Miss Marilla tiptoed softly up the hall, and listened at the door of
the spare bedroom. It was time her soldier-boy woke up and had some
dinner. She had a beautiful little treat for him to-day, chicken broth
with rice, and some little bits of tender breast-meat on toast, with a
quivering spoonful of currant jelly.
It was very still in the spare room, so still that a falling coal from
the grate of the Franklin heater made a hollow sound when it fell into
the pan below. If the boy was asleep, she could usually tell by his
regular breathing; but, though she listened with a keen ear, she could
not hear it to-day. Perhaps he was awake, sitting up. She pushed the
door open, and looked in. Why! The bed was empty! She glanced around
the room, and _it was empty too_!
She passed her hand across her eyes as if they had deceived her, and
went over to look at the bed. Surely he must be there somewhere! And
then she saw the note.
“Dear wonderful little mother!”
Her eyes were too blurred with quick tears and apprehension to read any
further. “Mother!” He had called her that. She could never feel quite
alone in the world again. But where was he? She took the corner of her
white apron, and wiped the tears away vigorously to finish the note.
Then, without pausing to think, and even in the midst of her great gasp
of apprehension, she turned swiftly, and went down-stairs, out the front
door, across the frozen lawn, and through the hedge to Mary Amber’s
house.
“Mary! Mary Amber!” she called as she panted up the steps, the note
grasped tightly in her trembling hand. She hoped, oh, she hoped Mary
Amber’s mother would not come to the door and ask questions. Mary’s
mother was so sensible, and Miss Marilla always felt as if Mrs. Amber
disapproved of her just a little whenever she was doing anything for
anybody. Not that Mary Ambers’ mother was not kind herself to people,
but she was always so very sensible in her kindness, and did things in
the regular way, and wasn’t impulsive like Miss Marilla.
But Mary Amber herself came to the door, with pleasant forgetfulness of
her old friend’s recent coolness, and tried to draw her into the hall.
This Miss Marilla firmly declined, however. She threw her apron over
her head and shoulders as a concession to Mary’s fears for her health,
and broke out:
“Oh, don’t talk about me, Mary. Talk about _him_. He’s gone! I thought
he was asleep; and I went up to see if he was ready for his dinner, and
he’s _gone_! And he’s sick, Mary. He’s not able to stand up. Why, he’s
had a fever. It was a hundred and three for two days, and only got down
to below normal this morning for the first time. He isn’t fit to be
out, either, and that little thin uniform with no overcoat!”
The tears were streaming down Miss Marilla’s sweet Dresden-china face,
and Mary Amber’s heart was touched in spite of her.
She came and put her arm around Miss Marilla’s shoulder, and drew her
down the steps and over to her own home, closing the door carefully
first so that her mother need not be troubled about it. Mary Amber
always had tact when she wanted to use it.
“Where was he going, dear?” she asked sympathetically, with a view to
making out a good case for the soldier without Miss Marilla’s bothering
further about him.
“I--do-don’t know!” sobbed Miss Manila. “He just thought he ought not
to stay and bother me. Here! See his note.”
“Well, I’m glad he had some sense,” said Mary Amber with satisfaction.
“He was perfectly right about not staying to bother you.” She took the
little crumpled note and smoothed it out.
“O my dear, you don’t understand,” sobbed Miss Marilla. “He’s been
such a good, dear boy, and so ashamed he had troubled me! And really,
Mary, he’ll not be able to stand it. Why, you ought to see how little
clothes he had! So thin, and cotton underwear! I washed them and mended
them, but he ought to have had an overcoat.”
“Oh, well, he’ll go to the city and get something warm, and go to a
hospital if he feels sick,” said Mary Amber comfortably. “I wouldn’t
worry about him. He’s a soldier. He’s stood lots worse things than a
little cold. He’ll look out for himself.”
“Don’t!” said Miss Marilla fiercely. “Don’t say that, Mary! You don’t
understand. He is _sick_, and he’s all the soldier-boy I’ve got; and
I’ve _got_ to go after him. He can’t be gone very far, and he really
isn’t able to walk. He’s weak. I just can’t stand it to have him go
this way.”
