Dawn

  CHAPTER XV

  AGAIN SUSAN TAKES A HAND

  That evening Daniel Burton told Susan. "Keith is to go home with Dr.Stewart next week. The doctor will operate as soon as possible. Keithwill live at the sanatorium connected with the doctor's home and beunder his constant supervision."

  Susan tried to speak, but instead of speaking she burst into tears.

  "Why, Susan!" exclaimed the man.

  "I know, I know," she choked, angrily dashing the drops from her eyes."An' me cryin' like this when I'm gettin' jest what I want, too!"

  "But there's no certainty, Susan, that it'll be successful; rememberthat," warned the man, his face clouding a little. "We can only--hope."

  "An' there's the--the pay." Susan looked up, her voice vibrating withfearful doubts.

  "Oh, that's all right." The man lifted his head with the air of onewho at last has reached firm ground after a dangerous crossing on thinice. "The doctor's going to buy the highboy and that mirror in thestudio, and--oh, several other things."

  "You mean that old chest of drawers in the settin'-room?" scornedSusan openly.

  "Yes." Daniel Burton's lips twitched a little.

  "But will he PAY anything for 'em? Mr. Burton, you can't get nothin',hardly, for second-hand furniture. My mother had a stove an' a realnice bedstead, an' a red-plush parlor set, an' she sold 'em. But shedidn't get anything--not hardly anything, for 'em; an' they was 'mostnew, some of 'em, too."

  "That's the trouble, Susan--they were too new, probably," laughed theman. "It's because these are old, very old, that he wants them, Isuspect.

  "An' he'll really pay MONEY for 'em?" Plainly Susan still had herdoubts.

  "He certainly will. I'd be almost ashamed to tell you HOW much he'llpay, Susan," smiled the man. "It seemed to me sheer robbery on mypart. But he assures me they are very valuable, and that he's morethan delighted to have them even at that price."

  "Lan' sakes! An' when I'd been worryin' an' worryin' so about themoney," sighed Susan; "an' now to have it fall plump into your laplike that. It jest shows you not to hunt for bridges till you get yourfeet wet, don't it? An' he's goin' jest next week?"

  "Yes. The doctor and his daughter start Tuesday."

  "You don't mean that girl Dorothy's goin' too?" Susan had almostbounced out of her chair.

  "Why, yes, Dr. Stewart SAID she was. What's the matter?"

  "Matter? Matter enough! Why, if she goes--Say, why IS she taggin'along, anyhow?" demanded Susan wrathfully.

  "Well, I shouldn't exactly call it 'taggin' along' to go home with herfather for the Christmas vacation," shrugged the man. "As I understandit, Dorothy's mother died several years ago. That's why the girl ishere in the East so much with her relatives, going to school. Thedoctor's home has become practically a sanatorium--not the mostdesirable place in the world to bring up a young daughter in, I shouldsay. Let's see, how old is Miss Dorothy?"

  "Sixteen, Keith says. I asked him one day. She's about his age."

  "Hm-m; well, however that may be, Susan, I don't see how we can helpourselves very well. I fancy Miss Dorothy'll still--tag along," hefinished whimsically.

  "Maybe, an' then maybe not," mumbled Susan darkly, as she turned away.

  For two days after this Susan's kitchen, and even Keith himself,showed almost neglect; persistently and systematically Susan wasrunning "down street" every hour or two--ostensibly on errands, yetshe bought little. She spent most of her time tramping through thestreets and stores, scrutinizing especially the face of every younggirl she met.

  On the afternoon of the second day she met Dorothy Parkman coming outof the post-office.

  "Well, I've got you at last," she sighed, "though I'm free to confessI was beginnin' to think I never would see you."

  "Oh, yes, about Keith," cried the girl joyously. "Isn't it splendid!I'm so glad! And he's going home with us right away, you know."

  "Yes, I know. An' that's what--that is, I wanted--" stammered Susan,growing red in her misery. "Oh, Miss Dorothy, you WOULD do anythingfor that poor blind boy, wouldn't you?"

  "Why, y-yes, of course," faltered Dorothy, stammering in her turn.

  "I knew you would. Then please don't go home with your father thistime."

