waiting-room. In answer to the doctor's invitation, the door was slowly
opened, and Hannah put her head in at the crack, Frieda's appearing just
below it, and Catherine's just above.
"Well, here you are!" cried Hannah. "We've been searching the house from
attic to cellar for Alice, and finally had an inspiration and came
here."
"Anything so exclusive as this," remarked Catherine, as she entered,
"makes the rest of us jealous."
"Fearfully chealous," said Frieda earnestly, putting her arm around
Alice's neck, and perching on the arm of her chair.
Hannah and Catherine sat down on the window-seat, pushing the curtains
out of the way as they did so.
"Mother really wanted to have her office curtains made of antiseptic
gauze," said Catherine. "Why don't you two say anything?"
"You interrupted me just as I was having an inspiration," said her
mother.
"O, what a pity," sighed Hannah. "Because Catherine is bored."
"Bored? Catherine? Did she tell you so?"
"Yes, I did," said Catherine stoutly. "I knew they were, too; and I
thought if I owned up that I was, they would say they were, but they
won't."
"Incorruptible politeness!" said Dr. Helen. "How do you account for your
own sudden ennui?"
"It's not just to-day," said Catherine. "I really think my life is
rather dull, anyhow. Of course, having the girls here is quite an event,
but I wish there were big, exciting things I had to do or see to.
Mending, and helping Inga make salads and beds, and even going to
college is tiresome. Just what every one else does. And the worst of it
is that every one expects me to be enthusiastic all the time!"
They all laughed at Catherine's disconsolate tone, but Dr. Helen looked
professional. "This heat is enough to make any one cross," she said. "I
suppose the rest of you feel the same way, but, being guests, don't dare
say so?"
"Do prescribe for us, Dr. Helen," begged Hannah. "I don't feel
especially bored just now, but I often do. Going to Europe was the only
event in my life!"
"And going to college in mine!" said Alice.
"Coming here is all that has ever happened to me," said Frieda solemnly.
"You poor things! It is a serious state of affairs. I suppose you pine
for kidnappers, or lovers or financial difficulties or fearful illnesses
or Arctic explorations."
"Exactly!" cried Catherine. "Especially the last, on a day like this.
But, really, Mother, of course, I don't feel as I said more than once in
a great while, and I was talking to amuse myself; but can't you suggest
something for us to do this afternoon? The more we lie around and keep
cool, the warmer we grow. The Boat Club seems to have tired of picnics,
and I want to do something while Alice is here,--something really
interesting and pleasant to remember, something we didn't plan
ourselves."
"Yes, do tell us something," the others pleaded.
Dr. Helen drew a prescription pad to her.
"Don't talk," she said, "while I am thinking. I'll undertake the case,
if you will all agree to follow orders exactly, and in case of a
relapse, to remember and act upon the spirit of to-day's prescription."
"Agreed!" they chorused, and then sat in silence and watched her hand as
it moved over the little sheets. These she folded like powder-papers,
endorsed on the outside, and handed over to her patients.
"To be taken at half-past three o'clock, in good spirits and your
prettiest afternoon frock," read Hannah. "I didn't suppose that you
would prescribe spirits, Dr. Helen! What does yours say, Catherine?"
"They are all alike on the outside," said Dr. Helen. "Now run away and
play. I have telephoning to do, and mustn't be bothered."
They bent over her for kisses and danced away, looking anything but
bored.
At half-past three, dressed according to orders, they gathered on the
porch, and at a signal opened their little papers.
There was a minute of silence, and then their eyes met, annoyed and yet
amused a little.
Hannah spoke first.
"Evidently the rest of you aren't any more fascinated than I am! I
didn't count on going off all by myself to see a stranger! But we asked
for a prescription, and we all promised to follow it, so here goes.
Doctors always give disagreeable medicine!"
"Mine isn't unpleasant, except that I have to do it alone," said Alice.
"Which way does Madam Kittredge live, Catherine?"
"Two doors beyond Dot's, where we were yesterday. You can't miss it. I
wish I could go with you, but let's hurry up and get back. Do you know
the way to yours, Frieda?"
"It tells the way plainly enough," said Frieda, grumbling a little. "But
I think I wish I were a scientific Christian, like the ones you told me
about!"
The others laughed sympathetically.
"Too late to save yourself now," said Hannah. "Go ahead and get it over,
and then we'll get even with Dr. Helen some way for playing us such a
mischievous trick. Good-by. I have to go down town for mine."