Mary Amber looked at her with a curious light in her eyes.
“And yet, Auntie Rill, you know it was fine of him to do it,” she
said with a dancing dimple in the corner of her mouth. “Well, I see
what you want; and, much as I hate to, I’ll take my car and scour the
country for him. What time did you say he left?”
“O Mary Amber!” smiled Miss Marilla through her tears. “You’re a good
girl. I knew you’d help me. I’m sure you can find him if you try. He
can’t have been gone over an hour, not much; for I’ve only fixed the
chicken and put my bread in the pans since I left him.”
“I suppose he went back to the village, but there hasn’t been any
train since ten, and you say he was still there at ten. He’s likely
waiting at the station for the twelve o’clock. I’ll speed up and get
there before it comes. I have fifteen minutes. I”--glancing at her
wrist-watch--“I guess I can make it.”
“I’m not so sure he went that way,” said Miss Marilla, looking up the
road past Mary Amber’s house. “He was on his way up that way when--”
and then Miss Marilla suddenly shut her mouth, and did not finish the
sentence. Mary Amber gave her another curious, discerning look, and
nodded brightly.
“You go in and get warm, Auntie Rill. Leave that soldier to me; I’ll
bring him home.” Then she sped back through the hedge to the little
garage, and in a few minutes was speeding down the road toward the
station. Miss Marilla watched her in troubled silence, and then,
putting on her cape that always hung handy by the hall-door, walked
a little distance up the road, straining her old eyes, but seeing
nothing. Finally in despair she turned back; and presently, just as she
reached her own steps again, she saw Mary’s car come flying back with
only Mary in it. But Mary did not stop nor even look toward the house.
She sped on up the road this time, and the purring of the engine was
sweet music to Miss Marilla’s ears. Dear Mary Amber, how she loved her!
* * * * *
The big blue soldier, cold to the soul of him, and full of pain that
reminded him of the long horror of the war, was still sitting by the
roadside with his head in his hands when Mary Amber’s car came flying
down the road. She stopped before him with a little triumphant purr of
the engine, so close to him that it roused him from his lethargy to
look up.
“I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself, running away from Miss
Marilla like this, and making her worry herself sick!” Mary Amber’s
voice was keen as icicles, and the words went through him like red-hot
needles. He straightened up, and the light of battle came back to
his eyes. This was GIRL again, his enemy. His firm upper lip moved
sensitively, and came down straight and strong against the lower one,
showing the nice line of character that made his mouth beautiful.
“Thank you,” he said coldly. “I’m only ashamed that I stayed so long.”
His tone further added that he did not know what business of hers it
was.
“Well, she sent me for you; and you’ll please to get in quickly, for
she’s very much worked up about you.”
Mary Amber’s tone stated that she herself was not in the least worked
up about a great, hulking soldier that would let a woman wait on him
for several days hand and foot, and then run away when her back was
turned.
“Kindly tell her that I am sorry I troubled her, but that it is not
possible for me to return at present,” he answered stiffly. “I came
down to send a business telegram, and I am waiting for an answer.”
A sudden shiver seized him, and rippled involuntarily over his big
frame. Mary Amber was eying him contemptuously, but a light of pity
stole into her eyes as she saw him shiver.
“You are cold!” said Mary Amber as if she were charging him with an
offence.
“Well, that’s not strange--is it--on a day like this? I haven’t made
connections yet with an overcoat and gloves; that’s all.”
“Look here; if you are cold, you’ve simply got to get into this car and
let me take you back to Miss Marilla. You’ll catch your death of cold
sitting there like that.”
“Well, I may be cold; but I don’t _have_ to let you take me anywhere.
When I get ready to go, I’ll walk. As for catching my death of cold,
that’s strictly my own affair. There’s nobody in the world would care
if I did.”
The soldier had blue lights like steel in his eyes, and his mouth
looked very soldier-like indeed. His whole manner showed that there
wasn’t the least use in the world trying to argue with him.
Mary Amber eyed him with increasing interest and thoughtfulness.
“You’re mistaken,” she said grudgingly. “There’s one. There’s Miss
Marilla. She’d break her heart. She’s like that; and she hasn’t much to
care for in the world, either. Which makes it all the worse what you’ve
done. Oh, I don’t see how you _could_ deceive her.”
