CHAPTER VI
DOROTHY GOES UPON AN ERRAND
When Mrs. Chester returned she was tired and found Dorothy so. The girltook her mother's hat and put it away in its box, brought her a fan, andasked if she should get her something to eat.
"No, dear, thank you. I had dinner, all I wanted, with Aunt ChloeChester. She takes this trouble of ours very hard, and declares that shewill not live to see 'her boy' come back to Baltimore. She wishes shecould die first, right away, so 'that he could go to my funeral whilehe's handy to it.'"
"Horrors! I--I suppose I love Aunt Chloe, because she was so good tofather John, but I hope I'll never grow into such a terrible old woman.Seems if she had always to be dragged up out of the gloom into thesunshine. It's always the worst things are going to happen--with her. Idon't see how father ever grew up to be such a sunshiny man, alwaysunder her hand, so. You must have had a dreary visit."
"It wasn't a restful one; but the reason for John's always looking onthe bright side may be just that she always did the opposite. But youlook sober, too, dearie. Wasn't Mabel's visit a pleasant one? How longhas she been gone?"
"Oh! a good while. She went home to dinner. I--she ate 'most all theham. All the best big slices anyway, and full half the pie. Then shewanted mustard, so she could eat more. She said that sometimes when shecouldn't eat a big lot and they had extra good things, she'd get up andwalk around the table, so she could. She didn't say that, to-day,though, but did once at a school picnic. And I--I broke a tumbler. Oneof the best."
"Why, Dorothy C.! How could you?" returned Mrs. Chester, but not at allas if she really heard or were in the least vexed. Then, as if forcingherself to an interest in small, home matters, she asked: "Were youvery lonely after she went?"
"No, indeed. I wasn't alone--I mean, I wasn't lonely. Did father likehis roses?"
"Yes, darling, and he fully appreciated your cutting them. He said heknew how you disliked it, for you'd never got over your baby notion thatit hurt the plants, just as a cut finger hurt you. He said, too, that Iwas to tell you he'd found all the kisses, every one, but if you wantedany paid back you'd have to come to Johns Hopkins after them. It was acomfort to find him so happy and sure of getting well. I wish I werehalf as sure!"
Dorothy opened her lips to say something which it seemed impossible tokeep from this beloved little mother opposite, who already seemed sochanged and worn; who had lost every bit of that gayety which had beenso astonishing, yesterday. But not yet--not yet. Besides, she was fullyas truthful as Mabel Bruce and had given her pledge to silence. Then sheremembered that she did not know to what part of the "country" they weredestined, and asked:
"Mother Martha, can't you tell me something of your plans? Where we aregoing and when? And what is to become of this dear home?"
There was so much earnestness and sympathy in the girl's tones that Mrs.Chester forgot how young she was, and now talked with her as she mighthave done with a much older person; almost, indeed, as she would havedone with the postman himself.
"We are going to a far-away state; to a place I haven't seen since I wasa child, myself--the Hudson River highlands."
"Why--the Hudson River is in New York and we're in Maryland!" criedDorothy. "Why go so far, away from everybody we know and care for?Wouldn't it do just to go to some little spot right near Baltimore,where we could come into the city on the cars, at any time? Isn't thatwhat the Johns Hopkins doctors call the 'country'?"
"Oh! if we only might! But, my dear, there's an old saying about'beggars' being 'choosers.' We aren't beggars, of course, but we are toopoor to be 'choosers.' Fortunately, or unfortunately, as time willprove, I have a little place in the country where I told you. Itbelonged to an old bachelor uncle who died long ago. It has stood emptyfor many years and may be badly out of order. He willed it to me, as myportion of his estate: and though some of his other heirs have once ortwice offered to buy it from me, the price they offered was so smallthat John had me refuse it. He's said in jest: 'No telling how glad wemay some time be of that rocky hill-farm, Martha. Better hold on to it,as long as we can pay the taxes and keep it.' The taxes were not heavy,and we've paid them. Now, it is the only place out of the city where wehave a right to go; and in one sense there couldn't be a better. It'sone of the healthiest spots on earth, I suppose: and there'll be plentyof room for John to live in 'the open,' as he's advised. So we must go;"and with a heavy sigh mother Martha ceased speaking and leaned her headback, closing her eyes as if she were about to sleep.
