When Shirley came down to the street at five o'clock. Graham was
waiting for her as he promised, and swung the car door open for her
with as much eagerness as if he were taking the girl of his choice on a
picnic instead of just doing a poor little stenographer a kindness.
"I telephoned to the store and sent a message to George. We're going
to pick him up on our way," he said as the car wended its way skilfully
through the traffic.
She was sitting beside him, and he looked down at her as if they were
partners in a pleasant scheme. A strange sense of companionship with
him thrilled through her, and was properly rebuked and fled at once,
without really rippling the surface of her joy much. She had
determined to have the pleasure out of this one evening ride at least,
and would not let her thoughts play truant to suggest what wider,
sweeter realms might be for other girls. She was having this good
time. It was for her and no one else, and she would just enjoy it as
much as she could, and keep it the sweet, sane, innocent pleasure that
it really was. If she was not a fool, everything would be all right.
George was waiting in a quiver of pride and eagerness for them as they
swept up to the employees' entrance, and a line of admiring
fellow-laborers stood gaping on the sidewalk to watch his departure.
"Oh, gee! Isn't this great?" shouted George, climbing into the back
seat hilariously. "Got a whole omnibus of a car this time, haven't
you?"
"Yes, I thought we'd have plenty of room for your mother, so she could
lie down if she liked."
"That was very kind of you," murmured Shirley. "You think of
everything, don't you? I'm sure I don't see how we ever could have
managed without your help. I should have been frightened a dozen times
and been ready to give up."
"Not you!" said Graham fervently. "You're the kind that never gives
up. You've taught me several valuable lessons."
As they turned the corner into the old street where the little brick
house stood, Shirley suddenly began to have a vivid realization that
she had told her mother nothing whatever about Mr. Graham. What would
she think, and how could she explain his presence? She had expected to
get there before Graham arrived and have time enough to make her mother
understand, but now she began to realize that her real reason for
leaving the matter yet unexplained was that she did not know just what
to say without telling the whole story from beginning to end.
"I'll hurry in and see if mother is all ready," she said, as the car
stopped in front of the house, and the children rushed out eagerly,
Doris just behind the others, to see the "booful tar."
"Mother," said Shirley, slipping softly into the house and going over
to the bed where she lay with hat and coat on, fully ready. "Mother, I
sha'n't have time to explain all about it, but it's all right; so don't
think anything. Mr. Graham, the man who owns the place where we are
going, has been kind enough to offer to take you in his car. He thinks
it will be easier for you than the trolley, and he is out at the door
now waiting. It's perfectly all right. He has been very kind about
it----"
"Oh daughter, I couldn't think of troubling any one like that!" said
the mother, shrinking from the thought of a stranger; but, looking up,
she saw him standing, hat in hand, just in the doorway. The children
had led him to the door when he offered to help their mother out to the
car.
"Mother, this is Mr. Graham," said Shirley.
Mrs. Hollister, a little pink spot on each cheek, tried to rise, but
the young man came forward instantly and stooped over her.
"Don't try to get up, Mrs. Hollister. Your daughter tells me you
haven't been walking about for several weeks. You must reserve all
your strength for the journey. Just trust me. I'm perfectly strong,
and I can lift you and put you into the car almost without your knowing
it. I often carry my own mother up-stairs just for fun, and she's
quite a lot larger and heavier than you. Just let me put my hand under
your back so, and now this hand here. Now if you'll put your arms
around my neck--yes, that way--no, don't be a bit afraid. I'm
perfectly strong, and I won't drop you."
Little Mrs. Hollister cast a frightened look at her daughter and
another at the fine, strong face bent above her, felt herself lifted
like thistle-down before she had had time to protest, and found herself
obediently putting her weak arms around his neck and resting her
frightened head against a strong shoulder. A second more, and she was
lying on the soft cushions of the car, and the young man was piling
pillows about her and tucking her up with soft, furry robes.
"Are you perfectly comfortable?" he asked anxiously. "I didn't strain
your back or tire you, did I?"
"Oh, no, indeed!" said the bewildered woman. "You are very kind, and I
hardly knew what you were doing till I was here. I never dreamed of
anything like this. Shirley didn't tell me about it."