“Deceive her?” said the astonished soldier. “I never deceived her.”
“Why, you let her think you were Dick Chadwick, her nephew; and you
_know_ you’re not! _I_ knew you weren’t the minute I saw you, even
before I found Dick’s telegram in the stove saying he couldn’t come.
And then I asked you a lot of questions to find out for sure, and you
couldn’t answer one of them right.” Her eyes were sparkling, and there
was an eager look in her face, like an appeal, almost as if she wanted
him to prove what she was saying was not true.
“No, I’m not Dick Chadwick,” said the young man with fine dignity. “But
I never deceived Miss Marilla.”
“Well, who did then?” There were disappointment and unbelief in Mary
Amber’s voice.
“Nobody. She isn’t deceived. It was she who tried to deceive you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she wanted you to think I was her nephew. She was mortified,
I guess, because he didn’t turn up, and she didn’t want you to know.
So she asked me to dinner to fill in. I didn’t know anybody was there
till just as I was going in the door. Then I had to go and get sick in
the night, and dish the whole thing. I was a fool to give in to her,
of course, and stay that night, but it did sound good to have a real
night’s sleep in a bed. I didn’t think I was such a softie as to get
out of my head and be on her hands like that. But you needn’t worry. I
intend to make it up to her fully just as soon as I can lay hands on
some funds--”
He suddenly broke into a fit of coughing so hoarse and croupy as to
alarm even Mary Amber’s cool contempt. She reached back in the car,
and, grasping a big fur coat, sprang out on the hard ground, and threw
the coat about him, tucking it around his neck and trying to fasten a
button under his chin against his violent protest.
“You’re very kind,” he gasped loftily, as soon as he could recover
his breath. “But I can’t put that on, and I’m going down to the
telegraph-office now to see if my wire has come yet.”
“Look here,” said Mary Amber in quite a different tone, “I’m sorry I
was so suspicious. I see I didn’t understand. I ask your pardon, and
won’t you please put on this coat, and get into this car, and let me
take you home quick? I’m really very much troubled about you.”
The soldier looked up in surprise at the gentleness, and almost his
heart melted. The snarly look around his mouth and eyes disappeared,
and he seemed a bit confounded.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “I appreciate that. But I can’t let you
help me, you know.”
“Oh, please!” she said, a kind of little-girl alarm springing into her
eyes. “I sha’n’t know what to say to Miss Marilla. I promised her to
bring you back, you know.”
His eyes and lips were hardening again. She saw he did not mean to
yield, and Mary Amber was not used to being balked in her purposes.
She glanced down the road; and a sudden light came into her eyes, and
brought a dimple of mischief into her cheek.
“You’ll have to for my sake,” she said hurriedly in a lower tone.
“There’s a car coming with some people in it I know; and they will
think it awfully queer for me to be standing here on a lonely roadside
talking to a strange soldier sitting on a log on a day like this.
Hurry!”
Lyman Gage glanced up, saw the car coming swiftly; saw, too, the dimple
of mischief; but with an answering light of gallantly in his own eyes
he sprang up and helped her into the car. The effort brought on another
fit of coughing, but as soon as he could speak he said:
“You can take me down to that little telegraph-office if you please,
and drop me there. Then nobody will think anything about it.”
“I’ll take you to the telegraph-office if you’ll be good and put that
coat on right, and button it,” said Mary Amber commandingly. She had
him in the car now, and she knew that she could go so fast he could not
get out. “But I shall not stop there until you promise me on your honor
as a soldier that you will not get out or make any more trouble about
my taking you back to Miss Marilla.”
The soldier looked very balky indeed, and his firm mouth got itself
into fine shape again, till he looked into Mary Amber’s eyes and saw
the saucy, beautiful lights there; and then he broke down laughing.
“Well, you’ve caught me by guile,” he said; “and I guess we’re about
even. I’ll go back and make my adieus myself to Miss Marilla.”
A little curve of satisfaction settled about Mary Amber’s mouth.
