CHAPTER XIII
It was beautiful to wake the next morning with the birds singing amatin in the trees, and a wonderful Sabbath quiet over everything.Tired out as she was and worn with excitement and care, Shirley was thefirst to waken, and she lay there quiet beside Carol for a little whilewith her eyes closed, listening, and saying a prayer of thanksgivingfor the peace of the place, and the wonder that it had come into herlife. Then suddenly a strange luminousness about her simply forced herto open her eyes.
The eastern window was across the room from her bed, and the sky wasrosy, with the dawn, and flooding the room. It was the first time inyears she had watched the sun rise. She had almost forgotten, in thelittle dark city house, that there was a sun to rise and make thingsglorious. The sun had seemed an enemy to burn and wilt and stifle.
But now here was a friend, a radiant new friend, to be waited for andenjoyed, to give glory to all their lives. She raised herself on oneelbow and watched until the red ball had risen and burst into thebrightness of day. Then she lay down softly again and listened to thebirds. They seemed to be mad with joy over the new day. Presently thechorus grew less and less. The birds had gone about their morningtasks, and only a single bright song now and then from some soloist inthe big tree overhead marked the sweet-scented silence of the morning.
In the quiet Shirley lay and went over events since she had first seenthis spot and taken the idea of living in the barn. Her heart gavethanks anew that her mother had not disliked it as she had feared.There was no sense that it was a stable, no odor of living creatureshaving occupied it before, only sweet dusty clover like a lingering ofpast things put away carefully. It was like a great campingexpedition. And then all those flowers! The scent of the lilies wason the air. How lovely of the young girl out of her luxury to think topass on some of the sweet things of life! And the gracious, chivalrousman, her brother! She must not let him think she would presume uponhis kindness. She must not let even her thoughts cross the line anddwell on the ground of social equality. She knew where he belonged,and there he should stay for all her. She was heart-free and happy,and only too glad to have such a kind landlord.
She drifted off to sleep again, and it was late when she awoke the nexttime. A silvery bell from the little white church in the valley wasringing and echoing distantly. Sabbath, real Sabbath, seemed broodinghappily in the very air. Shirley got up and dressed hastily. She feltas if she had already lost too much of this first wonderful day in thecountry.
A thrush was spilling his liquid notes in the tree overhead when shetiptoed softly into her mother's room. Doris opened her eyes andlooked in wonder, then whispered softly:
"Vat is dat, Sirley? Vat _is_ dat pitty sound?"
"A birdie in the tree, dearie!" whispered Shirley.
"A _weel budie_! I yantta see it! Take Doris up, Sirley!"
So Shirley lifted the little maiden, wrapped a shawl about her, andcarried her softly to the window, where she looked up in wonder and joy.
The boys came tumbling down from their loft in a few minutes, and therewas no more sleep to be had. Carol was up and out, and the voice ofone or the other of them was continually raised in a shout of triumphover some new delight.
"I saw a fish in the brook!" shouted Harley under his mother's window."It was only a little fellow, but maybe it'll grow bigger some day, andthen we can fish!"
"You silly!" cried George. "It was a minnow. Minnows don't grow to bebig. They're only good for bait!"
"Hush, George, there's a nest in the big tree. I've been watching andthe mother bird is sitting on it. That was the father bird singing awhile ago." This from Carol.
George, Harley, and Carol declared their intention of going to church.That had likely been the first bell that rang, their mother told them,and they would have plenty of time to get there if they hurried. Itwas only half-past nine. Country churches rang a bell then, andanother at ten, and the final bell at half-past ten, probably.Possibly they had Sunday-school at ten. Anyhow, they could go and findout. It wouldn't matter if they were a little late the first time.
So they ate some breakfast in a hurry, took each a sandwich left fromthe night before, crossed the road, climbed the fence, and wentjoyously over the green fields to church, thinking how much nicer itwas than walking down a brick-paved street, past the same old grimyhouses to a dim, artificially lighted church.
Shirley took a survey of the larder, decided that roast chicken, potatocroquettes, and peas would all warm up quickly, and, as there wasplenty of ice cream left and some cakes, they would fare royallywithout any work; so she sat beside her mother and told the whole storyof her ride, the finding of the barn, her visit to the Graham office,and all that transpired until the present time.
