ROBIN WRITES A LETTER
Cornelius Allendyce had returned to New York from Gray Manor with his
mind pleasantly at ease so far as Gordon Forsyth was concerned. His
associates noticed a certain smugness and satisfaction about him and
they often caught him smiling at inappropriate moments and then pulling
himself together as though his thoughts had been wandering far from
fields of law.
Cornelius Allendyce _did_ feel pleased with himself. How many men would
have dared put this thing through the way he had? And how well it had
all turned out; Madame somewhere seeking her "rest," living in her past,
her mind undisturbed, Jimmie sailing away to get inspiration, and little
Robin happy in the shelter of Gray Manor. Indeed, it had all turned out
so surprisingly well that he could tuck it away, figuratively speaking,
in the steel box in his safe, marked "Forsyth." Only he did not want
to--he liked to think it all over.
Up to the time of finding Robin, girls were a species of the human race
of which the lawyer knew little. He supposed that they were all
alike--pretty, fun-loving, timid, giggly, prone to curl themselves like
kittens, impulsive, and pardonably vain. He knew absolutely nothing of
the fearless, honest, open-air girls, with hearts and souls as straight
and clean as their healthy young bodies or that there were legions like
little Robin and Beryl who, because they had been cheated of much that
went to the making of these others, stood as a type apart. He only
thought--as he went over the whole thing--that Robin's Jimmie was to
blame for her being "different," leaving her alone so much and letting
her take responsibilities way over her head; now she would enjoy the
girlish pleasures that were her due. His sister Effie had supplied her
with everything in the way of clothes and knick-knacks she could want;
Harkness would keep old Mrs. Budge in line, Tubbs would go light with
the school work--he had certainly made a point of _that_, and, when he
could run up to Wassumsic again, he'd look over this little companion
Robin had adopted. If she were not all that she ought to be (Miss Effie
had somewhat disturbed him on this point) why, a change could be made;
someone a little older and more cultured (Miss Effie's word) could be
sent up from New York.
Upon this train of pleasant contemplation, enjoyed at intervals in his
work, Robin's letter, written a few days after her dinner at Mrs.
Lynch's, fell like a bomb.
"DEAR GUARDIAN," she had begun,
I am ever so sorry I haven't written for so long, but I haven't
had a minute, really, truly. There are so many things to look at
and to do. I am beginning to really love Gray Manor--it is so
always and always beautiful. Mr. Harkness is a dear and is very
good and tells me what to do many times when I am stupid and do not
see for myself--like the finger-bowls. Jimmie and I never used
finger-bowls. I don't mind the school work, though I simply can't
keep up with Beryl. When you come up, I will tell you how wonderful
Beryl is and all about her family. Her mother had a lovely dinner
one night and Beryl took me. Beryl is going to be a great
violinist, you know, and she is saving money to buy a real violin
that will be all her own and take lessons. She will not let me do a
thing to help her, which is splendid--I mean, for her to be so
proud and brave, though I wish she would let me do just a little.
We have some very good times together, mostly taking lovely rides
back in the hills to places Harkness tells us about and once we
took our lunch and Mr. Tubbs and Harkness went, though Mr. Tubbs
had dreadful neuralgia afterwards. Beryl and I read every evening.
I love the books. I think I've been hungry for them all my life and
didn't know it. We're playing a game to see which of us can read
the most. We can play forever because one day we counted the books
in the library and there are one thousand and seventy four and
Harkness says there are more in Christopher the Third's room.
Harkness has been telling us all about him and he showed us his
picture--you know, the one in the Dragon's sitting-room (I
apologize, in Aunt Mathilde's room) and he looked like a young
prince, didn't he? How will Aunt Mathilde ever reconcile herself to
a little insignificant, lame thing like me when she sees me?
Oh, I wish I could really _truly_ meet my good Fairy somewhere--the
one who forgot to attend my birth--and she'd give me one wish, I'd
just ask for one. And that wish would be to G-R-O-W. I never cared
before but now I want to be BIG. Oh, and wise! Mr. Tubbs will tell
you how stupid I am. A Forsyth ought to be big and wise. You see,
before this I have never thought of myself as a real true
Forsyth--I've always just been Jimmie's daughter. But lately I've
been thinking a lot about what a Forsyth ought to be and there are
about a million questions I'd like to ask:
1. Ought Mr. Norris to let the Mills sink into a boneyard of
antiquity?
2. What is the very most money I could spend all in one lump and
can I spend it without telling anyone about it beforehand?
3. There's an empty cottage just below where the Manor road crosses
the river and Williams says the Forsyths own it. Can Beryl and I
use it for a club?
Thinking of the questions makes me forget the other nine hundred
ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety seven, (I did that on
paper) but please come to Gray Manor soon so that I can ask the
rest.
Your loving Red-Robin.
P.S. The violin came and thanks ever and ever so much though Beryl
says she will not call it hers for one little minute. But she most
cried over it she loves it so and she makes the most beautiful
music with it. I am dreadfully jealous because she won't even
listen to a word I say now. She says she's living in the clouds.
