A MARVELOUS TALE AND ITS ENDING
Oliver Sands was shut up in his private office. It opened from another
larger room that had once been tenanted but was now empty. The
emptiness of the great chamber, with its small bed and simple
furnishings, both attracted and repelled him, as was witnessed by the
fact that he frequently rose and closed the door, only to rise again
directly and open it again. Each time he did this he peered all about
the big room, whose windows were screened by wire netting as well as
by a row of spruce trees. These trees were trimmed in a peculiar
manner and were often commented upon by passers along the road beyond.
All the lower branches, to the height of the window-tops, were left to
grow, luxuriantly, as nature had designed. But above that the tall
trees were shaven almost bare, only sufficient branches being left to
keep them alive. Also, beyond the trees and bordering the road was a
high brick wall, presumably for the training of peach and other fruit
trees, for such were carefully trained to it.
But the same wondering eyes which had noticed the trees had observed
the wall, where indeed the fruit grew lusciously after a custom
common enough in England but almost unknown in this region.
"Looks like both trees and wall were planned to let light into that
side the house and keep eyes out. But, has been so ever since
Heartsease was, and nothing different now."
No, everything was outwardly unchanged, but his home was not like his
home, that morning, when Mrs. Betty Calvert came to call. The rain
that had kept him within had sent him to pass the hours of his
imprisonment in his "den," or office, and to the congenial occupation
of looking over the cash in his strong box. He was too wise to keep
much there, but there had been a time when the occupation had served
to amuse the inmate of the big room, and he was thinking of her now.
Indeed, when there came a knock on the outer door he started, and
quickly demanded: "Well?"
"Oliver, Betty Calvert, from Deerhurst, has called to see thee," said
the trembling voice of Dorcas.
"Why? What does she want?"
"To bring thee news. To bring thee a blessing, she says."
"I will come."
He rose and locked the strong box, inwardly resolving that its
contents must be placed in the bank when next he drove to town, and he
again carefully closed the door of the further room. But if there had
been any to observe they would have seen his face grow eager with hope
while his strong frame visibly trembled. He was not a superstitious
man but he had dreamed of Deerhurst more than once of late and news
from Deerhurst? A blessing, Dorcas said?
He entered the living-room, cast one eager glance around, and sat
down. He had offered no salutation whatever to Mrs. Calvert and the
gloom had returned to his face even more deeply. Dorcas was standing
wringing her hands, smiling and weeping by turns, and gazing in a
perfect ecstasy of eagerness upon Ananias and Sapphira, huddled
against Dorothy's knees. She held them close, as if fearing that cross
old man would do them harm, but they were not at all abashed, either
by him or by the novelty of the place.
"Well, Oliver Sands, you like plain speech and use it. So do I--on
occasion. I have brought home your grandchildren, Rose's children.
Their grandfather on the other side has been committed to an
institution and will give you no trouble. He 'passed them on' to my
household and I, in turn, 'pass them on,' to yours, their rightful
home. You will feel happier now. Good-morning."
"What makes thee think he is unhappy?" ventured Dorcas, at last
turning her eager gaze away from the twins.
"All the world sees that. He's a changed man since last we met, and I
suppose his conscience is troubling him on account of the way he
treated Rose and her children. Their demented grandfather, on the
other side, gave them horrible names. I'd change them if I were you.
Good-morning."
But if the miller had not sought to detain her nor responded to her
farewell, Dorcas caught at her cloak and begged:
"Wait, wait! Oliver, does thee hear? Elisabeth Calvert is going. She
is leaving Rose's babies! What--what--shall I do? May I keep them
here? Say it--Oliver speak, speak, quick! If thee does right in this
thing mayhap the Lord will bless thee in the other! Oliver, Oliver!"
He shook her frail hand from his sleeve but he spoke the word she
longed to hear, though the shadow on his face seemed rather to deepen
than to lighten and astute Betty Calvert was non-plussed. She had so
fully counted upon the fact that it was remorse concerning his
treatment of his daughter which burdened him that she could not
understand his increased somberness.
But he did speak, as he left the room, and the words his wife desired:
"Thee may do as thee likes."
Then Mrs. Calvert, too, went out and Dorothy with her; strangely
enough the twins making no effort to follow; in fact no effort toward
anything except a pan of fresh cookies which stood upon the table!
and with their fists full of these they submitted indifferently not
only to the desertion of their friends but to the yearning embraces of
their grandmother.
"Oh! what perfectly disgusting little creatures! Didn't mind our
leaving them with a stranger nor anything! Weren't they horrid? And it
didn't make him look any happier, either, their coming."