The mother listened, watching her child, but said no wore of her innerthoughts. If it occurred to her that her oldest daughter was fair tolook upon, and that her winning ways, sweet, unspoiled face, andwistful eyes had somewhat to do with the price of their summer's abode,it would be no wonder. But she did not mean to trouble her childfurther. She would investigate for herself when opportunity offered.So she quieted all anxieties Shirley might have had about her sanctionof their selection of a home, kissed Shirley, and told her she felt itin her bones she was going to get well right away.
And, indeed, there was much in the fact of the lifting of the burden ofanxiety concerning where they should live that went to brighten theeyes of the invalid and strengthen her heart.
When the children came home from church Shirley was putting dinner onthe table, and her mother was arrayed in a pretty kimono, a relic oftheir better days, and ready to be helped to the couch and wheeled outto the dining-room. It had been pleasant to see the children comingacross the green meadow in the distance, and get things all ready forthem when they rushed in hungry. Shirley was so happy she felt likecrying.
After the dinner things were washed they shoved the couch into theliving-room among the flowers, where George had built up a beautifulfire, for it was still chilly. The children gathered around theirmother and talked, making plans for the summer, telling about theservice they had attended, chattering like so many magpies. The motherlay and watched them and was content. Sometimes her eyes would searchthe dim, mellow rafters overhead, and glance along the stone walls, andshe would say to herself: "This is a barn! I am living in a barn! Myhusband's children have come to this, that they have no place to livebut a barn!" She was testing herself to see if the thought hurt her.But, looking on their happy faces, somehow she could not feel sad.
"Children," she said suddenly in one of the little lulls ofconversation, "do you realize that Christ was born in a stable? Itisn't so bad to live in a barn. We ought to be very thankful for thisgreat splendid one!"
"Oh mother, dear! It is so beautiful of you to take it that way!"cried Shirley with tears in her eyes.
"Doris, you sing your little song about Jesus in the stable," saidCarol. "I'll play it for you."
Doris, nothing loath, got a little stool, stood up beside her mother'scouch, folded her small hands demurely, and began to sing withoutwaiting for accompaniment:
"Away in a manger, No trib for His head, The litta Lord Jesus Lay down His sveet head. The tars in the haaven Look down vhere 'e lay-- The litta Lord Jesus As'eep in the hay.
"The catta are lowing, The poor baby wates; But the litta Lord Jesus No cwyin' He mates. I love Thee, Lord Jesus; Look down fum the sky, An' stay by my trib, Watching my lul-la-by!"
Shirley kissed Doris, and then they began to sing other things, allstanding around the piano. By and by that distant bell from the valleycalled again.
"There's a vesper service at five o'clock. Why don't you go, Shirley?You and George and Harley," said Carol.
"Me 'ant do too!" declared Doris earnestly, and it was finally decidedthat the walk would not be too long; so the boys, Shirley and the babystarted off across the fields, while Carol stayed with her mother. And
this time Mrs. Hollister heard all about Elizabeth and how she wantedCarol to come and see her sometime. Heard, too, about the proposeddance, and its quiet squelching by the brother. Heard, and lookedthoughtful, and wondered more.
"Mother is afraid they are not quite our kind of people, dear!" shesaid gently. "You mustn't get your heart bound up in that girl. Shemay be very nice, but she's a society girl, and you are not, you know.It stands to reason she will have other interests pretty soon, and thenyou will be disappointed when she forgets all about you."
"She won't forget, mother, I know she won't!" declared Carol stoutly."She's not that kind. She loves me; she told me so. She wanted to putone of her rings on my finger to 'bind our friendship,' only I wouldn'tlet her till I had asked you, because I didn't have any butgrandmother's to give her, and I couldn't give her that."
"That was right, dear. You can't begin things like that. You wouldfind a great many of them, and we haven't the money to keep up with alittle girl who has been used to everything."
Carol's face went down. Tears began to come in her eyes.
"Can't we have even _friends_?" she said, turning her face away to hidethe quiver in her lip, and the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.
"Yes, dear," said the mother sorrowfully, "but don't choose them fromamong another people. People who can't possibly have much in commonwith us. It is sure to hurt hard when there are differences in stationlike that."
"But I didn't choose them. They chose us!" declared Carol. "Elizabethjust went wild over us the first time she saw us, and her brother toldShirley he was glad, that it would do Elizabeth a lot of good to knowus. He said, 'We've learned a lot of things from you already'; justlike that, he said it! I was coming down the stairs behind them whenthey stood here talking one day, and I couldn't help hearing them."