“Put that coat on, please,” she said, and the soldier put it on
gratefully. He was beginning to feel a reaction from his battle with
Mary Amber, and now that he was defeated the coat seemed most desirable.
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea if you would tell me who you
really are?” asked Mary Amber. “It might save some embarrassment.”
“Why, certainly!” said the soldier in surprise. “It hadn’t occurred to
me; that’s all. I’m Lyman Gage, of Chicago.” He named also his rank
and regiment in the army. Then, looking at her curiously, he said,
hesitating:
“I’m--perfectly respectable, you know. I don’t really make a practice
of going around sponging on unprotected ladies.”
Her cheeks flamed a gorgeous scarlet, and her eyes looked rebuked.
“I suppose I ought to apologize,” she said. “But really, you know, it
looked rather peculiar to me--” She stopped suddenly, for he was seized
with another fit of coughing, which had so shrill a sound that she
involuntarily turned to look at him with anxious eyes.
“I s’pose it did look queer,” he managed to say at last; “but you know
that day when I came in I didn’t care a hang.” He dropped his head
wearily against the car, and closed his eyes for just a second, as if
the keeping of them open was a great effort.
“You’re all in now!” she said sharply. “And you’re shivering! You ought
to be in bed this minute.” Her voice held deep concern. “Where is that
telegraph-office? We’ll just leave word for them to forward the message
if it hasn’t come and then we’ll fly back.”
“Oh, I must wait for that message,” he said, straightening up with a
hoarse effort and opening his eyes sharply. “It is really imperative.”
She stopped the car in front of the telegraph-office. The little
operator, scenting a romance, scuttled out of the door with an envelope
in her hand and a different look on her face from the one she had worn
when she went to her lunch. To tell the truth, she had not had much
faith in that soldier nor in the message he had sent “collect.” She
hadn’t believed any answer would come, or at least any favorable one.
Now she hurried across the pavement to the car, studying Mary Amber’s
red tam as she talked, and wondering whether she couldn’t make one like
it out of the red lining of an old army cape she had.
“Yer message’s come,” she announced affably. “Come just after I got
back. An’ I got yer check all made out fer yah. You sign here. See?
Got anybody to ’dentify yah? ’Tain’t necessary, see? I c’n waive
identification.”
“I can identify him,” spoke up Mary Amber with cool dignity; and the
soldier looked at her wonderingly. That was a very different tone from
the one she had used when she came after him. After all, what did Mary
Amber know about him?
He looked at the check half wonderingly as if it were not real. His
head felt very queer. The words of the message seemed all jumbled. He
crumpled it in his hand.
“Ain’t yah going to send an answer?” put in the little operator
aggrievedly, hugging the thin muslin sleeves of her little soiled
shirt-waist to keep from shivering. “He says to wire him immediately.
He says it’s important. I guess you didn’t take notice to the message.”
The soldier tried to smooth out the crumpled paper with his numb
fingers; and Mary Amber, seeing that he was feeling very miserable,
took it from him, and capably put it before him.
“Am sending you a thousand. Wire me your post-office address
immediately. Good news. Important.
“(Signed)
“ARTHUR J. WATKINS.”
“I guess I can’t answer that now,” said the soldier, trying his best to
keep his teeth from chattering. “I don’t just know--”
“Here, I’ll write it for you,” said Mary with sudden understanding.
“You better have it sent in Aunt Rill’s care; and then you can have
it forwarded anywhere, you know. I’ll write it for you;” and she took
a silver pencil from the pocket of her coat, and wrote the telegram
rapidly on a corner she tore from the first message, handing it out
for his inspection and then passing it on to the operator, who gathered
it in capably.
“Send this c’lect too, I s’pose,” she called after the car as it
departed.
“Yes, all right, anything,” answered Lyman Gage, wearily sinking back
in the seat. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“You are sick!” said Mary Amber anxiously; “and we are going to get
right home. Miss Marilla will be wild.”
The soldier sat up holding his precious check.
“I’ll have to ask you to let me out,” he said, trying to be dignified
under the heavy stupor of weariness that was creeping over him. “I’ve
got to get to a bank.”
“Oh, must you, to-day? Couldn’t we wait till to-morrow or till you feel
better?” asked Mary anxiously.
