handed out two letters, and then clucked to his horse in an embarrassed
fashion as Miss Lyndesay thanked him.
"They came after you left, and she said you'd be wanting them, thank
you!" And he drove on, leaving the source of his emotion quite
unconscious of him or it, intent upon opening the first of the letters.
"They are too long to read as I walk," she said, and chose a comfortable
secluded spot to sit. "Let me think. It was a year ago in March that I
saw Hannah first, there at Three Gables, when she had just come back
from Germany, and was homesick and missed her mother so. She did
Catherine as much good as Catherine did her. They are a pair of charming
children, as different as April and October. I think I will save
Hannah's letter for the last. It's sure to be exciting, and Catherine's
should be read in a calm spirit." Accordingly she opened Catherine's and
glancing with a smile over the tabulated statement of the health of the
various members of the family, regularly included since her complaint
that no such information was ever granted her, began to read the letter
proper:
"_Dearest Aunt Clara:_
"Algernon is away at a district meeting. I believe that is what he calls
it. He is quite elated over the opportunity and Polly and I are taking
charge of the library while he is gone. I hardly see Algernon any more.
He is so busy all the time, and he is simply sought after. People seem
to think he is an infallible authority, now that he is librarian, and he
does seem to know everything. He reads everything and has an intelligent
way of telling what you want to know. I'm quite impressed by him,
myself. Of course, he talks technicalities a lot, and he acts grieved
sometimes because the rest of us don't take the library quite so
seriously as he does. The others are rather tired of it by now, except
Polly and Bertha and Agnes. I really enjoy it, and I come in often
nowadays, because I know when Hannah and Frieda get here, I won't have
so much time for it. The children are fond of Algernon and he remembers
the funny things they say and tells them--(it's the first time he ever
had anything amusing to say on any subject!)--Peter Osgood wanted _The
Wail of the Sandal Swag_, and a little girl asked for _Timothy
Squst_. (If that's how you spell it. It rhymed with 'crust.') The
children aren't the only funny ones. A man came in this afternoon and
asked for _Edith Breed_, and it proved he wanted _He That Eateth
Bread With Me_, and one forlorn-looking creature handed me a slip of
paper with _Doan the Dark_ written on it, and she meant _Joan of
Arc!_
"_Later._ I had to stop there to wait on a whole group. I don't
understand why they always come in hordes. They don't seem to be
connected at all, but there are always times when there is no one here
and then suddenly an influx.
"Just now the room is empty again. I wish you could see it. It is a dear
little room and now that it is being really used, doesn't have that bare
look it had at first. We fixed up a darling Children's Corner, with some
child pictures cut from a magazine and framed, and a little round table
Polly used to have, and my own little rocker. The window is a sunny one,
and the little curtains look so fresh and dainty. Almost always there is
some child or other sitting there looking at pictures or reading.
"_Later again._ Dearest, dearest Aunt Clara! My eyes are all full
of happy tears. I can't write clearly. I came home from the library a
little tired and quite willing to let Polly take it for the evening. And
here on the porch was the box, the blessed box, addressed to me. Of
course, I wasn't too tired to open it! O, you dear darling! We have
needed color in that bare little place so much, and here is this
beautiful glowing picture just full of story suggestions. There never
was a child born who could look at that, and not go dreaming off into
all sorts of fairy tales. It makes me so happy to think you care enough
about our little library to give your own beautiful work. I wanted to go
right down and hang it, but I called Polly up on the 'phone and she came
over, and said I should keep it this evening to look at, and we'd hang
it when Algernon comes back to-morrow. She is delighted, too, and
Algernon will be, and he will send you a formal letter of thanks, but
nobody can be so pleased as I am, because you are my almost-truly aunt,
you know.
"I do hope you can feel the thanks I'm sending you across all that big
salt water!"
* * * * *
Clara Lyndesay's own eyes misted a little.
"That little study isn't deserving of such glowing words," she said to
herself. "Now I must see what my other childie has to say. Their letters
are growing more similar. Catherine's association with other girls is
giving her a more open manner, and Hannah is growing a bit more mature.
Still,--" her eyes fell upon the wild slant of the writing before her,
"I suspect she never will be quite grown up, and this particular time
she doesn't show the maturity alarmingly! This letter looks as excited
as the one she wrote from Dexter when she was upset about sororities
last year."