But underneath all her calmness of tone had lain a profound sadness, andnone but the absent John could have told how bitter to her was thecoming severance from all she had ever held dear. Though born in NewYork State, she had come south with her parents when she was too smallto remember any other home than their humble one in this same city. Hereshe had met and married John. Here they had together earned their cozyhome. Here were all her church associations, and here the few whom shecalled friends.
She had always leaned upon her husband's greater wisdom and strength inall the affairs of their quiet lives, and now that she needed them mostshe was deprived of them. Alone, she must pack up, or sell, theirhousehold goods, and not an article of them but was dear because of somesacrifice involved in its purchase. Alone, she must attend to the saleor rental of their house, for the doctors had told her that very morningthat her patient must not be disturbed "for any cause whatever. Therewas a chance, one in a thousand, that he might get well. If this chancewere to be his it depended upon his absolute freedom from care andresponsibility."
She had assured them that this should be so, and it had seemed easy topromise, in the face of the greater sorrow if he must remain an invalidor, possibly, die. But now, back in the security of her beloved home,her courage waned; and Dorothy, watching, saw tears steal from under theclosed eyelids and chase one another down the pale cheek, which onlyyesterday, it seemed, had been so round and rosy.
To a loving child there is no more piteous sight than a mother weeping.It was more than Dorothy could bear, and, with a little cry of distress,she threw herself at Mrs. Chester's knees and hid her own wet eyes uponthem. Then she lifted her head and begged:
"Don't cry, mother! Dearest mother Martha, please, please, don't cry!You've never done it, never; in all my life I haven't seen you, nomatter what happened. If you cry we can't do anything, and I'm going tohelp you. Maybe we won't have to go away. Maybe something perfectlysplendid will happen to prevent. Maybe darling father will get well,just resting from his mail route. Surely, nobody could fix him nicernourishments than you can, if we can afford it. Maybe we shall be ableto afford--Oh! if only I could tell you something! Something that wouldmake you happy again!"
Mother Martha ceased weeping and smiled into the tender eyes of thedevoted child who had so well repaid her own generosity. Then she wipedboth their faces and in quite a matter-of-fact way bade Dorothy sitdown, quietly, while she told her some necessary things. One: that inthe morning she should be sent to the post-office, to receive theenvelope containing the ten dollars due for her own board. Mrs. Chesterhad arranged with the new postman about it and there would be nodifficulty. There was never a word written with these payments. Thepostman's address was on the outside the envelope, which was neverregistered, had never gone astray, and had never held more than thesolitary crisp ten-dollar bill expected.
"We shall need all the money we can get in hand, for the expenses of ourmoving will be heavy--for us. I'm going to see some real-estate men anddecide whether it is best to sell, or rent, this house. I shall be verybusy. John isn't to stay at the hospital but a week, and so by the endof this coming one I want to be in our new home. I rather dread thejourney, though we can easily make it in a day--or less. But your fatherthinks he can get along real well on crutches, that we'll have to buy,of course; and I've noticed that people on the street cars, even, arealways kind and helpful to invalids. John believes that it's a good,jolly old world, and you and I must try to believe the same. He saysthere's lots of trut
h in the saying: 'He that would have friends mustshow himself friendly.' I reckon nobody ever turned a friendlier facetoward others than John has, and that's why everybody loves him so.
"Now, dearie, fetch me my Bible and I'll read awhile. I don't feel as ifI'd had any real Sunday, yet. Then, by and by, you may make me a cup oftea and we'll get to bed early. Of course, there'll be no more schoolfor you here, though I shall want you to step in and bid Miss Georgiagood-bye. That's no more than polite, even if you don't love her as youshould."
Dorothy made a little mouth, which for once her mother did not reprove:and presently they both were reading. At least, Mrs. Chester really was,while the peace of the volume she studied stole into her troubled heartand shed its light upon her face. Dorothy, also, held her book in herhand and kept her eyes fixed on the printed pages; but, had her motherchanced to look up and observe, she would have seen no leaves turned;though gradually an expression of almost wild delight grew upon themobile features till the girl looked as if she were just ready to sing.