“No, I must go now,” he insisted doggedly.
“Well, there’s a bank on the next corner,” she said; “and it must be
about closing-time.” She shoved her sleeve back, and glanced at her
watch. “Just five minutes of three. We’ll stop, but you’ll promise to
hurry, won’t you? I want to get you home. I’m worried about you.”
Lyman Gage cast her another of those wondering looks like a child
unused to kindness suddenly being petted. It made her feel as if she
wanted to cry. All the mother in her came to her eyes. She drew up in
front of the bank, and got out after him.
“I’ll go in with you,” she said. “They know me over here, and it may
save you trouble.”
“You’re very kind,” he said almost curtly. “I dislike to make you so
much trouble----”
Perhaps it was owing to Mary’s presence that the transaction went
through without question, and in a few minutes more they were back in
the car again, Mary tucking up her big patient fussily.
“You’re going to put this around your neck,” she said, drawing a bright
woolly scarf from her capacious coat-pocket, “and around your head,”
she added, drawing a fold comfortingly up around his ears and the back
of his head. “And keep it over your nose and mouth. Breathe through
it; don’t let this cold air get into your lungs,” she finished with a
businesslike air as if she were a nurse.
She drew the ends of the scarf around, completely hiding everything but
his eyes, and tucked the ends into the neck of the fur coat. Then she
produced another lap-robe from some region beneath her feet, and tucked
that carefully around him. It was wonderful being taken care of in this
way; if he only had not been so cold, so tired, and so sore all over
he could have enjoyed it. The scarf had a delicate aroma of spring and
violets, something that reminded him of pleasant things in the past;
but it all seemed like a dream.
They were skimming along over the road up which he had come at so
laborious a pace, and the icy wind cut his eyeballs. He closed his
eyes, and a hot curtain seemed to shut him out from a weary world.
Almost he seemed to be spinning away into space. He tried to open
his mouth under the woollen fragrance and speak; but his companion
ordered him sharply to be still till he got where it was warm, and a
sharp cough like a knife caught him. So he sank back again into the
perfumed silence of the fierce heat and cold that seemed to be raging
through his body, and continued the struggle to keep from drifting into
space. It did not seem quite gallant or gentlemanly to say nothing,
nor soldierly to drift away like that when she was being so kind. And
then a curious memory of the other girl drifted around in the frost of
his breath mockingly, as if she were laughing at his situation, almost
as if she had put him there and was glad. He tried to shake this off
by opening his eyes and concentrating them on Mary Amber as she sat
sternly at her wheel, driving her little machine for all it was worth,
her eyes anxious, and the flush on her cheek bright and glowing. The
fancy came to him that she was in league with him against the other
girl. He knew it was foolish, and he tried to drive the idea away; but
it stayed till she passed her own hedge and stopped the car at Miss
Marilla’s gate.
Then it seemed to clear away, and common sense reigned for a few brief
moments while he stumbled out of the car and staggered into Miss
Marilla’s parlor and into the warmth and cheer of that good woman’s
almost tearful, affectionate welcome.
“I want you to take that,” he said, hoarsely pressing into her hand the
roll of bills he had got at the bank; and then he slid down into a big
chair, and everything whirled away again.
Miss Marilla stood aghast, looking at the money and then at the sick
soldier, till Mary Amber took command. He never remembered just what
happened, nor knew how he got up-stairs and into the great warm, kind
bed again, with hot-broth being fed him, and hot-water bags in places
needing them. He did not hear them call the doctor on the telephone,
nor know just when Mary Amber slipped away down to her car again and
rode away.
But Mary Amber knew that this was the afternoon when _The Purling Brook
Chronicle_ went to press, and she had an item that must get in. Quite
demurely she handed the envelope to the woman editor just as she was
preparing to mail the last of her copy to the printer in the city. The
item read: “Miss Marilla Chadwick, of Shirley Road, is entertaining
over the week-end Sergeant Lyman Gage, of Chicago, but just returned
from France. Sergeant Gage is a member of the same division and came
over in the same ship with Miss Chadwick’s nephew, Lieutenant Richard
Chadwick, of whom mention has been made in a former number, and has
seen long and interesting service abroad.”