"_Darling Lady Love of Mine:_
"Are you in Ventnor still? Shall you be there the 23d? I don't know what
I shall do, if you leave the Isle of Wight before the 27th. I wanted to
cable, but father thought it was unnecessary and of course I couldn't
afford to do it on my own account. They charge terribly for cabling. And
this letter may not reach you till you are gone, or _they_ are. O
_dear!_ It just worries me to death to think about it. And there
you are so near and I have wanted you and Frieda to meet so long. You
may even be passing each other on the street or somewhere and not
recognizing each other. _Have_ you seen her? You'd surely know her,
if you stopped to think, for Mother always said she looks like Mona Lisa
and you'd notice Mona Lisa if you saw her. Even if she did have on a
sailor suit too big for her, and a funny soup-bowl hat. Only perhaps she
doesn't wear such things now. It's two years since I saw her, almost,
that is, and I don't know how she dresses.
"Aunt Clara! I was just going to sign my name and read this over and I
haven't told you what I was writing for at all. You will think me a
dreadful rattlebrain! It's just that we got a post card to-day from the
Langes saying that they were on the Isle of Wight for several days, and
I thought right away that you simply must meet them. It's such a little
island! They wrote from Ryde. O, I'll enclose the postal. It will tell
you all about where they are to be, and you will try your very hardest
to see them, won't you? You couldn't help loving them, every one, dear
Frau Marie and the funny Herr Professor. And nothing is far in England.
"Your loving loving Hannah."
"P. S. I wrote Frieda to look for you."
* * * * *
The blue eyes were full of laughter this time.
"Rattlebrain! I should say so. And of course,--yes, she did forget to
enclose the postal. It's a wonder she didn't cable. Now here am I,
exhorted to meet three German people of whom I know these facts:
Professor Lange of Berlin, the Frau Professor and their daughter Frieda,
who looks like Mona Lisa and--perhaps--wears sailor suits too large for
her and a funny soup-bowl hat. Were in Ryde some time ago, and, I judge,
expected to be on the Isle until the 27th. To-day is the 26th. Well, I'm
afraid, Hannah dear, you'll have to learn to keep your head a little
better, when you wish to carry out your pleasant ideas. I wonder what
she wrote to Frieda."
She rose from her seat on the ivy-covered grass, and strolled leisurely
back toward her hotel. The afternoon light was low and the little church
she passed on her way seemed more than usually quaint and inviting.
Half-way by, she turned irresolutely, then entered the churchyard.
A local guide was showing a party of tourists about.
Miss Lyndesay was turning away to avoid them, when a deep _"Ach,
so!"_ followed by a feminine _"Wunderhuebsch! Ganz malerisch!"_
fell on her ear. She looked more closely at the little group. A
gentleman in a long linen duster, with a loosely rolled umbrella under
his arm, was gazing at the church most earnestly. He stepped back to get
a better view, and colliding with a mossy headstone, turned and bowed to
it politely with an apology. The little woman at his side paid no
attention to him or to the guide, but followed with her eyes a plump
young girl in a sailor-suit, who was stooping to gather flowers.
"Frieda," she called, "pluck not those blossoms!"
Miss Lyndesay approached the young girl. Mona Lisa's inscrutable eyes
and elusive smile looked up from below an impossible hat.
"I was looking for you, Frieda," said Miss Lyndesay. "But Hannah said
you were in Ryde."
"Yesterday, gracious lady," said Frieda, ducking in a courtesy, "but
to-day, no. We have sought you, too, and vainly. _Vater_,
_Muetterchen_, behold Hannah's beloved lady. We have found ourselves
at last!"
CHAPTER NINE
LANDING
"O Dear! It seems as though I couldn't wait a minute longer. It takes
such an eternity for them to get in. Do you think you can see her, Karl?
Take the glasses and look. See if you don't think that little red speck
in the bow is her?"
"After the verb 'to be'--"
"O, bother, Karl! You are fussier about my English than my German."
The tall fair young man smiled, but answered stubbornly: "It's a fact,
Hannah, you are more careless about English than about German. Not in
grammar only, but in pronunciation. How is a poor foreigner to guess
that 'sumpn' for instance means 'something'?"
"If it didn't mean anything, I wouldn't say it," retorted Hannah
saucily. "Is there any other criticism you have to make upon my use of
my native tongue, Mr. Germany?"
"You drop your final 'g' occasionally, and always your final 'r'," went
on the accuser.
Hannah laughed. "You can't hear an 'r' unless it's rolled over the
tongue like macaroni, Karl Von Arndtheim! Just wait till you hear the
western girls talk, and you'll be satisfied. Look! Look! It's as much as
an inch nearer. Give me the glasses again. I do believe that's Frieda.
