HOW THE FOURTH OF JULY MONEY WAS SPENT
"Just one week more and Fourth of July will be here," announced Peace
from her seat on the grass, as she counted off the days on her fingers.
They were all gathered under the trees that warm afternoon, Aunt Pen and
Elizabeth with their sewing, the minister with a magazine from which he
had been reading aloud, Giuseppe with his beloved violin, from which he
was seldom separated, the lame girl lying in her accustomed place, and
Peace and Glen gambolling in the grass at their feet.
"Why, so it will," said the invalid in surprise.
"Do you s'pose grandpa will get back by that time?"
"Should you care if he did not?" asked preacher teasingly.
"John!" reproved Elizabeth, tapping him gently on the head with her
thimble. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself to ask such a question?"
"No offense, ladies, no offense intended, I assure you! I merely
wondered if Peace could be getting homesick."
"Me homesick! Oh, no, I'm not _homesick_, but I'll bet the other folks
are by this time. I've been gone so long. One week of March, all of
April and May, and nearly all of June--that's three months already; and
I've never been away from the girls more'n a night or two at a time
before."
There was a wistful look in the brown eyes in spite of her emphatic
denial that she was homesick, and Elizabeth sought to turn the
conversation by saying meditatively, "I wonder what Glen will think of
the Fourth of July celebration? He was almost too young last year to
notice anything of that sort, and besides, we had a very quiet day at
Parker. Everyone had gone to the city for their fun."
"Yes, it was quiet in Parker last year. Hec Abbott was away all day, and
I didn't have any fire-crackers," Peace observed; then, noting the broad
smile that bathed all the faces, she added hastily, "I s'pose it was
just as well, 'cause it was an awful dry summer, and like enough we
would have set the place on fire. That's why Gail wouldn't let us have
any, but this year we're going to make up for all we've missed--if
grandpa gets home in time. We've got dollars and dollars in our
bank--Allee and me--left over from dec'rating our room, and we're going
to blow it all up celebrating the Fourth, so's to be patriotic. Grandpa
says love of country is something every 'Merican needs, so we're
beginning young at our house. Grandpa says--"
"What does grandpa say?" boomed a dear, familiar voice behind her, and
she bounced to her feet with a wild shriek of joy, for leaning against
the iron gates at the end of the walk stood the genial President, while
in the carriage just beyond sat Grandma Campbell and the three younger
sisters, all fidgeting with eagerness to meet the small maid whose face
they had not seen for so long a time.
"Oh, grandpa, grandma, girls, when did you get here? I never so much as
heard you drive up!"
Scarcely touching the gravel with her toes, she fairly flew through the
gate into the five pair of arms reaching out to embrace her, hugging and
kissing them impartially in her delight to be with them again, and
asking questions as fast as her tongue could fly. "How did you like the
Woods? Where are Gail and Faith? Haven't they come in from the Lake yet?
I haven't seen them for _three weeks_ now. Are you perfectly well,
Allee? What's the matter with Cherry's nose, grandma? It looks skinned.
Does scarlet fever make people grow tall, or what has happened to Hope?
My, but you've missed it, being _quadrupined_ up in the house all the
spring! Yes, I'd like to have seen the Woods, too, but 's long as you
didn't take me, I had a better time here. Oh, it's been jolly. There
come Aunt Pen and Elspeth. I s'pose they think you've kissed me enough
for one time and you better climb out and go speak to my Lilac Lady.
She's been wanting to see you all, 'specially Gail and Faith which ain't
here."
They answered her questions as best they could--they had enjoyed their
brief sojourn in the Pine Woods very much, for they had found it more
than tiresome to be quarantined all those beautiful weeks, but Peace's
telephone messages and queer adventures had helped brighten many an
hour. They were particularly interested in the Lilac Lady and the little
Italian musician, and were anxious to meet the big-hearted Aunt Pen. So
they clambered out of the carriage and were properly introduced by the
preacher and his wife, while Peace fluttered from one to another of the
happy group, too excited to remember such things as introductions.
The lame girl was very sorry to lose this little will-o'-wisp neighbor
who had brought so much sunshine into her life during her short stay at
the parsonage, but Elizabeth was to visit her every day, and the
Campbells promised not only to lend Peace often to the stone house, but
also to come with her; so they said good-bye at length, and the curly
brown head bobbed out of sight down the long avenue, behind prancing
Marmaduke and Charlemagne.
Peace was glad to get home again, and spent the next few days renewing
her acquaintance with the place, philosophizing with Gussie, Marie and
Jud, and regaling family and servants alike with accounts of her long
stay at the parsonage, for it seemed to her that she had been away three
years instead of three months.
