All day she thought and thought; and, as she washed the supper dishes,she was still thinking:--
"Now, Gerry Brace, what are your worldly possessions, anyway? Clothesenough to be a wee bit more than respectable, a house plenty big fortwo, but certainly not stretchable to take in six more, a little pieceof garden, and a nice big piece of grass and trees, and a barn. A barn!"she repeated, clasping her hands in the dish-water with a splash.
"Mother Brace," she said ten minutes later, when she sat on the top stepof the front porch with her arms across her mother's knee. "I believeI've hit on the very thing to do. There are the Jimsons in theirtumble-down house, and here are we with a perfectly whole, clean barnwithout even a cat in it. Don't you see the possibilities? Presto!Change! There is the tumble-down house empty, and here are the Jimsonsliving in the perfectly whole barn." Mother Brace gasped.
"But Gerry--"
"Oh, mother dear, please don't 'but.' You know there are two parts tothe barn down-stairs, and up-stairs there are three. They could have aliving-room, kitchen, and three bed-rooms."
"_I believe I've hit on the very thing to do_."]
"Yes'm," said Mother Brace meekly, "but where would they get the threebeds?"
"Why, I suppose they sleep on something now, though probably it wouldn'tfit our clean barn; that's a fact."
For a moment Gerry looked crestfallen. Then she brightened again.
"Well, I can think that out, too, seeing I thought of the barn. Thequestion is, mother, would you be willing to have them come!"
There was silence on the porch for a few minutes while Mother Bracewatched the sunset over beyond the hills.
"It looks like the gates of the celestial city," she said at last,"where there are homes for everybody. Yes, Gerry, dear, I'd be willingto have them come, if there's anyway of fixing it."
Gerry squeezed the work-roughened hand that had slipped into hers.
"You blessed! Of course, I knew you would. Mother, I'm going to AuntSerinda about the beds."
"Your Aunt Serinda?" Mother Brace gasped again. "Why, Gerry!"
"Yes'm," repeated Gerry. "I'm going to Aunt Serinda. There is no sensein having a garret full of old furniture when there's an empty barn justhungry for it. If she hasn't enough, I'll go to Mrs. Squires. I'll takeup a collection, mother, a missionary collection."
"I'm afraid your Aunt Serinda will think--" began Mother Brace faintly.
"Yes, I know she will think," Gerry agreed. "She will say, 'Howperfectly ridiculous!' But before I get through she will give me a bedand very likely a blanket. I shall start out to-morrow morning and seewhat I can do."
True to her word, the sun had not dried the dew from the grass that wasrapidly growing green under its spring warmth before Gerry was on herway up the neat box-bordered walk at Aunt Serinda's.
"The Jimsons!" sputtered that good woman when Gerry began to dilate upontheir forlorn condition. "Jimson weeds I call 'em. Of all the shiftless,good-for-nothing lots! They can't be much worse off now old Jim's gone."
"No, ma'am," said Gerry; "they don't need to be. They are going to bebetter off, Aunt Serinda. They're coming to live in our barn. You knowwe never use it, and it's a specially tight barn, with more windows thanmost."
Aunt Serinda held up her hands in horror.
"In--your--barn? How perfectly ridiculous! Why, they'll bring microbesenough to poison you all. And they'll run over everything."
"I hope so," said Gerry promptly. "Little Jimson-weeds have to runsomewhere. It might better be over our good clean grass than down therein the centre where there's mischief waiting to be done every minute.They won't bring any microbes, though, because I mean to have them burnup all their old things before they come, I'm taking up a collectionthis morning to furnish the barn. You are going to give me a bed andsome other things out of the attic, aren't you, auntie?"
"Well, of all things!" Aunt Serinda stood with her hands on her hips,and stared at Gerry. "If you aren't the beat of any girl I ever saw! Isuppose you'd like to have me take down my kitchen stove for 'em, andsend along the spring rocker, from the parlor, besides."
Gerry laughed cheerily.
"Oh, no, auntie, only just the things up in the attic that you can spareas well as not. You know you'd rather someone would have the use of themthan to have them wasted up there. Couldn't we go up now and see? Iought to hurry a little. I may have to go to lots of places before I getenough."