It's wonderful to have a big dream, isn't it? But I am starting one
which I'll tell you when it's big enough."
Mr. Allendyce read the letter three times, stopping at intervals to
polish his glasses as though they must be at fault. "What does this
mean?" he exclaimed over and over. "What's up?"
Why on earth was Robin worrying her little head over the Mills and
talking so absurdly about a boneyard? And why did she want more money?
And who were these people with whom she had dined? And what did she and
Beryl want with a club when they had all Gray Manor to play in?
Not able to answer any of these disturbing questions the poor man sought
out Miss Effie--who, having been a girl, once, herself, ought to know
something of the vagaries of a girl's mind.
Miss Effie felt very proud that her brother cared anything for her
opinion. She nodded wisely and smiled reassuringly.
"Girl notions--that's all. Don't worry over the foibles of growing
girls. It's one thing today and something else tomorrow."
The guardian was not so easily reassured. "But Robin isn't like other
girls--" he began, with a disturbing recollection of Robin's
highhandedness in engaging a companion.
"Tush! Bosh!" Miss Effie would not let him go on. "Girls are all alike
under their skins. This poor kiddie's been starved for nice things and
her sudden good fortune's gone to her head. She doesn't know the value
of money, either; what'd seem big to her would be carfare for you. Give
her more to do. And she ought to know some young folks."
Now Cornelius Allendyce beamed fondly upon his sister. She _had_
comforted him. Of course, Robin's subconscious self was reaching out to
touch the lives of others. In spite of their uncertain living she and
Jimmie were of a sociable sort--he ought not to have expected that she
would be content in Gray Manor with no outside interests.
"Couldn't that tutor get up a party?"
"That's a good idea, sister. I'll write to Tubbs. Probably the county's
expecting something of the sort, anyway. I suppose it ought to be rather
simple--she's so young and Madame Forsyth being away. I'll raise the
child's allowance, too--let her spend it if she can, bless her heart."
His mind once more quite at ease, Cornelius Allendyce put Robin's letter
into his pocket. He would write to her the next day and to Percival
Tubbs. He ought to have consulted his sister sooner. Well, a guardian
learned something new every day, he told himself, with a smile.
* * * * *
No one had suspected the torment of thought that racked poor Robin's
head for the few days following the dinner-party. She had arisen that
next morning with the firm resolve to "be" a Forsyth, but she did not
know just what she ought to do first and there was no one to tell her.
Beryl was no more sympathetic than she had been the night before and had
answered her persistent questioning absentmindedly. However,
unknowingly, she did give two helpful hints, upon which Robin seized
gratefully.
"Mother says that what Wassumsic ought to have is a clubhouse like Miss
Lewis' place in New York. Mother took care of that, you know. Miss Lewis
is a wonder. She always declared children need fun just the way they
need milk and _she_ fixed it so that they got both."
"Oh, yes, there are ever so many boys and girls in Wassumsic only
they're mostly working in the Mills. I'd have to work there myself only
I've made Dale believe that I can do something--else. If I ever started
in the old Mills I'd be like the others. That's the way--you begin and
then you never know how to do anything different."
"I'm glad you're not there. I'm like--Dale. I know you'll be a wonderful
violinist some day!" Robin never failed to say what Beryl wanted.
Beryl tossed her head. "I could have just settled down into a drudge,
working all day and too tired at night to care what I did and saving
just enough out of my pay envelope to buy me a hair-net but I wouldn't
begin! I wouldn't! They can all call me proud and lazy but I'll show
them--old Henri Jacques and Martini himself said I would! But I've had
to fight to make people believe me--and I s'pose I'll have to go on
fighting." To the egotism of sixteen years these words sounded very
grand; it stirred Beryl to think she had fought for every advantage that
was hers, to read the admiration in Robin's eyes. She had no thought of
disloyalty in claiming the credit that really belonged to the little
mother who had dreamed the dream first for her girl and then, through
years of work and self-denial, had lived for that dream to come true.
After the arrival of the violin Beryl promptly lost herself in a trance
of rapture that left Robin to her own pursuits. Only once the quite
human thought flashed to her mind that Beryl might be a little bit
interested in what _she_ wanted to do but she put it away as unworthy
for, she told herself, Beryl, destined one day to stand on a pedestal,
could not be expected to bother with such every-day things as planning
"fun" for the Mill children.
So Robin left Beryl with her beloved instrument and went alone to talk
to Mrs. Lynch who was so startled at her unexpected coming that she
kissed her and called her "little Robin" before she realized what she
was doing. That, and the fact that she found Mrs. Lynch working in the
shed where big Danny could not hear them, made it much easier for Robin
to talk and talk she did, so rapidly and so imploringly that Mrs. Moira
had to interject more than once: "Now wait a bit, dearie. What was that
again?"
Robin wanted to know about how many Mill children there were.
"Oh, bless the heart of you, it's no one but the doctor himself can tell
you that! They slip in and out of the world as quiet like. But Mrs.
Whaley says the school's so full that her Tommy can only go
afternoons."