Mary Amber was back at the house almost before she had been missed and
just as the doctor arrived, ready to serve in any capacity whatever.
“Do you think I ought to introduce him to the doctor?” asked Miss
Marilla of Mary in an undertone at the head of the stairs, while the
doctor was divesting himself of his big fur overcoat. She had a drawn
anxious look like one about to be found out in a crime.
“He doesn’t look to me as if he were able to acknowledge the
introduction,” said Mary with a glance in at the spare bed, where the
young man lay sleeping heavily and breathing noisily.
“But--ought I to tell him his name?”
“That’s all right, Auntie Rill,” said Mary easily; “I told him his name
was Gage when I phoned, and said he was in the same division with your
nephew. It isn’t necessary for you to say anything about it.”
Miss Marilla paused, and eyed Mary strangely with a frightened,
appealing look, and then with growing relief. So Mary knew! She sighed,
and turned back to the sick-room with a comforted expression growing
round her mouth.
But the comforted expression changed once more to anxiety, and self
was forgotten utterly when Miss Marilla began to watch the doctor’s
face as the examination progressed.
“What has this young man been doing?” he growled, rising from a
position on his knees where he had been listening to the soldier’s
breathing with an ever-increasing frown. Miss Marilla looked at Mary
quite frightened, and Mary stepped into the breach.
“He had a heavy cold when he came here, and Miss Chadwick nursed him,
and he was doing nicely; but he ran away this morning. He had some
business to attend to, and slipped away before anybody could stop him.
He got very much chilled, I think.”
“I should say he did!” ejaculated the doctor. “Young fool! I suppose
he thought he could stand anything because he went through the war.
Well, he’ll get his now. He’s in for pneumonia. I’m sorry, Miss
Chadwick, but I’m afraid you’ve got a bad case on your hands. Would you
like to have me phone for an ambulance and get him to the hospital? I
think it can be done at once with a minimum of risk.”
“Oh, no, no!” said Miss Marilla, clasping one white hand and then the
other nervously. “I couldn’t think of that--at least, not unless you
think it’s necessary--not unless you think it’s a risk to stay here.
You see he’s my--that is, he’s almost--like--my own nephew.” She lifted
appealing eyes.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” he said with a look of relief. “In that case
he’s to be congratulated. But, madam, you’ll have your hands full
before you are through. He’s made a very bad start--a very bad start
indeed. When these big, husky fellows get sick, they do it thoroughly,
you know. Now, if you’ll just step over here, Miss Mary, I’ll explain
to you both about this medicine. Give this every half-hour till I get
back. I’ll run up here again in about two hours. I’ve got to drive over
to the Plush Mills now, to an accident case; but I’ll be back as quick
as I can. I want to watch this fellow pretty closely for the first few
hours.”
When the doctor was gone, Mary Amber and Miss Marilla stood one on
each side of the bed, and looked at each other, making silent covenant
together over the sick soldier.
“Now,” said Mary Amber softly, “I’m going down into the kitchen to look
after things. You just sit here and watch him. I’ll run over first to
put the car away and tell mother I’ll stay with you to-night.”
“O Mary Amber, you mustn’t do that,” said Miss Marilla anxiously. “I
never meant to get you into all this scrape. Your mother won’t like it
at all. I’ll get along all right; and anyway, if I find I can’t, I’ll
get Molly Poke to come and help me.”
“Mother will be perfectly satisfied to have me help you in any way
I can,” said Mary Amber with a light in her eyes; “and as for Molly
Poke, if I can’t look after you better than she can, I’ll go and hide
my head. You can get Molly Poke when I fail, but not till then. Now,
Auntie Rill, go sit down in the rockingchair and rest. Didn’t I tell
you I’d help get that turkey dinner? Well, the dinner isn’t over yet;
that’s all; and I owe the guest an apology for misjudging him. He’s all
right, and we’ve got to pull him through, Auntie Rill; so here goes.”
Mary Amber gave Miss Marilla a loving squeeze, and sped down the
stairs. Miss Marilla sat down to listen to the heavy breathing of the
sick soldier, and watch the long, dark lashes on the sunken, tanned
cheeks.