No, not the red one, but the blue one with the veil floating. Can you
see?"
Karl pushed his way through the crowd, drawing Hannah safely along into
a little open space at one side. Stationing himself against a pile of
boxes, he helped her climb to the top and support herself by clinging to
his shoulder.
"There, child, you can sit and watch, and she'll see you better than if
you were mixed up in the crowd. Put up that sunshade and wave it. She
will think you are a great blue bird ready to fly out and meet her."
"I wish I were a gull. I'd fly right to her dear shoulder and peck her
cheek. But are you sure I'm not too heavy, Karl? This thing is wobbly
and I lean on you awfully for such a fat lady as I am."
"I can endure it! I say, Hannah, now she is so nearly here, I'm
beginning to get excited myself. _Die niedliche Kleine!_ It doesn't
seem two years ago that you youngsters used to send cakes and things
down to my window from yours. You were a pair of ministering angels."
"Wasn't it fun? Poor Karl! I did pity you so, cooped up in the house
that way. And you played the violin like an angel yourself, like a
grieving one."
"Well, we've all given up the angel hypothesis by this time, though it
was useful in getting us interested in each other. There! This time I
see her, not in red nor in blue, but in brown. See! She is jumping up
and down and waving to us."
The moments that followed while the great vessel swung heavily into
place alongside the pier, and the ropes were made fast, and the
gangplank was flung across, seemed interminable to impatient Hannah.
Frieda was almost the first to land, and as she stepped on shore, she
found herself lifted in a mighty hug, which she returned with all the
strength of two muscular arms, gasping little cries of "_Ach, meine
Hannah!_" as she did so.
When the embracing stopped for a moment, Karl stepped forward, hat in
hand, to greet Frieda in his turn. She seized his hand and wrung it,
repeating: "_Ach_, my heart could burst for gladness. My dears! My
dears! But where is Miss Lyndesay?"
"Miss Lyndesay?" cried Hannah, looking wildly about. "Not my Miss
Lyndesay?" But as she spoke, some one bent down and kissed her mouth,
rounded with amazement.
"Yes, your Miss Lyndesay, and Frieda's guardian for the present. We must
get out of the crowd a little, Hannah, and then we can tell you all
about it. Is this Mr. Von Arndtheim? I think I shall have to introduce
myself. Will you find the way to our trunks, please? I had the hand
luggage taken off at once. It's fortunate we both belong in L."
Somehow the little group made its way inside the great roofed-over place
where the customs inspectors were doing their disagreeable duty to
trunks and suitcases. Under a great black "L" Karl soon had Miss
Lyndesay's and Frieda's trunks opened and passed upon, while Hannah
struggled to collect her wits, and control her unspeakable rapture.
Frieda was intent upon seeing that no harm was done her belongings,
which were piled up about her, umbrella, hand-bags, a carryall, a
shawl-strap, a brown linen roll with _Gute Reise_ embroidered on
it, and a long trunk with rounded edges. She resented the inspector's
opening anything, but Miss Lyndesay and Karl ignored her protest and at
last the ordeal was over, and all four were seated in a carriage,
driving to the club where they were to lunch with Miss Lyndesay.
[Illustration: "'Sure I am not too heavy, Karl?'"--_Page 112._]
"Frieda! Frieda! Put your head back in here!" said the harassed guardian
of that head, in a tone of mingled amusement and weariness. "If you get
her safely to Mrs. Eldred to-night, Mr. Von Arndtheim, you will do well.
Frieda has escaped various sorts of peril on the voyage, rather by
miraculous intervention than by any skill of mine as chaperon. Tell me,
Hannah dear, how are your family?"
Hannah had been sitting very quietly beside her beloved lady, too dazed
yet to realize her unexpected good fortune. She squeezed the gloved hand
hard now and answered mechanically, her eyes telling the feelings that
were surging within her.
"That is good. We left Frieda's parents well, too, and quite content
after some excitement. You see, they had made plans for Frieda to come
with an English friend of theirs, who was obliged only a few days before
sailing-time to change her plans. Then the Professor thought he might
send Frieda in the captain's care, but that distressed Frau Lange, and
they were on the point of giving it up altogether when they happened to
tell me about it. I had been intending to come over soon, anyhow, and
could easily arrange to take their friend's place, and did so gladly. It
was a much more interesting passage than I have usually known!"