"No," said the young man, smiling, "she said she wanted to surprise
you; and I believe she thought you might worry a little if you heard
the details of the journey. Now, kitten, are you ready to get in?" He
turned a smiling face to Doris, who stood solemnly waiting her turn,
with an expression of one who at last sees the gates of the kingdom of
heaven opening before her happy eyes.
"Soor!" said Doris in a tone as like Harley's as possible. She lifted
one little shabby shoe, and tried to reach the step, but failed, and
then surrendered her trusting hands to the young man; and he lifted her
in beside her mother.
"Sit there, kitten, till your sister comes out," he said, looking at
her flower face admiringly.
Doris giggled.
"I ain't a kitty," she declared; "I'se a 'ittle gurrul!"
"Well, little girl, do you like to go riding?"
"Soor! I do 'ike to go widin'!" said Doris. "Oh! There goes muvver's
bed!" as the drayman came out carrying the headboard.
Shirley meanwhile was working rapidly, putting the last things from her
mother's bed into the box, tossing things into the empty clothes-basket
that had been left for this purpose, and directing the man who was
taking down the bed and carrying out the boxes and baskets. At last
all the things were out of the house, and she was free to go. She
turned for one swift moment, and caught a sob in her throat. There had
not been time for it before. It had come when she saw the young man
stoop and lift her mother so tenderly and bear her out to the car.
But the children were calling her loudly to come. She gave one happy
dab at her eyes with her handkerchief to make sure no tears had
escaped, and went out of the little brick house forever.
A little middle seat had been turned down for Carol, and Doris was in
her lap. Graham turned the other middle seat down for Shirley; the
boys piled into the front seat with him; and they were off. Mrs.
Hollister in her wonder over it all completely forgot to look back into
what she had been wont to call in the stifling days of summer her
"frying-pan," or to wonder whether she were about to jump into the
fire. She just lay back on her soft cushions, softer than any she had
ever rested upon before, and felt herself glide along away from the
hated little dark house forever! It was a wonderful experience. It
almost seemed as if a chariot of fire had swooped down and gathered all
her little flock with her, and was carrying them to some kind of
gracious heaven where comfort would be found at last. A bit of hope
sprang up within her, utterly unpremeditated and unreasonable, and
persisted so that she could not help feeling happy. As yet it had not
come to her to wonder who this handsome young man was that presumed to
lift her and carry her like a baby, and move her on beds of down to
utterly unknown regions. She was too much taken up with the wonder of
it all. If Doris hadn't been prattling, asking questions of her, and
the light breeze hadn't flapped a lock of hair into her eyes and
tickled her nose, she might have thought she was dreaming, so utterly
unreal did it all seem to her.
And now they passed out from the narrow streets, through crowded
thoroughfares for a brief space, then out beyond, and free, into the
wider reaches. Fair houses and glimpses of green were appearing. The
car was gliding smoothly, for the sake of the invalid not going at high
speed; and she could see on every side. The trees were in full leaf;
the sky was large and blue; the air was filled with freshness. She
drew a long breath; and closed her eyes to pray, "Oh, my Father!" and
then opened them again to see whether it was all true. Shirley,
sensitive for her to the slightest breath, turned and drew the robes
closer about her mother, and asked whether she were perfectly warm and
whether she wanted another pillow under her head.
Graham did not intrude himself upon the family behind him. He was
absorbed in the two boys, who were entirely willing to be monopolized.
He told them all about the car, and discoursed on the mysteries of the
different makes with a freedom that gave George the impression that he
was himself almost a man to be honored by such talk.
It was nearly seven o'clock when they reached Glenside and the big
stone barn came in sight, for they had travelled slowly to make it
easier for the invalid.
Elizabeth had sighted the car far down the road below the curve; and,
switching on every electric light in the place, she fled down the
ladder to the basement, dragging the willing Jenkins after her. Here
they waited with bated breath until the family had gone inside, when
they made their stealthy way out the east end, across the little brook
under the fence, and down the road, to be picked up by the car
according to previous arrangement.