Aunt Serinda turned, and led the way up stairs without a word.
"There is a bed," she admitted when they stood under the peaked roof. "Itook it down from the spare room when Mary Ellen bought the brass one tosleep in when she comes. The mattress wouldn't fit any other; so Isuppose it might as well go along. There's some patchwork quilts in thatchest, too, that Mary Ellen never liked. I guess you could have some ofthose."
It was very exciting, picking out and setting aside. Just why AuntSerinda, with all her abundance, had treasured so many old things was aquestion. Probably it was because few people knew the keys to her heartas Gerry did, and so no one had ever asked her for them. And it was notAunt Serinda's nature to give without asking.
"_It was very exciting, picking out and setting aside_."]
Once started, however, it seemed to be easy enough.
"Those chairs over there," she said finally, dusting her hands upon herapron when the collection had grown to a very respectable size, "theydon't need much mending; I guess James can do it to-night. How are yougoing to get all this stuff over to the barn?"
"I don't know." Gerry paused aghast. "I never once thought of that. I'llfind a way, though, or make it."
"Yes, I expect you would," said Aunt Serinda, smiling grimly; "but thistime you needn't. I'll have James hitch up the long wagon and take 'emover when you're ready, and he could pick up anything else you collect,on the way."
Gerry stood for a minute with shining eyes, irresolute. Then she flew atAunt Serinda, and, throwing both arms around that astonished person'sneck, planted a warm kiss on the nearest cheek.
"Auntie, you're a--a winter apple! Just as crisp and reliable and sweetinside! I like you."
"Mercy me!" said Aunt Serinda, quite abashed. "Mercy me!"
The quarter of a mile down the road to Mrs. Squires' house seemed toslide from under Gerry's feet. Mrs. Squires was round and rosy andsympathetic.
"Why, yes, my dear, of course, I'll help. I'm through cleaning, andthere are some things I've been wondering what to do with. I haven't anybeds, but there is a rusty cook-stove in the cellar that I'll be onlytoo glad to have you take. I should think it could be cleaned up and dovery well."
"Oh, yes, thank you," said Gerry eagerly; "I can black it and all that.And Aunt Serinda's James will come for it."
There were several additions to the cook-stove before Gerry hurried onto Judge Beaker's, following the suggestion that the Beaker girls hadjust refurnished their bedroom.
It was close after house-cleaning time, and rummage sales had not yetfound their way into East Greenfield; so it was not very wonderful thatby noon Gerry really had enough things promised her to furnish the barnwith a comfort that would seem luxury to the young Jimsons and theirmother.
It must be confessed that the finishing touch for Gerry was given whenshe leaned on the window-sill to tell the story to little lame RuthieWest, not because she expected anything there, but because she was sohappy that she could not help stopping to share it with some one. Ruthielaughed over the yellow soap feelingly offered by Mr. Evans, and criedover the cook-stove, and when it was all told exclaimed earnestly:--
"Oh, Gerry, I must do something; I just must! I haven't any things, evenif you needed them; but you come in, please, and get my Japanese box outof the bureau drawer. It's got my gold piece in it. It's truly mine,Gerry; Mr. Graves gave it to me last Christmas, and I haven't been ableto think of anything nice enough to do with it. Now I know. You take it,Gerry, and buy some pretty stuff to make some frilly things, and somecurtains, maybe--if there's enough. They'll
love to have pretty things;I know they will. And, Gerry, maybe it will help them to be good, thoselittle Jimson-weeds," quoting Aunt Serinda softly.
Tears rolled down Gerry's cheeks onto the shining piece of gold inRuthie's hand.
"You--darling!" she whispered, and could not say anything more.
Mother Brace's potatoes grew quite cold while she listened to Gerry'sexcited reports, and grew as much excited herself in the hearing.
"I'll begin to sweep the barn this afternoon," she declared, hustlingthe dishes off the table. "I don't want that poor Jimson soul to wait aminute longer than she must to have it all."