Robin remembered Beryl pointing out a dingy brick building as the
schoolhouse. It had a play-yard enclosed on three sides with a high
board fence, disfigured by much scrawling. It had seemed an ugly spot.
She thought of that now.
"And what do the girls--the girls like me--do?"
"Oh, they mostly work. After work? Well, they help at home and do a bit
of sewing maybe and some have beaux and they walk down to the drug store
and hang around there visiting, though Beryl doesn't. 'Tisn't much of a
life a girl in a place like this has," and Mrs. Moira's sigh was happily
reminiscent of her own girlhood in open clean spaces, "it's old they
grow before their time."
"They don't have much fun, do they?" Robin asked.
Mrs. Lynch looked at her curiously. "Fun? They work so hard that they
haven't the gumption to start the fun. But it's so big the world is,
Miss Robin, that it can't all be rosy. Sure, there has to be some dark
corners."
"Mrs. Lynch, if--if--someone started the fun for the girls--would they
like it?"
"Why, what's on your mind, dearie? The likes of you worryin' your little
head over things you don't know anything about!"
Robin could have cried with vexation. She _must_ make Mrs. Lynch
understand her--Mrs. Lynch was her one hope. She gave a little stamp of
her foot as she burst out: "I'm little but that's no reason I can't
think of things. I'm fifteen. Dale said that the Forsyth's didn't care
and they ought to care--and I'm a Forsyth. I want to know everyone in
the Mill neighborhood and how they live and what they do. And I want
them to have--fun. Beryl said your Miss Lewis said everyone ought to
have fun. I--I don't know just how to begin--but I'm going to."
Mrs. Moira patted her hand. To herself she was saying: "The blessed
heart of her, she doesn't even know what she's talking about, poor
lamb," but aloud: "That you shall and if I can help you, I will."
Robin's eyes glowed. "Oh, _thank_ you. You don't know how hard it is for
me to think just what to do. Lovely plans keep popping into my head and
then I think maybe they're silly and I can't tell about them--I just
have to feel them. I'd like to begin with the little children. If my
guardian says we may, can't we open that old cottage down by the bridge
and make it into a--a sort of play-house? There could be a play-yard and
next spring we could make gardens and we could fix one room up with
pretty pictures and have books and games--and a fireplace and
window-seats. Oh, _does_ that sound silly?" Robin brought her enthusiasm
to an abrupt, imploring finish.
"Dearie me--no." There were no reserves in Mrs. Moira's approval. With
an imagination as quick as Robin's she saw the old cottage--it was a
charming old house, snuggled under elms, half-covered in summer with
rambling vines and pink blossoms--alive with romping, happy-voiced
children, some poring over pretty picture-books, others listening to a
story, some working in a garden--some just tumbling about on the soft
grass in a pure exuberance of youthful joy.
"We'll call it the House of Laughter. I always think of names before
anything else. And maybe, some day, the older girls--girls like me--will
use it, too. I'd like to begin by knowing little Susy Castle."
Mrs. Lynch promised to take her the next day to the old village where
Susy lived.
"I'll come down right after our school work is over. Beryl won't mind
because she'll want to practice. And, please, Mrs. Lynch, don't tell
Dale, will you?"
Mrs. Lynch demurred at this, for already she had been looking forward to
telling Dale about Robin and her plans. But Robin stood firm.
"You see I may spoil everything and he'd think I was just stupid. I
don't want him to know--yet."
Robin walked back to the Manor with a light heart. Her world that had
always seemed so small, bounded on its every side by Jimmie, now
suddenly assumed limitless proportions and beautiful possibilities.
There was so much to be done and so much to think about. Tomorrow she
would see Susy Castle; maybe other boys and girls.
Lights were twinkling from some of the windows of the Manor. Robin
paused for a moment at the bottom of the long ascent to "love" the Manor
in its purple cloak of gathering dusk. That first Forsyth who had broken
ground for this gray pile had chosen well; the hill upon which the house
had been built stood apart from the other hills, loftily commanding the
village and valley.
"It looks just like a grand old lady holding off her skirts so's not to
touch anything," Robin thought, now, whimsically.
As though to crown her day's progress toward "being" a Forsyth, Robin
found a letter from her guardian awaiting her. Cornelius Allendyce had
written it keeping in mind his sister's advice not to notice a girl's
"foibles"--"it's one thing today and another tomorrow."
"... I am delighted that you are happy and finding so much to
occupy your time. Do not worry about your lessons. Not all
knowledge is confined within the covers of school books. (He had
read that somewhere and thought it came in very pat, now.) How
about some sort of a party. You ought to know the people of the
country before the winter sets in. Think it over and decide what
you want. I will double your allowance if you haven't enough. If
you need a club to make you happy, help yourself. Don't worry
about the Mills--let Norris do that. I'll run up to Wassumsic very
soon and answer as many questions as you may wish to ask. Until
then, I am
Devotedly yours,
CORNELIUS ALLENDYCE."
"Beryl--read this! I may use that old cottage. I believe my guardian'll
do everything I ask when he understands. He's a _dear_!"
Beryl came slowly down from her "clouds."
"Robin--listen to _this_ vibrato!"