However, she said nothing of her happy thoughts and watched her motherfall asleep in the drowsy heat of the late afternoon, and from thefatigue of a sleepless night and a busy day. Then she crept on tiptoeout of the room, noiselessly removing her slitted shoes before she rosefrom her chair, and presently had gained the kitchen at the rear. Hereshe lighted a little gas stove and put on the kettle to boil. Then shedid what seemed a strange thing for a girl as strictly reared as she,on a Sunday evening. She caught up her short skirts and, after themanner of pictured dancers upon wall-posters, began to whirl andpirouette around the little space, as if by such movements, only, couldshe express the rapture that thrilled her.
"There, I reckon I've worked myself down to quiet!" she exclaimed, atlength, to the cat which entered, stretching its legs in a sleepyfashion and ready for its supper. "Now, I'll feed you, Ma'am Puss,though you ought to feed yourself on the rats that bother our garden.Queer, isn't it? How everything 'feeds' on something else. I hate rats,and I hate to have them killed. Killing is horrible: and, I'm afraidthat to have my roses killed by the creatures is worst of all."
Ma'am Puss did not reply, except by rubbing herself against hermistress's legs, and, having filled a saucer with milk, Dorothy went outinto the garden and stayed there a long time. There many thoughts cameto her, and many, many regrets. Regrets for past negligencies, that hadcaused the drooping--therefore suffering--of some tender plant; for theknowledge of her coming separation from these treasures which both sheand father John had loved almost as if they were human creatures; butkeenest of all, regrets for the lost activity of the once so activepostman. Mother Martha's griefs and her own might be hard to bear, buthis was far, far worse. Nothing, not even the delightful surprises shefelt she had in store for him, could give him back his lost health.
She had no propensity to dance when she went indoors again. It was avery sober, thoughtful Dorothy C. who presently carried a little trayinto the parlor and insisted upon the tired housemistress enjoying hersupper there, where she could look out upon the cheerful street with itsSunday promenaders, "and just be waited on, nice and cozy."
Both inmates of the little home slept soundly that night. Sleep is aclose friend to the toilers of the world, though the idle rich seek itin vain: and the morning found them refreshed and courageous for theduties awaiting. There would be few tears and no repining on the part ofeither because of a home-breaking. Bitterer trials might come, but thedepth of this one they had fathomed and put behind them.
Moreover, it fell in with Dorothy's own desires that she was to make thepost-office trip: and she started upon it with so much confidence thather mother was surprised and remarked:
"Well, small daughter, for a child who knows so little of business andhas never been further down town than the market, alone, you arebehaving beautifully. I'm proud of you. So will your father be. Maybe,if any of the agents I'm going to telephone come here to-day and keepme, I'll let you go to pay the daily visit to John and tell him all thenews. Take care of the street crossings. It's so crowded on the businessstreets and I should be forlorn, indeed, if harm befell my Dorothy C."
Even when the child turned, half-way down the block, to toss a kissbackward to her mother in the doorway, that anxious woman felt a strangefear for her darling and recalled her for a final caution:
"Be sure to take care of your car-fare, Dorothy; and be more than sureyou don't lose the money-letter. When you board a car look to seeanother isn't coming on the other track, to knock you down."
The little girl came back and clung to Mrs. Chester for a moment,laughing, yet feeling her own courage a trifle dashed by thesesuggestions of peril. But she slipped away again, determining to do hererrands promptly, while, with a curious foreboding in her mind, thehousemistress re-entered her deserted home, reflecting:
"John always laughs at my 'presentiments,' yet I never had one as strongas this upon me now that I did not wish, afterward, I had yielded to it.I've half a mind to follow the child and overtake her before she getsinto a car. I could snatch a little while to do those downtown errandsand she'd be perfectly safe here. Pshaw! How silly I am! Dorothy is oldenough to be trusted and can be. I'll put her out of mind till I hearher gay little call at the door, when she rings its bell: 'It's I,mother Martha! Please let me in!'"
But alas! That familiar summons was never again to be heard at No. 77Brown Street.