"Yes?" said Mrs. Hollister thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps, but, dear, goslow and don't pin your heart to a friendship like that, for it willmost likely be disappointing. Just be happy in what she has done forus already, and don't expect anything more. She may never come again.It may just have been a passing whim. And I don't want you to bealways looking for her and always disappointed."
"I shall not be disappointed, mamma," said Carol decidedly. "You'llsee!" and her face brightened.
Then as if to make good her words a big car came whirring up the roadand stopped in front of the barn, and almost before she could get tothe window to look out Carol heard Elizabeth's voice calling softly:
"Carol! Car-_roll_! Are you there?" and she flung the door open andrushed into her new friend's arms.
Graham came more slowly up the incline, smiling apologetically andhoping he didn't intrude, coming so soon.
Carol led them over to the invalid and introduced her friend, and theyoung man came after them.
"I'm afraid this is rather soon to obey your summons, Mrs. Hollister,"he said engagingly, "but Elizabeth couldn't stand it without comingover to see if you really found the ice-cream freezer, so I thoughtwe'd just drop in for a minute and see whether you were quitecomfortable."
Somehow, suddenly, Mrs. Hollister's fears and conclusions concerningthese two young people began to vanish, and in spite of her she feltjust as Shirley had done, that they were genuine in their kindlinessand friendship. Carol, watching her, was satisfied, and a glow oftriumph shone in her eyes. Nevertheless, Mrs. Hollister gathered hercaution about her as a garment, and in dignified and pleasant phrasesthanked the two in such a way that they must see that neither she norher children would ever presume upon what had been done for them, nortake it for more than a passing kindliness.
But to her surprise the young man did not seem to be more than halflistening to her words. He seemed to be studying her face with deepintention that was almost embarrassing. The soft color stole into herthin cheeks, and she stopped speaking and looked at him in dismay.
"I beg your pardon," he said, seeing her bewilderment, "but you can'tunderstand perhaps how interested I am in you. I am afraid I have beenguilty of staring. You see it is simply amazing to me to find a womanof your refinement and evident culture and education who is content--Imight even say joyful--to live in a _barn_! I don't know another womanwho would be satisfied. And you seem to have brought up all yourchildren with just such happy, adaptable natures, that it is a greatpuzzle to me. I--I--why, I feel sort of rebuked! I feel that you andyour children are among the great of the earth. Don't thank Elizabethand me for the little we have been able to do toward making this barnhabitable. It was a sort of--I might say homage, due to you, that wewere rendering. And now please don't think anything more about it.Let's just talk as if we were friends--that is, if you are willing toaccept a couple of humble strangers among your list of friends."
"Why, surely, if you put it that way!" smiled the little woman."Although I'm sure I don't know what else we could do but be glad andhappy over it that we had a barn like this to come to under a sweetblue sky, with a bird and a tree thrown in, when we literally didn'tknow where we could afford to lay our heads. You know beggarsshouldn't be choosers, but I'm sure one would choose a spacious placelike this any day in preference to most of the ordinary city houses,with their tiny dark rooms, and small breathless windows."
"Even if 'twas called a barn?"
"Even if 'twas called a barn!" said the woman with a flitting dance inher eyes that reminded him of the girl Shirley.
"Well, I'm learning a lot, I tell you!" said the young man. "The moreI see of you all, the more I learn. It's opened my eyes to a number ofthings in my life that I'm going to set right. By the way, is MissHollister here? I brought over a book I was telling her about theother day. I thought she might like to see it."
"She went over to the vesper service at the little church across thefields. They'll be coming home soon, I think. It must be nearly over."
He looked at his watch.
"Suppose I take the car and bring them back. You stay here, Elizabeth.I'll soon be back. I think I can catch them around by the road if Iput on speed."
He was off, and the mother lay on the couch watching the two girls andwishing with all her heart that it were so that her children might havethese two fine young people for friends. But of course such thingscould not very well be in this world of stern realities andmultitudinous conventionalities. What, for instance, would be said inthe social set to which the Grahams belonged if it were known that someof their intimate friends lived in a barn? No, such things did nothappen even in books, and the mother lay still and sighed. She heardthe chatter of the two girls.
"You're coming home with me to stay over Sunday pretty soon. Sidneysaid he would fix it all up with your mother pretty soon. We'll sleeptogether and have the grandest times. Mother likes me to have friendsstay with me, but most of the girls I know are off at boarding-schoolnow, and I'm dreadfully lonesome. We have tennis-courts and golf linksand a bowling-alley. Do you play tennis? And we can go out in the carwhenever we like. It's going to be grand. I'll show you my dog and mypony I used to ride. He's getting old now, and I'm too big for him,but I love him just the same. I have a saddle-horse, but I don't ridemuch. I'd rather go motoring with Sid----"
And so she rattled on, and the mother sighed for her little girl whowas being tempted by a new and beautiful world, and had not thewherewithal to enter it, even if it were possible for her to do so.