On the third day she suddenly remembered the approaching Fourth and the
generous bank account which she and Allee had kept for just that
occasion. So she sat down on the stairs to plan out the list of
fireworks that they should buy with their precious hoard, and was busy
trying to add up a lengthy column of figures, when she heard Hope in the
hall below say, "Yes, grandma, it's a letter from Gail. They aren't
coming home for another week unless you want them particularly, because
they have discovered a family of eight children out there by the lake
who have never had a real Fourth of July celebration in their lives, and
Frances is planning a picnic for them and wants the girls to help her
out."
Peace heard no more. Frances was planning a gala day for a family of
eight children who would have no fireworks for the glorious Fourth. Why
could she and Allee not do the same thing for the Home children? There
were more than fifty little folks in that institution who would have no
celebration either, unless some good fairy provided it. She and Allee
would have more than enough fire-crackers for the whole family, even if
grandpa did not buy a single bunch himself, and of course he would do
his part to make the day a grand success.
She went in search of Allee, unfolded her new plan, and as usual won her
ready consent, for the smallest sister found this other child's quaint
ideas delightfully thrilling, and was always willing to join her in any
escapade, however daring.
"I knew you'd say yes," Peace sighed with satisfaction, when they had
agreed upon the list of fire-crackers, caps and torpedoes. "Now the thing
of it is, will grandpa be as easy? He has such very queer thoughts on
some things. Still, he's usu'ly right, too. I've found out that it is
lots better to try to help such folks as the Home children 'stead of
tramps and hand-organ men, who are only fakes or lazy-bones. There was
Petri, now,--he made loads of money off of Juiceharpie and Jocko, but he
was mean as dirt to both of them. The Home children are different.
Anything nice you do for them makes them happy and they like you all the
better. Well, we better go see grandpa about it first, so's he can't
kick after we get started real well with our plans. Besides, I don't
s'pose Miss Chase would listen to us if grandpa doesn't know what we are
up to."
Hand in hand they descended the stairs to the study and knocked, but the
weary President was stretched on his couch fast asleep and did not hear
their gentle tapping.
"He's here, I know," Peace declared. "I saw him when he went in, and he
told grandma that he should be home the rest of the day."
"P'raps he's upstairs in his room."
"But he ain't, I tell you! Didn't we just come from upstairs! We'd have
heard him moving about if he'd been up there."
"Maybe he's asleep."
"I'm going to see."
Cautiously she opened the door a little crack and peeped in. The west
window curtains were drawn and the room was very dim, but after a few
rapid blinks, Peace became accustomed to the subdued light, and saw the
long figure lying on the davenport beside the fireplace, now filled with
summer flowers.
"There he is," she whispered triumphantly, and pushing the door further
ajar, she stepped across the threshold.
"Oh, we mustn't 'sturb him!" protested Allee, holding back; but Peace
serenely assured her, "I ain't going to touch him. I'm just going to
stay till he wakes up. Are you coming?"
Allee, followed, still a little reluctant, and the door closed
noiselessly behind them. With careful hands, they drew up a long Roman
chair in front of the couch, and sat down together to await the
President's awakening. The room was almost gloomy in its dimness, and
so quiet that they could hear their own breathing. But not another sound
broke the silence, save the ticking of the little French clock on the
mantel, which drove Peace almost to distraction. Then she chanced to
remember a discussion she had heard a long time before, and settling
herself with elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, she fixed
her somber eyes full upon the sleeping face before her, and stared with
all her might.
"Look at him," she commanded Allee in a stage whisper.
"What for?"
"Just 'cause. Glare for all you're worth!"
"But why?"
"I'll tell you byme-by."
So dutiful Allee "glared for all she was worth," and soon the sleeper
grew restless. Then he opened his eyes.
"We did it!" crowed Peace shrilly, spatting her hands together so
suddenly that he jumped.
"Did what, you young jackanapes?" he growled, rubbing his sleepy eyes, a
trifle vexed at having been disturbed before his nap was out.
"Woke you up with just looking at you! We never touched you at all--just
glared and glowered as hard as ever we could, and you woke up like Faith
said you would."
"Faith? Did she send you here to wake me up? Have she and Gail come
home?"
"Oh, no, they ain't coming till after the Fourth. They're going to stay
and help Frances celebrate a family of eight children which have never
had any fireworks in all their lives. That's what we came to see you
about, but you were asleep and we got tired of waiting, so we tried to
see if we could stare you awake, like the girls said folks could do if
they looked long and hard enough. It worked."
"Something did," he smiled grimly. "Was it so important that you had to
tell it immediately? Couldn't it have kept until dinner hour?"
"You and grandma are invited out for dinner this evening, and anyway, we
wanted to have a private _conflab_ with you all by yourself before we
told the others our plan."
"Plan? Another plan! My sakes, Peace, where do you keep them all?"