Dr. Helen from her window watched them separate, and smiled. A few
minutes later Bert appeared, looking for some one to amuse him.
The doctor told him of the malady that had seized her maidens, and of
their quest for healing.
"It's an epidemic," said Bert solemnly. "I've got it bad, and I saw Arch
an hour ago, and he was so low he couldn't even smile. Said he was going
to cut out paper dolls or string buttons, if this kept up. Can't you
prescribe for us, Doctor?"
"Why, yes. Get Archie and bring him up here to supper this evening. Tell
him he needn't smile. Perhaps my ladies-errant may have stories to tell
that will ease your pain a little!"
Bert joyfully undertook to bring Archie, and set off at once while Dr.
Helen gave Inga instructions for an especially festive supper, and with
her own hands prepared a frozen dessert.
The four girls, who had barely slept apart in the week since Alice's
arrival, were now walking along widely separate paths, each one feeling
oddly alone, and yet not wholly disliking the sensation. Catherine,
well-used to her mother's ways and beliefs, smiled to herself as she
went off to tell stories and play cat's cradle with the washerwoman's
little girl, who had a "spine" and had to be "kep' quiet with high
epidemics somethin' fierce."
"It's just like Mother," she thought. "She knew I was peevish and really
needed to be alone. Just as she used to send me to my 'boudoir' to pout
by myself when I was little. The hours with the girls seem so precious
that I can't bear to lose one, but I suppose I did need to be alone. You
know, Mr. Squirrel, or Mr. Oakkitten, as Frieda would call you, what
George Herbert said:
'By all means use sometimes to be alone.
Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.'
"You needn't scamper away up the tree so fast. I'm not going to stay
round here long enough to interfere with your looking over your
spiritual wardrobe. I wonder if your soul wears soft gray fur?" And the
story-teller walked quickly on through the woods, chanting to herself:
"Old world, how beautiful thou art!" and planning for an unusually
effective denouement for the tale of the Three Little Pigs.
Hannah, traversing the blistering length of Main Street, had arrived at
the gloomy brick building labelled Hotel, and had inquired for Mrs.
Tracy of whom her prescription told her this much: "Travelling man's
wife, convalescent after long severe illness."
Mrs. Tracy would receive her in her room, and Hannah followed the
proprietor, who was also bell-boy and head waiter, up the shabby stairs,
feeling decidedly foolish, but determined not to give up.
Once inside the room, she forgot her own feelings. It was a most doleful
place, with ugly walls, cheap stained furniture and huge figured
curtains; but she was met by a sweet-faced young woman in a soft blue
negligee.
"Dr. Helen telephoned me that you were coming," she said, taking
Hannah's hand and looking into her eyes with a bright look that made
Hannah feel interested at once.
"Will you take the place of honor?" She indicated a stiff little settee,
upholstered in magenta cotton velvet.
"It must be what the _Courier_ advertisement meant, when it spoke
of furniture, 'warranted upholstered,'" said Hannah seating herself, and
smiling her most merry smile at her attractive little hostess.
The thin face almost dimpled with pleasure.
"So you read the _Courier_, too! Mr. Tracy bought back numbers of
it to amuse me, and I've collected the most delightful clippings. You
see, I'm alone so much. The nurse wasn't very entertaining, and my
husband has to be away all the week, and I have to have some one to
laugh with, or at least, something to laugh at!"
"What fun!" said Hannah. "Do show me your clippings."
"I was just pasting in a birth notice when you came," said Mrs. Tracy,
lifting a small scrap-book from a table. "It's about as good as
anything. 'Mr. and Mrs. Ezra Kling are the proud parents of a fine baby
girl. Present indications are that the lovely lump intends to stay.'"
"O!" Hannah shrieked and leaned forward to look. Mrs. Tracy handed her
the book.
"That's why I cut them out and paste them. No one would believe them,
otherwise. Here is a gem of music criticism: 'As he stepped to the edge
of the platform, the word Artist came to every lip. His natural pathos
mingled with his baritone in such a manner that it was impossible to
tell where one left off and the other began. And in his dramatic
numbers, the writhings of his face showed the convulsive agonies of a
soul in pain.'"
"One of my friends told me about a singer coming to a little village,
and they described her appearance and her dress, and wound up the
paragraph by saying: 'The soloist wore white shoes. No other stage
decorations were necessary.'"