Out in the sunset the car was speeding back again with the seats full,Doris chirping gleefully at the ride, for her fat legs had grown veryweary with the long walk through the meadow and Shirley had been almostsorry she had taken her along.
The boys were shouting all sorts of questions about dogs and chickensand cars and a garden, and Graham was answering them allgood-humoredly, now and then turning around to throw back a pleasantsentence and a smile at the quiet girl with the happy eyes sitting inthe back seat with her arm around her little sister.
There was nothing notable about the ride to remember. It was just oneof those beautiful
bits of pleasantness that fit into the mosaic of anygrowing friendship, a bit of color without which the whole is notperfect. Shirley's part in it was small. She said little and satlistening happily to the boys' conversation with Graham. She hadsettled it with her heart that morning that she and the young man onthat front seat had nothing in future to do with each other, but it waspleasant to see him sitting there talking with her brothers. There wasno reason why she should not be glad for that, and glad he was not asnob. For every time she looked on his clean, frank face, and saw hisnice gray eyes upon her, she was surer that he was not a snob.
The guests stayed a little while after they all got back, and acceptedquite as a matter of course the dainty little lunch that Carol andElizabeth, slipping away unobserved, prepared and brought in ontrays,--some of the salad left from dinner, some round rolls thatShirley had brought out with her Saturday, cut in two and crisplytoasted, cups of delicious cocoa, and little cakes. That was all, butit tasted fine, and the two self-invited guests enjoyed it hugely.Then they all ranged themselves around the piano and sang hymns, and itis safe to say that the guests at least had not spent as "Sabbathy" aSabbath in all their lives. Elizabeth was quite astonished when shesuggested that they sing a popular song to have Carol answer in apolite but gently reproving tone, "Oh, not _to-day_, you know."
"Why not? Doesn't your mother like it?" whispered Elizabeth.
"Why, we don't any of us usually sing things like that on Sunday, youknow. It doesn't seem like Sunday. It doesn't seem quite respectfulto God." Carol was terribly embarrassed and was struggling to make heridea plain.
"Oh!" Elizabeth said, and stood looking wistfully, wonderingly at herfriend, and finally stole out a soft hand and slipped it into Carol's,pressing her fingers as if to make her know she understood. Then theylifted up their voices again over the same hymn-book:
"Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love, But there's a nobler rest above; To that our longing souls aspire With cheerful hope and strong desire."
Graham looked about on the group as they sang, his own fine tenorjoining in the words, his eyes lingering on the earnest face of hislittle sister as she stood arm in arm with the other girl, and wassuddenly thrilled with the thought of what a Sabbath might be, kept inthis way. It had never appealed to him quite like that before.Sabbath-keeping had seemed a dry, thankless task for a few fanatics;now a new possibility loomed vaguely in his mind. He could see thatpeople like this could really make the Sabbath something to love, notjust a day to loll through and pass the time away.
When they finally went away there was just a streak of dull red left inthe western horizon where the day had disappeared, and all the air wasseething with sweet night sounds and odors, the dampness of the swampsstriking coolly in their faces as the car sped along.
"Sidney," said Elizabeth after a long time, "did you ever feel as ifGod were real?"
"Why, how do you mean, kid?" asked the brother, rather embarrassed.These subjects were not discussed at all in the Graham household.
"Did you ever feel as if there really was a God somewhere, like aperson, that could see and hear you and know what you did and how youfelt to Him? Because they do. Carol said they didn't sing 'Tipperary'on Sunday because it didn't seem quite respectful to God, and I couldsee she really meant it. It wasn't just because her mother said shehad to or anything like that. She thought so herself."
"H'm!" said Graham thoughtfully. "Well, they're rather remarkablepeople, I think."
"Well, I think so too, and I think it's about time you fixed it up withmamma to let Carol come and visit me."
"I'm going to get mother to go out there and call this week if I can,"said Graham after another longer pause, and then added: "I think shewill go and I think she will like them. After that we'll see, kid.Don't you worry. They're nice, all right." He was thinking of thelook on Shirley's face as she sat at the piano playing for them all tosing.