Miss Lyndesay smiled at Frieda and Frieda smiled in return, but had
almost immediately to be drawn forcibly into the carriage by Karl.
"You can see enough of America without putting your head out," he
suggested. "It is an interesting country, but not worth so much effort,
I assure you."
They were driving down Commonwealth Avenue by this time, and even
Frieda's Berlin had never shown her a pleasanter and more decorous
street. Karl thought, as she leaned forward, that she was trying to get
a better view of the trumpeting angels on the spire of the church they
were passing, but he was destined to be undeceived.
"I care nothing for America," said Frieda scornfully. "But I do not
trust that man. I cannot see all my _Handgepaeck_, only the ends of
two bags. Let us stop him and count them!"
"Americans don't steal!" said Hannah hotly.
"Neither do Germans!" cried Frieda, and Karl looked at the two with
consternation.
"See here, _Kinder_," he put in. "This is a little too much like
old times. You are two years older now, and shouldn't be so
belligerent."
"Bell-i-gerent?" Frieda fumbled in her coat pocket and brought out a
little red book. "I do not know that word. I will seek him."
"O, dear," moaned Hannah. "Are you going around seeking words in a
dictionary all the time, Frieda? I'll put a stop to that, you'd better
believe."
Miss Lyndesay watched the little scene in silence. On the way across the
ocean she had wondered more than once what effect Frieda's decidedly
young and aggressive nature would have on Hannah, whom she knew to be
easily affected by her companions.
"Catherine will have her hands full, keeping them soothed," she thought
now, and was glad when the carriage stopped before the familiar house
with the mail-box between the posts, and Karl helped her out.
"B-e-l-l-i-g-e-r-e-n-t!" spelled Frieda triumphantly, stumbling out of
the carriage, "'Inclined to fight; war-like; pug-na-cious--' Ah!"
Her eyes fell upon the _Handgepaeck_. "_Eins, zwei, drei, vier,
fuenf,--wo denn? So! fuenf, sechs. Es sind alle hier!_"
"There!" said Hannah. "I told you the man wouldn't steal!"
Frieda opened her lips to answer, but Karl caught up all the luggage he
could carry and led the way to the steps where Miss Lyndesay was
waiting, and the two girls followed him, forgetting national disputes in
common interest in their surroundings, as they had done more than once
before.
At luncheon in the pretty club dining-room, Frieda ate industriously and
silently, as Hannah remembered seeing her do of old. Hannah herself did
justice to the good dishes, though she could hardly take her eyes from
Miss Lyndesay's beautiful face, and could think of nothing whatever to
say on any subject. Karl and his hostess chatted pleasantly and liked
each other warmly. After luncheon, Karl went out to send cablegrams, and
Miss Lyndesay took the girls up to the attractive white and green room
which had been assigned to her.
"Can't you come out home with us?" asked Hannah wistfully. "I know Mamma
would love to have you. She couldn't come in to meet the boat, because
we've been at the shore until two days ago, and she was getting the
house open; and Dad was too busy, so they sent me down with Karl. But I
know if they were here, they would beg you to come. Can't you, please?"
Miss Lyndesay took Hannah into her arms and kissed the warm red cheeks.
As she did so, she saw a queer little look of annoyance cross Frieda's
face, and she put out her arm and drew Frieda close, too.
"I'd like nothing better than to be with both of you for days and days.
Think how I shall miss my little roommate! But I must stay in town a day
or two to do some necessary shopping. You know, I am going to spend the
rest of the summer in Brookmeadow, a beautiful little village, not far
from your home, Hannah. I'm going to fit up a studio there, out of an
old house I own. And listen, both of you! Before Frieda goes out West,
you two are to come over and spend a day and night with me in my home
there. Shall you like that?"
The sunshine on their faces answered her, but Hannah's grew wistful
again.
"You are going to be so near my home all summer, and I'm going away,
myself."
"But you are going to Winsted and Catherine. Don't forget that. And I
shall be at Brookmeadow still when you come home. Hannah, Hannah,
haven't you learned yet that one can't have everything that is
delightful all at once?"
"I suppose you mean about sorrows making you appreciate blessings and so
on," pouted Hannah. "But I don't believe it. I know I could be happy all
the time, if I could have all the things I want just when I want them!"
Miss Lyndesay did not smile. "Perhaps you could!" she said slowly. "You
will never have a chance to prove it. It's not within the limits of
possibility. But I had an idea, Hannah, that you were one of the people
who could manage pretty well to be happy with things as they came."