"Delightful--unless it was deliberate wit! As it was in a Kansas paper,
which spoke of some one's 'blowing large chunks of melody out of a
flute.' But the charm of these Winsted gems is the entire
unconsciousness of the writer. For instance, here: 'The elite lingerie
of Winsted invited their gentleman friends to a leap-year ball!'"
"O, see here!" cried Hannah, turning the pages joyfully. "'The hall was
decorated with syringe blossoms!'"
"Only a misprint, and I saw in a Chicago paper the other day that one of
the fashionable ladies wore a gown with a gold-colored y-o-l-k. This is
partly a misprint, too, 'easy _hairs_ were scattered about with a
lavish hand.' But I think it would take a hand that was powerful as well
as lavish, to scatter easy chairs very generally! That was the same
party where the hostess and her daughters 'dispensed with the
refreshments in the dining-room!' But I am not going to keep you
laughing over the _Courier_ all the afternoon," and Mrs. Tracy
tried to take the book away from Hannah.
"Just one more," she begged. "Listen! 'Mrs. Gray's speech was replete
with wit, wisdom and winsome ways.' O dear, Mrs. Tracy! I never saw
anything so funny as this book in all my life!"
"The trouble with it is that it gets one started on a certain line, and
it is very hard to get away from it."
"Like telling funny names you have heard," suggested Hannah. "Alice and
Catherine and Frieda and I got to telling those last night, and we
laughed so long and so hard that Dr. Helen came up and put us to bed!"
"Did you have any funnier than Pearl Button?"
"Not really?" protested Hannah. "Alice swore she knew one girl called
Dusk Delight Dinwiddie, because she was born at twilight and they
thought she was delightful. That was what we were laughing over when Dr.
Helen came in, and she stopped long enough to tell us of a college
acquaintance of hers named Revelation Rasmussen, who married Will Kelly,
and an Ella G. Gray whom they nick-named 'Country Churchyard'!"
"What jolly times you girls must be having," said Mrs. Tracy. "You see,
I know all about you. Dr. Helen--I began calling her Dr. Smith, but I
couldn't keep it up--has told me all sorts of interesting stories, and
those about you four are the most entertaining. I listen to all your
doings as though you were characters in a serial story. You don't mind,
I hope?"
"Mind? Of course not. We aren't story-book girls at all, though, but
very flesh-and-bloody! Why didn't Dr. Helen tell us about you before,
and let us come to see you?"
"It has only been a little while that I have felt like seeing people,
and when she suggested sending her daughter, I told her not to, for I
didn't want your fun interrupted. And I remember when I was your age, I
dreaded calling on sick people. I always felt as though I ought to carry
them tracts or--"
"Wine jelly," finished Hannah. "Yes, that's the way I felt a little,
to-day. I was afraid I'd not be able to think of anything to say, and I
planned to offer to read to you."
"That was very good of you, but I've read and been read to so much that
I'm glad of other occupations. The nurse exhausted the library's
resources. Then I took up picture puzzles. Mr. Tracy brings them out to
me every week, but we both get cross about them because they interest us
so that we spend half his precious day over them! Just now I am trying
to teach myself to knit, out of a book, and I'm in a dreadful tangle. I
think the chamber-maid knows how, and I mean to ask her."
"O, let me bring Frieda in to show you. She knows how to do all such
things, and would dearly love to. And you ought to meet all your story
characters and see if we are like what you imagined. I must go now, for
Dr. Helen expressly said that I wasn't to stay long, and I know you are
tired."
"I'll soon be rested, and it has been such fun to have you. Wait! Let me
give you one of my roses!"
Hannah took the rose, and then put out her hand for good-by. There was
something so sweet and winning about the white little face, where tired
lines were showing in spite of the smile, that Hannah impulsively bent
over and kissed it; and then, promising to come next day with Frieda,
she flew down the corridor and out into the street, entirely recovered
from her ennui of the morning.
Frieda, meanwhile, was following minute directions which led her at last
to a tiny cottage by the riverside. She went up the walk and rapped on
the door. No one answered. A second attempt was as unsuccessful, and
Frieda turned away, half ready to give up this strange errand which she
did not quite fancy. Dr. Helen had asked her to go to this house and buy
flowers! It did not look like a florist's. There was a garden behind the
house, though. She decided to go back there before giving up. Dr. Helen
usually was wise.