The round, eager face grew long. It wasn't like grandpa to make fun of
her. What could be the matter?
"I guess you're not int'rested," she said in heavy disappointment.
"Come, Allee, we better be going."
"Indeed you better not!" he cried, thoroughly aroused by her look and
tone, and remembering that she was unaccountably sensitive to the moods
of her loved ones. "I won't tease you another speck. Come and tell
grandpa what it is now that you want me to help with."
"We don't want your help at all," she answered gravely, letting him draw
her down to one knee, while he enthroned Allee on the other. "All you've
got to do is say yes."
Knowing from experience what wild-cat schemes were often evolved by that
tireless brain, he cautiously replied, "'Yes' is an easy word to speak,
girlies, but sometimes 'no' is wisest, even if it is hard to learn."
"Oh, I think you will like this plan, grandpa." Peace was warming up to
the subject. "It hasn't anything to do with tramps or beggars, and I
don't want to give away any more of my clo'es--'nless p'raps that white
apron to Lottie, 'cause she likes it so well. This is about the Home
children. You know our Fourth of July money?"
"Did you think I had forgotten that?" Inwardly he was shaking with
merriment. He never recalled the dedication of the flag room without
wanting to shout.
"No, but I did think maybe it had skipped your mind just for a minute."
"Well, it hasn't. What does your Fourth of July money have to do with
the Home children and white aprons?"
"White aprons ain't in it--only that one I should like to give Lottie,
but that can be any day. What we want to do is share our fire-crackers
with the Home children, 'cause the Lady Boards don't allow for such
things in raising money to take care of the Home, and so the children
won't have any to celebrate with, 'nless their fathers bring them a few,
and mostly the fathers are too hard up for that. Allee and me have
dollars and dollars in our bank just to _cluttervate_ our love of
country with, and we thought this would be a splendid chance to--"
"Spread the d'sease," finished Allee, as Peace paused for want of words
to express her ideas.
"It ain't a _disease_, Allee Greenfield! To make 'em happy--that's what
I meant to say."
"A very worthy object, my dear."
"Then you like it and won't kick?"
"If you have considered the matter carefully and want to share your
Fourth of July with the Home children, I am perfectly willing, girlies,
and will do all I can to help you succeed."
"That's what we wanted to know, grandpa," she cried gleefully. "You'll
have all kinds of chances to help, too, 'cause I've just thought of
ice-cream and watermelon--if they are ripe by that time--and ice-cream
anyway, with a nice picnic dinner to go with the fire-crackers and
_Roming_ candles. Some of 'em have never had but two or three dishes of
ice-cream in all their lives. Think how tickled they will be! P'raps my
Lilac Lady will invite them all over to her house to celebrate, 'cause
it always seems so much nicer to go away somewhere for a picnic, even if
'tis only a few blocks. And the stone house has great wide lawns,
bigger'n ours, though I like ours best on account of the river, even if
we haven't all the lovely flowers which Hicks has planted in his
gardens."
Thoughtfully the President lifted the shade behind the couch and looked
out across the smooth velvet turf, sloping gently to the river bank in
one long, even stretch, broken by an occasional posy-bed, and liberally
dotted with giant oaks and stately lindens. It was an ideal spot for a
picnic or lawn social such as Peace had described; and Japanese lanterns
suspended among the branches and hung about the wide verandas would make
it a veritable fairyland for the little folks of the Home, whose gala
days were so few and far between.
Unconsciously he spoke aloud: "The mis'es would enjoy it as much as the
rest; that is the beauty of it."
"What _are_ you talking about, grandpa?" cried the children, amazed at
the remark which seemed to have no bearing whatever on the subject.
"Did I speak?" he asked sheepishly. "I was just wondering how they would
enjoy coming here for their celebration instead of going to the stone
house--"
"Oh, grandpa! That would be _splendid_! How did it happen that I never
thought of it myself?" Peace exclaimed in comical surprise. "We'll ask
Saint Elspeth and John and my Lilac Lady and Aunt Pen to come and help.
Hicks took her to church for Children's Sunday. Don't you s'pose he
could bring her down here, even if it is three miles?"
"If she will come, dear, we will find a way of bringing her," he
promised, drawing the little girls closer to him as if to shield them
from such sorrow as had darkened that other young life.
"And that will mean Juiceharpie and Glen will come, too," murmured
Allee, who was much charmed with these two little gentlemen,
particularly with the Italian waif, whose strange history still seemed
like a story-book tale to her.
"Yes, the children will come, too, of course, and we will even borrow
the cook and Hicks, if the Lilac Lady will lend them. Do you suppose she
will?"