As the car came in sight of the barn a deep silence suddenly fell upon
the little company. Even Doris felt it, and ceased her prattle to look
from one to another. "Whatzie mattah?" she asked Shirley shyly,
putting out her hand to pat Shirley's face in a way she had when she
was uneasy or troubled. "_Whatzie mattah, Surly?_"
But Shirley only squeezed her hand reassuringly, and smiled.
As they drew near, the young people noticed that the bars of the fence
in front of the barn had been taken down and the ditch filled in
smoothly. Then they saw that the car was turning in and going straight
up the grassy incline to the door.
Mrs. Hollister, lying comfortably among her cushions, was looking at
the evening sky, hearing a bird that reminded her of long ago, and
scarcely noticed they had turned until the car stopped. Then in silent
joy the children swarmed out of the car, and with one consent stood
back and watched mother, as the strong young man came to the open door
and gathered her in his arms once more.
"Now we're almost home, Mrs. Hollister," he said pleasantly. "Just put
your arms around my neck once more, and we'll soon have you beside your
own fire." He lifted her and bore her in to the wide couch before the
crackling fire that Elizabeth had started just before she went to look
out the door the last time.
Then into the blazing light of the transformed barn they all stepped,
and every one stood back and stared, blinking. What was this? What
wondrous perfume met their senses? What luxury! What flowers! What
hangings!
They stood and stared, and could not understand; and between them they
forgot to wonder what their mother was thinking, or to do a thing but
stupidly stare and say, "Why!" and "Oh!" and "Ah!" half under their
breath.
"Just phone me if you need anything, Miss Hollister, please. I shall
be glad to serve you," said Graham, stepping quickly over to the door.
"Mrs. Hollister, I hope you'll be none the worse for your ride"; and he
slipped out the door, and was gone.
The sound of the car softly purring its way backward down the slope
brought Shirley out of her daze; but, when she turned and understood
that he was gone, the car was just backing into the road, turning with
a quick whirl, and was away before she could make him hear.
"Oh! He is _gone_!" she cried out, turning in dismay to the children.
"He is gone, and we never thanked him!"
George was out down the road like a shot; and the rest, forgetful for
the moment of the invalid who had been the great anxiety all day,
crowded at the door to watch him. They could hear the throbbing of the
machine; they heard it stop down the road and start again almost
immediately, growing fainter with every whir as it went farther from
them. In a moment more George came running back.
"He's gone. He meant to, I guess, so we could have it all to ourselves
right at first. Elizabeth and the man were down the road waiting for
him. They've been dolling the place up to surprise us."
"Oh!" said Shirley, turning to look around, her cheeks growing rosy.
"Oh! Isn't it beautiful?" Then, turning swiftly to the couch and
kneeling, she said, "Oh _mother_!"
"What does it all mean, daughter?" asked the bewildered mother, looking
about on the great room that seemed a palace to her sad eyes.
But they all began to clamor at once, and she could make nothing of it.
"Oh Shirley, look at the curtains! Aren't they perfectly dear?" cried
Carol ecstatically.
"Perf'ly deah!" echoed Doris, dancing up and down gleefully.
"And here's a card, 'With love from Elizabeth'! Isn't it sweet of her?
Isn't she a perfect _darling_?"
"Who is Elizabeth?" asked Mrs. Hollister, rising to her elbow and
looking around.
"Gee! Look at the flowers!" broke in George. "It's like our store at
Easter! I say! Those lilies are pretty keen, aren't they, Shirl?"
"Wait'll you see the dining-room!" called Harley, who was investigating
with the help of his nose. "_Some_ supper-table! Come on quick; I'm
starved. Hello! Hustle here quick. Here's another sign-board!"
They followed to the dining-room. Harley, still following his nose,
pursued his investigations to the kitchen, discovered the source of the
savory odors that were pervading the place, and raised another cry so
appreciative that the entire family, with the exception of the invalid,
followed him and found the supper steaming hot and crying to be eaten.
After the excitement was somewhat quieted Shirley took command.
"Now, children, you're getting mother all excited, and this won't do.
And, besides, we must eat this supper right away before it spoils.
Quiet down, and bring the hot things to the table while I get mother's
things off. Then we will tell her all about it. There's plenty of
time, you know. We're going to stay right here all summer."
"Aw, gee! Can't we bring mother out to the table?" pleaded George.
"Harley and I could lift that couch just as easy."
