in
pretty letters, "Welcome Home," stood back a minute to see how
everything looked, and then fluttered to the door to watch for the car.