Behind the house was a neat, neat garden, with vegetables and berry
bushes and gorgeous flowers of every kind. There were little trees
whitewashed up to the branches, and whitewashed stones marked the
corners of the paths. Frieda stood looking about with pleasure, when she
saw coming down the path a little old lady with a black knitted shawl
over her head, and a little old man in carpet slippers, with a big pipe
in his mouth. They met her shyly and she put her errand in her
embarrassed English. The old lady shook her head and looked hopefully at
the old man. He shook his and grunted. Frieda tried once more. She
frequently had difficulty in making herself understood. This time she
used gestures, and made such an earnest effort to be clear that the old
people began to look worried. The old lady shook her head again and
then, turning to her husband, asked him something in German. Then there
was excitement! Frieda plunged into German with them, and the others,
delighted to find she knew their language, talked fast and faster.
When she told them she was newly come from their beloved country, their
eyes filled with tears and they asked question after question. Leading
her to an arbor under the whitewashed trees, they made her sit down. The
little old lady hurried into the house and brought out _Kuchen_ and
beer. Frieda was blissful. They spoke good German, and had visited
Berlin. They were full of respect when they learned that Frieda's father
was a Herr Professor, for they themselves had been simple tradespeople.
In answer to her questions, they told her how their children had come to
America, had prospered, and had sent for the old parents. With sad
voices they explained their entire inability to adjust themselves to the
new country and the new ways. The language they had not even attempted
to acquire. At last, their sons had built this little cottage for them,
and, with a grandchild, who spoke both languages, to act as interpreter,
they lived peacefully and quietly on.
"But we miss the old country sometimes," said the grandfather. "Our
neighbors and the pleasant evenings and the bands."
"Don't you know the other Germans here?" asked Frieda. "Dr. Harlow tells
me there are many."
"They are not from our part of Germany," said the little grandmother
gently. "And they are Methodists, while we are Lutherans."
"But our sons come often to see us, and we have the garden and each
other," said the grandfather cheerfully. "And sometimes we get hold of a
German book or paper."
"O!" cried Frieda delightedly. "There will be many German books for you
soon," and she told them eagerly about the library and the list of books
Algernon had already ordered at her suggestion. They listened with
intelligent interest, and exchanged looks of pleasure at the thought of
such a storehouse to draw on in the long winter evenings, "when the
garden takes its nap," as the little Frau said lovingly.
The sun was perceptibly lower when Frieda rose to go. Then she
remembered Dr. Helen's errand. The faces of her host and hostess shone
at the name. "Heavenly kind! Yes! She had done much for them. They would
send her flowers gladly, but sell them to her? Never!"
With big shears they cut great stalks of everything the garden
contained, and, piling Frieda's arms with blossoms, while she uttered
protests and exclamations of delight, they escorted her to the gate.
There, in spite of her boasted emancipation from childhood, she dropped
a courtesy and left them, crying "_Ade!_" as long as they could see
her.
At the supper table at Three Gables, Dr. Helen, with Bert on one side,
and Archie on the other, called on each girl in turn for her story of
the afternoon.
Alice's turn came last.
"It was such a beautiful prescription!" she said. "I went to see Madam
Kittredge. Her daughter took me up to her big room furnished with old
mahogany heirlooms that made me feel as though I were in New England.
And there in an arm-chair sat the most beautiful white-haired woman I
ever saw. She is quite imposing and grand, but her smile saves her from
being awesome. I loved her at first sight, and was not shy about staying
alone with her. You would hardly know she is blind, would you? And she
is perfectly delightful. She asked about Mrs. Langdon, and told me some
droll stories of her odd ways, even when she was a young girl. She and
Mrs. Langdon and another girl were together a great deal when they were
young, and now they live within a radius of a hundred miles, but she
says they never travel, so it might almost as well be a thousand. One is
blind and one is lame and the third is deaf! She laughed about it as
though it were not sad at all. The deaf one has been quite ill recently,
and Madam Kittredge is making the prettiest present for her. She says
Mrs. Langdon writes regular letters to them both, but Madam Kittredge
can reply only by dictation, or by sending little gifts, and she takes
the greatest pleasure in doing that. She showed me what she was getting
ready for 'Matty,' as she calls the one who lives in Milwaukee. It
seemed so queer to hear her speak of Mrs. Langdon as 'Sue'! If you
should see her once,--" turning to Bert, who sat beside her,--"you would
appreciate it. She is almost a fierce-looking old lady, and she says the
most startlingly frank things if she chooses. I don't believe any
ordinary person could help being a little afraid of Mrs. Langdon, but
Madam Kittredge seems to think her a delicious joke. But I started to
tell about the present. You see, this Matty is all alone in the world.