Hannah flushed and buried her face on Miss Lyndesay's shoulder. Frieda
looked restless.
"_Bitte, sprechen Sie mal Deutsch_," she said suddenly. "_Es tut
mir furchtbar weh, immer Englisch zu hoeren!_"
Quick as a flash Hannah's head came up, and she laughed a delicious
laugh. "Poor Frieda," she said in German, "does it hurt you awfully to
hear English all the time? There! There! I know how you feel. Did you
talk German to her coming over, Miss Lyndesay?"
Miss Lyndesay looked guilty. "I'm afraid I did. You see, it was such a
fine opportunity for me to practise, and I didn't want her to be
homesick, as well as--"
"I was not seasick," declared Frieda stoutly, and both the others
laughed.
"I have crossed the seas full many times," said Clara Lyndesay smiling,
"but never have I known any one who was seasick! But to change the
subject, it's almost time for Karl to be back to take you to the train,
children; and Frieda has a spot on her coat which I can remove if you
will open my suitcase, Hannah, and bring me the little bottle of benzine
in the left-hand corner. Mrs. Eldred must not think I have brought her
an untidy little _Maedchen_!"
They spent a cozy half hour chatting in German or English, as the spirit
or their respective inabilities moved them, and when Karl arrived to
escort them to the station, they were in a blithe mood, which even the
ordeal of parting from Miss Lyndesay did not shake.
"You are coming very soon to visit me," she said, as she kissed them
good-by, "and you are both to be good until then, and not belligerent.
Remember you are children no longer."
"Aren't you a child any longer, Frieda?" asked Hannah with interest, as
they entered the carriage.
"Indeed, I am not. Did you not see that I make no more _Knixes_?"
"That's so. Isn't it fun not to? Don't you ever forget?"
"Only once. When I met Miss Lyndesay in the churchyard," said Frieda,
dwelling on the memory.
"No wonder!" said Karl. "I would salaam before her, myself."
"So would I!" agreed Hannah. "But Frieda, then, if you are no longer a
child, at last you have a will?"
Frieda nodded her head emphatically.
"Now," she said, "I have a will."
And Karl, looking into her sturdy face, into the eyes which he had
sometimes seen dancing with mischief, sometimes flashing anger, and
sometimes brimming with sorrow, murmured a prayer under his breath, for
gracious guidance for that new-claimed "will."
CHAPTER TEN
THE MAKING OF A COMPACT
At the end of the short railway journey, Mr. Eldred met the girls and
conducted them to the house where Mrs. Eldred waited with a
heart-warming welcome for her little guest.
It was a pretty home and Frieda felt the charm of it instantly as she
went up stairs with Hannah to the little square room which she was to
occupy. At the same time, however, she felt strange and out of place.
She was conscious of a contrast between her own hat and Hannah's,
between her heavy wool dress and Hannah's blue linen suit, between her
strong, serviceable--and ugly--shoes, and Hannah's pumps, also strong
and serviceable, but far from ugly. The six pieces of hand luggage and
the queer steamer trunk, when deposited in the center of the little
room, with its crisp ruffled curtains, and its plain mahogany furniture,
disturbed the harmony that had reigned before from the etching over the
bed to the bowl of ferns on the table. Hannah was friendly and beaming,
and not at all belligerent. Mrs. Eldred was all sweet, cheery
thoughtfulness, but Frieda looking at herself in the oval mirror of the
dressing-table, felt a sudden throb of pity for the girl she saw there.
Hannah helped her remove her thick jacket, tucked it and her hat away in
the closet, piled up the bags and asked for the trunk key.
"_Mutter hat uns immer gesagt, alles an seinen Ort zu legen_," she
said in a kind of chant. Frieda looked up, her eyes brightening with
fun.
"Mother always told us to gargle every morning and use plenty of
tooth-powder," she said, and Hannah shrieked with glee.
"O, have you been learning English out of that ridiculous Edith and Mary
book, too? I hoped you would have it, and we can do beautiful dialogues
in German and English. I've always wanted to, but I never knew any one
who could do the responses. I'll be Edith and you can be Mary."
Mrs. Eldred came in as Hannah flung the lid of the trunk back. Frieda's
fun died away as she reached into a little pocket and took out a letter.
"It's for you, Tante Edith," she said, holding it as though she loved
it. "It's from my mother--" and the tears came into her eyes as she said
the word. Mrs. Eldred and Hannah exchanged glances of understanding, and
Hannah caught up the water pitcher.