"Why, I don't know," said Shirley, hesitating. "You know she isn't
strong, and she will worry about your lifting her."
"Oh Shirley, let her come," pleaded Carol. "We could all take hold and
wheel the couch out here; you know the floor is real smooth since those
new boards were put in, and there are good castors on the couch."
"Mother! Mother! You're coming out to supper!" they chorused, rushing
back to the living-room; and before the invalid realized what was
happening her couch was being wheeled carefully, gleefully into the
brilliantly lighted dining-room, with Doris like a fairy sprite dancing
attendance, and shouting joyously:
"Mudder's tumin' to suppy! Mudder's tumin' to suppy adin!"
The mother gazed in amazement at the royally spread table, so smothered
in flowers that she failed to recognize the cracked old blue dishes.
"Children, I insist," she raised her voice above the happy din. "I
insist on knowing immediately what all this means. Where are we, and
what is this? A hotel? And who was the person who brought us here? I
cannot eat anything nor stay here another minute until I know. People
can't rent houses like this for ten dollars a month anywhere, and I
didn't suppose we had come to charity, even if I am laid up for a few
days."
Shirley could see the hurt in her mother's eyes and the quick alarm in
her voice, and came around to her couch, smiling.
"Now, mother dear, we'll tell you the whole thing. It isn't a hotel
we're in, and it isn't a house at all. It's only an old barn!"
"A barn!" Mrs. Hollister sat up on her couch alertly, and looked at
the big bowl of roses in the middle of the table, at the soft, flowing
curtains at the window and the great pot of Easter lilies on the little
stand in front, and exclaimed, "Impossible!"
"But it is, really, mother, just a grand old stone barn! Look at the
walls. See those two over there are just rough stones, and this one
back of you is a partition made of common boards. That's only an old
brown denim curtain over there to hide the kitchen, and we've got the
old red chenille curtains up to partition off the bedrooms. The boys
are going to sleep up in the hay-loft, and it's going to be just great!"
Mrs. Hollister looked wildly at the stone walls, back at the new
partition, recognized one by one the ancient chairs, the old bookcase
now converted into a china-closet, the brown denim curtain that had
once been a cover for the dining-room floor in the little brick house.
Now it was washed and mended, and was doing its faded part to look like
a wall and fit into the scheme of things. She darted questioning
glances at the wealth of flowers, and the abundantly set table, then
settled back on her pillow but half satisfied.
"They don't have curtains in a barn!" she remarked dryly.
"Those are a present from Elizabeth, the little sister of the landlord.
She was out here with him when he came to see about things, and she got
acquainted with Carol. She has put up those curtains, and brought the
flowers, and fixed the table, for a surprise. See, mother!" and
Shirley brought the card on which Elizabeth had printed her crude
welcome.
Mrs. Hollister took the card as if it were some sort of a
life-preserver, and smiled with relief.
"But this is a great deal to do for strangers," she said tremblingly,
and tears began to glitter in her eyes. "They must be wealthy people."
"Yes, mother, I think they are," said Shirley, "and they have been most
kind."
"But, daughter, wealthy people do not usually take the trouble to do
things like that for nothing. And ten dollars a month for a barn could
be nothing to them."
"I know, mother, but he seems very well satisfied with the price," said
Shirley with a troubled brow. "I----"
"Something's burning!" yelled Harley at the top of his lungs from the
kitchen, and immediately they all rushed out to rescue the supper,
which took that moment to assert itself.
"Now, mother," said Shirley, coming in with a big tureen of soup,
"we've got to eat this supper or it will spoil. You're not to ask
another question till we are through."
They all settled expectantly down at the table, Doris climbing joyously
into her high chair, calling:
"Suppy! Suppy! Oh goody!"
Such a clatter and a clamor, such shoutings over the sandwiches and
such jumpings up and down to carry something to mother! Such lingering
over the delicious ice-cream and fresh strawberries that were found in
the freezer! Think of it! Real strawberries for _them_ that time of
year!
Then, when they had eaten all they could, and began to realize that it
was time to get mother to bed, they pushed the chairs back, and all
fell to clearing off the table and putting things away. It was Carol
who discovered the big roasted fowl and the bowl of salad set away in
the tiny ice-box ready for to-morrow. How had Elizabeth, who never
kept house in her life, known just what would be nice for a family were
all tired out with moving, and needed to lie back and rest before
starting on with living?