The dust was flying in clouds from the open barndoors when the "poorJimson soul" herself came dragging up the path with the baby in her armsand a dingy black dress, manifestly borrowed, trailing forlornly behindher.
"Oh, my!" thought Gerry as she watched her coming. "I never rememberedthe clothes. They'll have to have them. I wonder--
"Come right in, Mrs. Jimson," she interrupted herself; "come and sitdown here. You must be tired with such a long walk."
"I ain't no more tired than I always am," Mrs. Jimson answered drearily,dropping into the rocker Gerry pushed forward. "I ain't never beenrested, and I don't never expect to be. I've come to see if you've gotanything I can do to earn some money. Folks has been good, and we'vehad enough to eat so far; but it stands to reason I've got to dosomething myself."
"Yes," Gerry nodded gravely, "and the children will have to help. MaybeTad can do some of the gardening ol--Mr. Jimson used to do, and Jennie'sbig enough to take care of the little ones and help do the housework soyou can go out part of the time."
"I guess all the housework won't hurt her," sighed Mrs. Jimson, brushingaway a slow tear that was stealing down her cheek. But at the samemoment a ray of hope began to steal into her heart with Gerry's briskplanning.
"I'd be willing to do anything," she went on more energetically. "Iain't lazy, though folks may think so; but I've got plum discouraged."
"And now you are going to take heart o' grace and begin again," declaredMother Brace, coming in with her broom over her shoulder in time to hearthe last words. "I suppose, then, you're willing to come and scrub mybarn floors for me to-morrow morning. They won't be very hard, but Ican't get down so long on account of my knee. I can pay you fiftycents."
"Oh, I'll come." Mrs. Jimson straightened up so eagerly that she nearlydropped the baby. "And I'll get 'em clean, too. I know how if I don'tlook it."
Telegraphic signs passed between Mother Brace and Gerry by which it wasdecided to say nothing about the moving at present. Nevertheless Mrs.Jimson went home much lighter of heart and foot than when she came,though she carried several extra pounds in the way of vegetables andfresh bread.
Hardly was she out of sight when Mrs. Thomas Benton, president of theLadies' Aid Society, rapped at the Braces' front door.
"You see," she told Gerry when she had recovered her breath, beingsomewhat portly for so steep a hill, "we've heard about your barn plan,and we thought we'd better have a finger in the pie. So we decided thatinstead of packing a barrel for the heathen just now we will dress upthe Jimson's, so as to have them match better with their new home. Oh,we shall do the heathen before long, too; only we thought maybe this wasan 'ought to have done and not leave the other undone.'"
Bright and early next morning Mrs. Jimson was on her knees scrubbing thebarn floors, little dreaming that she was helping to lay the foundationfor her own future happiness.
She could not have been more thorough, had she known, much to MotherBrace's satisfaction.
"There's good stuff in her," was the verdict. "She may be a weed, butshe'll pay for cultivating."
It was nearly a week before the barn was ready, a week so busy thatGerry's bones ached when she stretched them in bed each night, but sohappy that she cared not at all for the aches. Aunt Serinda's Jamestoiled up and down the hill with the long wagon loaded more than once;Ruthie's loving fingers flew upon the ruffles and frills; Gerry and hermother set things straight, nailing and tacking diligently; andgradually the barn became transformed.
"It's blossomed like the rose!" Gerry announced joyously. "It isn't abarn any longer; it's a cottage. Oh, mother, it's better than a cottage;it's a home."
Oh, it was very plain and simple; to some it might even have seemedbare, in spite of Ruthie's pretty things. But to Gerry, with thetumble-down house fresh in her memory, it was all that could be desired.
"_Mrs. Jimson was on her knees scrubbing the barnfloor_."]
The morning it was all ready at last, in spotless order, with the brightsunshine and the soft spring breezes pouring in at the open windows,Gerry ran down the hill to the Centre.
The little Jimsons were not playing in the mud outside the tumble-downhouse as usual. Mrs. Jimson met Gerry at the door in a trim dark calicodress that made a different woman of her. Seated in a beaming circlewithin were the five children, each clad from top to toe in clean, freshgarments, from Tad down to the baby, who was crowing in Jennie's arms,radiant in a gay pink gingham.