"No, they were not disgusting, simply natural. They've been
half-starved most of their lives and food seems to them, just now, the
highest good;" said Aunt Betty, as the carriage door was shut upon
them and they set out for home. "I cannot call it a wasted morning,
since that timid little woman was made glad and two homeless ones have
come into their own. But--my guess was wide of the mark. It isn't
remorse ails my miller neighbor but some mystery still unsolved. Ah!
me! And I thought I was beautifully helping Providence!"
"So you have, Aunt Betty. Course. Only how we shall miss those twins!
Seems if I couldn't bear to quite give 'Phira up. Deerhurst will be so
lonesome!"
"Lonesome, child! with all you young folks in it? Then just imagine
for an instant what Heartsease must have been to that poor wife. Shut
up alone with such a glum, indifferent husband, in that big house. I
saw no other person anywhere about, did you?"
"No, and, since you put it that way, of course I'm glad they're to be
hers not Molly's and mine."
"The queer thing is that he was so indifferent. I thought, I was
prepared to have him rage and act--ugly, at my interference in his
affairs; but he paid no more attention than if I had dropped a couple
of puppies at his fireside. Hmm. Queer, queer! But if I'm not mistaken
his young relatives will wake him up a bit before he's done with
them."
After all, though Dorothy had hated to leave the other young folks on
such an errand, through such weather, and in some fear of further
"lectures," the ride to Heartsease had proved delightful. She wouldn't
have missed the rapture on lonely Dorcas Sands's pale face for the
wildest frolic going and, after all, it was a relief to know the
"twinses" could do no more mischief for which she might be blamed; and
it remained now only to appease the wrath of Molly Breckenridge when
she was told that her adopted "son" had been removed from her
authority without so much as "By your leave."
Naturally, Molly said nothing in Mrs. Calvert's presence, but vented
her displeasure on Dorothy in private; until the latter exclaimed:
"You would have been glad, just glad, Molly dear, to hear the way the
poor old lady said over and over again: 'Rose's children! Rose's
children!' Just that way she said it and she was a picture. I wish I
was a Quaker and wore gray gowns and little, teeny-tiny white caps and
white something folded around my shoulders. Oh! she was just too sweet
for words! Besides--to come right to the bottom of things--neither of
us _could_ adopt a child, yet. We haven't any money."
"Pshaw! We could get it!"
"I couldn't. Maybe you could; but--I'm glad they're gone. It's better
for them and we shouldn't have been let anyway, and--where's Helena?"
"Up garret, yet. They're all up there. Let's hurry. They'll have all
the nicest things picked out, if we don't."
They "hurried" and before they knew it the summons came for luncheon.
After that was over Danny Smith and Alfaretta Babcock mysteriously
disappeared for a time; returning to their mates with an
I-know-something-you-don't sort of an air, which was tantalizing yet
somehow suggested delighted possibilities. The afternoon passed with
equal swiftness, and then came the costume parade in the barn; the
charades; and, at last, that merry Roger de Coverly, with Mrs. Betty,
herself, and Cousin Seth leading off, and doing their utmost to teach
the mountain lads and lassies the figures.
All the servants came out to sit around and enjoy the merry spectacle
while old Ephraim, perched upon a hay-cutter plied his violin--his
fiddle he called it--and another workman plunked away on his banjo
till the rafters rang.
"Oh, such a tangle! And it seems so easy!" cried Jane Potter, for once
aroused to enthusiasm for something beside study. "Come on, Martin!
Come half-way down and go round behind me--Oh! Pshaw! You stupid!"
Yet uttered in that tone the reproof meant no offense and Jane was as
awkward as her partner, but the dance proved a jolly ending for a very
jolly day. Only, the day was not ended yet; for with a crisp command:
"Every one of you get your places an' set round in a circle. It's
Danny's and my turn now, and--Come on, Daniel!" Alfaretta vanished in
the harness room.
Danny followed, rather sheepishly, for despite his love of fun he
didn't enjoy being forced into prominence; and from this odd retreat
the pair presently emerged with great pans of snowy popped-corn,
balanced on their heads by the aid of one hand, while in the other
they carried each a basket of the biggest apples even Melvin had ever
seen; yet the wonder of the Nova Scotian apples had been one of his
proudest boasts.
"Jump up, Jim, in your 'Uncle Sam' clothes and fetch the jugs out.