She never married and she hasn't much money, and she just loves pretty
things, especially pretty colors. And so Madam Kittredge is sending her
a rainbow basket. It ought to have seemed pathetic to see her handling
the colored things and hear her telling about the pleasure she was sure
her friend would take in them, when she couldn't see them herself, but
somehow it wasn't. She doesn't seem to think of herself at all, and so
she doesn't make other people. She said she made excellent use of her
sight while she had it, and can picture everything clearly now. The
basket itself was beautiful, a big green sweet-grass scrap basket, with
a great green bow. And inside were six parcels, each tied with a bow of
ribbon, so that all the rainbow shades are there. The friend is to draw
one each day for a week. Mrs. Kittredge undid them and let me look. She
says she likes the feel of the soft paper and ribbon. First was a little
red rose bush in a pot--"
"Is she going to send the thing that way? How can she?"
"I asked, myself, and she smiled and said she allowed herself some
extravagances, and one was to carry out her little ideas like that
without minding if they did cost rather more doing it her way. She said
her friend would enjoy the rose ten times as much coming that way as she
would if it were ordered from a Milwaukee florist, so she's sending it.
I like her independent spirit!"
"It might take an independent fortune as well," remarked Dr. Harlow,
"but Madam Kittredge is fortunate enough to have that, or its
equivalent, and she uses a good proportion of it in conventional
charities, so she is safe from criticism if she chooses to assist the
express companies. Perhaps she's a stockholder in one, for all I know!
What did she have for orange, Alice?"
"A box of tangerines, with those tiny, tiny ones like doll oranges; I
forget what you call them. They looked so pretty in a nest of green. The
yellow parcel was a little sunset picture, only a little colored
photograph, she said, but with a charming glow. The basket itself was
for the green stripe in the rainbow, and there was a lovely pale blue
knitted scarf, which Madam Kittredge made herself. The indigo bothered
her, but she sent her daughter searching everywhere till she found a
beautiful Persian pattern ribbon with an indigo ground, and she made
that up into sachets with violet scent."
"That finished off two at once," said Hannah. "If I were Matty, I'd
object. I thought you said there were six parcels."
"One of the sachets was done up with dark blue ribbon and the other with
violet. But there was still another parcel, a white one, the prettiest
of all, for it held skeins of all the soft shades of embroidery silk you
ever saw in a white silk case. I don't see how any one could help liking
to look at them. Madam Kittredge said that what suggested the whole idea
to her was Matty's writing about how she enjoyed having colored silk
samples to look at, as she lay in bed. She does embroidery, too, when
she is well enough, so she will like the silks to use, by and by."
"What a charming basket!" Catherine drew a deep breath of pleasure. "I
should love to see it."
"She said she shouldn't send it for a day or two, so if you go in
to-morrow, you can. I'm sure she'd love to have you. She wanted one more
thing to make it complete. You see, without intending it, she had put in
something for every sense but hearing. There was color and fragrance and
touch and taste, and she said she wanted to get some music into it, and
she couldn't think how. Of course her friend is deaf, but that didn't
matter. She said her mind's ear was as true as ever, and she wanted her
to _hear_ something out of that basket. And wasn't it lovely! I
happened to think of something which she said would do exactly!"
"What?" "Tell us!" "Think of having a hand in such a pretty present!"
The other girls leaned forward eagerly, and the boys looked almost as
interested. Alice went on a trifle shyly, as she came to tell her own
part.
"I suggested some little poem full of color words, and that delighted
her and she thought a minute. I didn't know any, and I wished Catherine
were there with her headful! But Madam Kittredge has a headful of her
own. She had me get out two or three books and look up some that she
thought might do, but they didn't just suit her; and then she had me
open her clipping book and hunt for one called _Indian Summer_. It
was just the thing and I loved it the minute I read it. She let me copy
it for her, and make an illuminated initial with her water-colors. She
seems to have everything imaginable in that big roomy desk of hers. I
was glad of the chance to copy it, for I could learn it and I want to
keep it always."