"Aren't we splendid, Miss Gerry?" cried the little girl, pushing aglowing face out from behind the baby's head. "Ma's just got us dressedup, and we're going to have a bonfire of the old ones."
"It was the Ladies' Aid, Miss Gerry," supplemented Mrs. Jimson almost asexcitedly. "They've just gone, Mrs. Benton has, and they brought us allthese and more. Did you ever see anything like it? Of course, I'm goingto help clean the church to help make up," she added with a new womanlydignity that was very becoming; "but I couldn't never pay for thekindness, never!"
"It's beautiful," said Gerry, "beautiful! I couldn't tell how glad I am.I'm so glad, too, that you've got them on, for mother wants you to comeup to the house a few minutes, all of you. It's something veryimportant."
"_We want to show you our new house_."]
Seizing Tommy, the two-year-old, by the hand, she hurried off ahead ofthem, fearing she could not keep her secret if she delayed anotherinstant. Up the hill and across the wide grassy yard she led them,straight to where Mother Brace stood in the barn doorway.
"I've brought them," she said, and stopped, overwhelmed by this crowningmoment.
"We want you to see our new house we've fixed up," Mother Braceexplained, coming to the rescue. "Come in, all of you."
Considerably bewildered, Mrs. Jimson obeyed, shooing the children beforeher like a flock of chickens. It was not usual for her to be called uponfor opinion or approval; and she made the most of it, exclaiming withadmiration and delight as they made the rounds of the tiny bedrooms, andstood once more in the long, shining kitchen with its neatly blackenedstove and its row of polished tin pans.
"It couldn't be no completer, no ways," she pronounced judgment. "Nor noprettier."
Then Gerry found her voice, and the words came tumbling out in joyfulhaste.
"It's all for you, Mrs. Jimson. You're to come here this very day, andthis is to be your home. You are to sleep in the bedrooms, and cook inthe kitchen, and--"
"But I don't understand," faltered Mrs. Jimson, her bewildermentdeepening with every second. "Where did it come from? Whose is it?How--"
"It came from everybody," laughed Gerry tremulously. "Lots of peoplehelped. And it's yours, I tell you, to live in as long as you want to,you and the children. Don't you see, dear?"
Little Mrs. Jimson dropped down suddenly in the middle of the shiningfloor.
"Oh, my land! my land!" she sobbed, rocking to and fro. "I never knewthere was such folks in the world. I feel just as if I'd got into one o'the many mansions!"
Mother Brace patted the bent shoulders gently.
"You have," she said, her voice catching, "into one He's been preparingfor you. Only instead of angels He used a lot of warm, loving humanhands to do it with."
* * * * *
"I SHALL NOT WANT"
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
I shall not want food. "I am the bread of life. He t
hat cometh to Meshall never hunger."
I shall not want drink. "If any man thirsteth let him come unto me anddrink."
I shall not want rest. "Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavyladen, and I will give you rest."
I shall not want guidance. "I am the way; no man cometh unto the Fatherbut by Me."
I shall not want companionship. "I have called you friends." "Lo, I amwith you always."
I shall not want joy. "These things have I spoken unto you that My joymight remain in you, and that your joy might be full."
I shall not want honor. "If any man serve me, him will My Father honor."
"_We shall find plenty to do to-day_."]
HOW DOROTHY HELPED THE ANGEL
Two angels met one misty morning in one of the Lanes of Light: one, theAngel of Encouragement; the other, the Angel of the Rainbow, whobrightens things up generally.
"We shall find plenty to do to-day, companion," remarked the latter;"things are looking rather gloomy."
"Ah!" said the Angel of Encouragement, "how blessed are we who carryheaven's sunlight ever with us, and ever round us!"
And then they parted.
The Angel of Encouragement entered a house where a young girl was tryingto light a fire. A gray, weary day stretched in front of her, and thetears would come. Some girls of her age were still at school. She was agirl with ambitions; many a rosy castle of fancy had been built by her,but built only to vanish.