The dishes were almost washed when the cart arrived with the last load
of things, and the drayman helped George to put up mother's bed.
They wheeled the couch into the living-room after the big doors were
closed and safely fastened for the night. Before the glowing fire
Shirley helped mother to undress, then rolled her couch into the
bedroom and got her to bed.
"Do you mind very much that it is only a barn, mother dear?" questioned
Shirley, bending anxiously over her mother after she was settled.
"I can't make it seem like a barn, dear; it seems a palace!" said the
mother with a tremble in her voice. "I'm glad it's a barn, because we
could never afford a house with space like this, and air!" She threw
out her hands as if to express her delight in the wide rooms, and drew
in a breath of the delicious country air, so different from air of the
dusty little brick house in the city.
"Daughter!" she drew Shirley down where she could whisper to her.
"You're sure he is not looking on us as objects of charity, and you're
sure he understands that you are a self-respecting girl earning her
honorable living and paying her way? You know this is a wicked,
deceitful world we live in, and there are all sorts of people in it."
"Mother dear! I'm sure. Sure as anybody could be. He has been a
perfect gentleman. You didn't think he looked like one of those--those
people--that go around misunderstanding girls, did you mother?"
The mother remembered the gentle, manly way in which the young man had
lifted her and carried her to and from the car, and her heart warmed to
him. Yet her fears lingered as she watched her sweet-eyed girl.
"No-o-o," she answered slowly; "but then, you can't always judge. He
certainly was a gentleman, and he was very nice-looking." Then she
looked sharply at Shirley.
"You won't go to getting any notions in your head, dear child?" Her
eyes were wistful and sad as she searched the sweet, weary face of the
girl. "You know rich young men follow whims sometimes for a few days.
They don't mean anything. I wouldn't want your heart broken. I wish
he was an old man with white hair."
"Oh mother dear!" laughed Shirley with heart-free ring to her voice,
"did you think you had a young fool for a daughter? He was only being
nice because he is a perfect gentleman; but I know he is not in the
same universe as I am, so far as anything more than pleasant kindliness
is concerned. We shall probably never see him again now that we are
settled. But don't you think I ought to go and telephone thanks to his
little sister? They will be home by this time, and it seems as if we
ought to make some acknowledgment of her great kindness."
"By all means, dear; but how can you? Is there a pay-station near
here? I thought you said this was out in the country."
"Why, we have a telephone of our own, muddy dear! Just think of the
luxury of it! Us with a telephone! Mr. Graham had it put into the
barn when he was making some repairs, so he could communicate with his
workmen; and he said if we would like it we might keep it. It is one
of those 'pay-as-you-go' phones, with a place to drop nickels and dimes
in; so we are perfectly independent. Mr. Graham thought it would be a
comfort to you when George or I had to stay late in town."
"How thoughtful of him! He must be a _wonderful_ rich man! By all
means telephone at once, and tell the little girl to say to her brother
from me that I shall esteem it a privilege to thank him personally for
all that he has done for my children, sometime when he is out this way.
Think. A real rose by my bed!" She reached out a frail hand, and
touched the exquisite petals lovingly. "It is wonderful!"
So Shirley went into the living-room to telephone, while all the
children stood about to watch and comment and tell her what to say.
Doris sat on a little cushion at her feet in awe, and listened, asking
Carol with large eyes: "Is Sirley tautin to Dod? Vy doesn't see sut
her yeyes?" for Shirley's conversation over the telephone sounded to
the little sister much like a prayer of thanksgiving; only she was not
accustomed to hearing that joyous laughter in the voice when people
prayed.
Then Doris was put to bed in her own little crib, and the light in
mother's room was switched off amid Doris's flood of questions.
"Vat makes it light? Vy did it do avay? Will it tum adin?"
At last she was asleep, and the other children tiptoed excitedly about
preparing for bed, going up and downstairs softly, whispering back and
forth for this or that they could not find, till quiet settled down
upon the tired, happy household, and the bullfrogs in the distant creek
droned out the nightly chorus.