Fresh sweet cider, made to farmer Smith's this very day! There's nuts
in there all cracked, for some of you other fellows to bring and
tumblers and plates 't Aunt Malinda let us take. We've had ice-cream
and plum-puddin' and every kind of a thing under the sun and now we're
going to have just plain up-mounting stuff, and you'll say it's prime!
Danny and me done this. We planned it that night Monty got stuck--Oh!
my soul, I forgot!"
"Never mind. I don't care," said Monty; and, maybe to prevent another
doing so, promptly related for Mrs. Calvert's benefit the tale of his
misadventure. Indeed, he told it in such a funny way that it was plain
he was no longer sensitive about it; and he finished with the remark
that:
"If Deerhurst folks don't stop feeding me so much I may even get stuck
in that big door!"
The quiet sitting and talking after so much hilarity was pleasant to
all and tended to a more thoughtful mood; and finally clapping her
hands to insure attention Molly Breckenridge demanded:
"A story, a story! A composite story! Please begin, Mrs. Calvert:
'Once upon a time----' Then let Helena, my Lady of the Crinoline take
it up and add a little, then the next one to her, and the next--and so
on all around the ring. The most fun is to each say something that
will fit--yet won't make sense--with what went just before. Please!"
"Very well: 'Once upon a time and very good times they was, there was
a Mouse and a Grouse and a Little Red Hen and they all lived in the
one house together. So wan day, as she was swapin' the floor, they met
a grain o' cor-run.' 'Now, who'll take that to the mill?' 'I won't,'
says the Mouse. 'Nayther will I!' say the Grouse. 'Then I'll aven have
to do it mesel,' says the Little Red--Next!"
Irish Norah was in ecstasies of laughter over her mistress's imitation
of her own brogue, and all the company was smiling, as Helena's
serious voice took up the tale:
"'Twas in the dead of darksome, dreadful, dreary night, when the
Little Red Hen set forth on her long, lonely, unfrequented road to the
Mill. The Banshees howled, the weird Sisters of the Night made
desperate attempts to seize the Grain of Corn--Next!"
"Which, for safe keeping the fearless Little Red Hen had already
clapped into her own bill--just like this! So let the Banshees howl,
the Weird Sisters Dree their Weird--for Only Three Grains of Corn,
Alfy! Only Three Grains of Corn!" cried Monty, passing his empty
plate; "and I'll grind them in a mill that'll beat the Hen's all
hollow! while Jane Potter--next!"
"For the prisoner was terrified by the sounds upon the roof and after
brief deliberation and close investigation he came to the conclusion,
'twas a snare and a delusion to toy with imagination and fear
assassination till the hallucination became habituation and his mental
aberration get the better of his determination toward analyzation
of the sound upon the roof. Of the pat, pat, patter and the clat,
clat, clatter of small claws upon the roof! Then with loud
cachinnation--Next!"
"To drive the Little Red Hen off from the roof he sprang up and bumped
his head against it; and the act was so unexpected by said Hen that
she flew off, choked on her grain of corn and--Next!" cried Jim, while
everybody shouted and Mrs. Calvert declared that she had never heard
such a string of long words tied together and asked:
"How could you think of them all, Jane?"
"Oh! easily enough. I'd rather read the dictionary than any other
book. I've only a school one yet but I've most enough saved to buy an
Unabridged. Then----"
"Oh! then deliver us from the learned Jane Potter! Problem: If a small
school dictionary can work such havoc with a young maid's brain will
the Unabridged drive her to a lunatic asylum? or to the mill where the
Little Red Hen--Next!" put in Herbert, as his contribution.
"The little Red Hen being now corn-fed, and the Mill a thing she never
would reach, the Mouse and the Grouse thought best to put an end to
her checkered career and boil her in a pot over a slow fire; because
that's the way to make a fowl who had traveled and endured so much
grow tender and soft-hearted and fit to eat, corn and all, popped or
unpopped--Pass the pan, Alfaretta! while the pot boils and the Little
Red Hen--Next!" continued Littlejohn Smith, with a readiness which was
unexpected; while Molly B. took up the nonsense with the remark that:
"The Little Red Hen has as many lives as a cat. All our
great-great-great-grandmothers have heard about her. She was living
ages and--and eons ago! She was in the Ark with Noah--in my toy Ark,
anyway; and being made of wood she didn't boil tender as had been
hoped; also, all the lovely red she wore came off in the boil
and--what's happening? 'Tother side the ring where Dolly Doodles is
holding Luna with both hands and staring--staring--staring--Oh! My!
What's happening to our own Little Red Hen!"
What, indeed!