"Let's go and see this very minute," proposed Peace. "The Fourth is too
near already to let it get any closer before we find out about these
things. And we've still to see Miss Chase about the Home folks coming,
you know."
Thoroughly interested now in her project, the President drew forth his
watch, glanced at the hour, and rang for Jud to harness the horses.
Of course Miss Chase accepted the invitation at once, and the Home
children were jubilant. The little parsonage family was equally charmed
with the plan and agreed to help it along all they could. But at the
stone house, when the matter was explained, it quite took Aunt Pen's
breath away, and for a moment even the Lilac Lady looked as if she were
about to refuse. But Giuseppe was radiant, and seizing his beloved
violin, ha capered about the white-faced invalid, crying in delight,
"An' I feedle an' ma angel seeng. Oh, eet be heaven!"
Perhaps it was his happy face, perhaps it was Peace's wistful entreaty,
but at any rate, the lame girl suddenly smiled up at the President
beside her and answered heartily, "Tell Mrs. Campbell we shall all be
there to help her if the day is clear, and it surely must be when the
happiness of so many people depends upon it."
The day _was_ clear and delightfully cool, Jud had accomplished wonders
with flags, bunting and lanterns, and the place looked even more like
the haunts of fairies than the girls had dared dream. Rustic benches and
porch chairs were scattered about under the trees, two immense hammocks
hung on the wide veranda, and a strong swing had been fastened among the
branches of the tallest oak. The barn chamber, which Peace had planned
on having for a playhouse, was swept and scrubbed, furbished up with old
furniture from the garret, and stocked with toys of all sorts, that the
children who might not care for games all day could find other amusement
to fill the hours. The boat-house, too, was put in order and decorated
with ferns and flowers, for Hope was to preside here behind great jars
of lemonade and frappe, and it proved to be a very popular resort all
day long. It is surprising how thirsty one does get at a picnic!
Early in the morning, Hicks brought the preacher's family, Aunt Pen and
his young mistress in the great red automobile, which was now used so
seldom that Peace had not even discovered its existence; but when she
saw it, she let out a whoop of surprise that startled the rest of the
household, and dashed down the driveway to meet it, screaming shrilly,
"When you've dumped out that load, Hicks, you better begin going after
the Home children. It will take Duke and Charley a long time to bring
them here alone; and besides, I'll bet none of the boys and girls there
have ever ridden in an auto yet. I know I haven't."
"That is a good idea, Peace," said the lame girl happily. "I never would
have thought of it. Those who drive down in the carriage can go home in
the auto, so they will all get a ride. Just put the baskets and traps on
that table, Hicks, and start as soon as possible."
An hour later all the guests had assembled, and the day's program was
begun. Of course there were some mishaps. Was there ever a picnic
without them? But no one was badly hurt. It was Giuseppe's first
celebration of Independence Day with gunpowder and torpedoes, and in his
excitement and delight at the noise he was making, he thoughtlessly
thrust a stump of burning punk into his trousers' pocket along with a
bunch of fire-crackers, and would have been seriously burned, no doubt,
had not Cherry promptly turned the hose on him. As it was, he was nearly
drowned, and very much frightened, but soon recovered from the shock,
and returned with energy to his crackers again.
Lottie fell through the hay-mow in the barn, trying to escape her
pursuer in a lively game of tag. George tumbled into the river and was
rescued just in time. Tony got hit by the swing-board and lost one tooth
as a result. Allee sat down in a tub of lemonade, and Peace toppled out
of a tree into a trayful of ice-cream which Jud had just dished up. But
these were mere trifles, swallowed up in the greater events of the
day--the boisterous games on the smooth lawn, the picnic dinner under
the trees, the beautiful music made by the lame girl and the little
songbird of Italy; the destruction of the sham fort built by the
dignified doctor and sedate young minister; the row on the river in the
late afternoon; the gorgeous beauty of the place when the lanterns were
lighted at dusk; and, fitting climax of that wonderful day, the
brilliant display of fireworks which Jud set off when finally darkness
had fallen over the land.
But like all happy days, this Fourth of July came to an end at last, the
guests departed, and Peace, walking slowly up the path from the gate,
felt suddenly tired. Slipping her hand into the doctor's big one, she
sighed, "Well, it's all over with! Our flag room money has gone up in
smoke and down in ice-cream."
"Are you sorry?" asked the President, a little surprised at her
long-drawn sigh and tone of regret.
"Oh, no, I ain't sorry for that part of it. I'm sorry the day is gone.
That's the trouble with having a good time. It always comes to an end."
"But the memory of it still lives. Think how many hearts you have made
happy today."
"Yes, that's so," she answered, brightening visibly; "and the best of it
is, there's at least one more _patriarch_. Juiceharpie has always been
an Italian till today, but after this he's going to be an American. The
fire-crackers did it."