  "Don't go home--with--my father!" exclaimed the girl, in puzzledwonder.

  "No. Because if you do--That is--Oh, I know it's awful for me to saythis, but I've got to do it for Keith. You see, if you go,--Keithwon't."

  "If I go, he--I don't think--I quite understand." The girl drew back alittle haughtily. Her face showed a painful flush.

  "No, no, of course you don't! An' please, PLEASE don't look likethat," begged Susan. "It's jest this. I found out. I wormed it out ofhim the other day--why he won't let you come to see him. He says thatonce, long ago, you said how you couldn't bear to look at blindpeople, an'--"

  "Oh, I never, never could have said such a cruel thing to--to a blindboy," interposed the girl.

  "He wasn't blind then. He said he wasn't. But, it was when he was'fraid he was goin' to be blind; an' he see you an' Mazie Sanborn atthe foot of Harrington Hill, one day. It was just after the old manhad got blind, an' Keith had been up to see him. It seems that Keithwas worryin' then for fear HE was goin' to be blind."

  "He WAS?"

  "Yes--things blurred, an' all that. Well, at the foot of the hill hesee you an' Mazie, an' you shuddered at his goin' up to see Mr.Harrington, an' said how could he bear to look at folks that wasblind. That YOU couldn't. An' he never forgot it. Bein' worried forfear he himself was goin' blind, you see, he was especially acceptableto anything like that."

  "Oh, but I--I--At home I always did hate to see all the poor blindpeople that came to see father," she stammered. "But it--it was onlybecause I felt so bad--for them. And that's one reason why fatherdoesn't keep me at home any more. He says--But, about Keith--I--Ididn't mean to--" Dorothy came to a helpless pause.

  "Yes, I know. You didn't mean to hurt him," nodded Susan. "But it didhurt him. An' now he always thinks of it, if he knows you're 'round.You see, worse'n anything else, he hates to be stared at or to havefolks think he's different. There ain't anything I can ever say to himthat makes him half so happy as to act as if he wa'n't blind."

  "Yes, I--see," breathed Dorothy, her eyes brimming.

  "An' so now you won't go, will you? Because if you go, he won't."

  Miss Dorothy frowned in deep thought for a moment.

  "I shall have to go," she said at last, slowly. "Father is justcounting on my being there Christmas, and he is so lonely--I couldn'tdisappoint him. But, Keith--I won't have to see much of him, anyway.I'll explain it to father. He won't mind. He's used to his patientstaking notions. It'll be all right. Don't worry," she nodded, her faceclearing.

  "But you'll have to be with Keith--some."

  "Oh, yes, a little. But he won't know who I am. I'm just Dr. Stewart'sdaughter. Don't you see?"

  "But--he'll know your voice."

  "I shan't talk much. Besides, he never did hear me talk much. It wasalways Mazie that talked most. And he hasn't heard me any for a yearor more, except that little bit that day at the house."

  "But your name, Dorothy," still argued Susan dubiously.

  "Father never calls me that. I'm always 'Puss' to him. And there won'tbe anybody else with us on the journey. Don't you worry. You just sendKeith right along, and trust me for the rest. You'll see," she noddedagain brightly, as she turned away.

  Susan went home then to her neglected work. There seemed reallynothing else that she could do. But that she was far from followingMiss Dorothy's blithe advice "not to worry" was very evident from herfrowning brow and preoccupied air all the rest of the time untilTuesday morning when Keith went--until, indeed, Mr. Burton came homefrom seeing Keith off on his journey. Then her pent-up perturbationculminated in an onslaught of precipitate questions.

  "Was he all right? Was that girl there? Did he know who she was? Doyou think he'll find out?"

  "One at a time, Susan, one at a time," lau
ghed the man. "Yes, he wasall right. He went off smiling, with the doctor's arm about hisshoulders. Yes, the young lady was there, but she kept well away fromKeith, so far as I could see. Friends had come evidently to see heroff, but I noticed she contrived to keep herself and them as far awayfrom Keith as possible. Of course, on the journey there'll be just thethree of them. The test will come then. But I wouldn't worry, Susan.Remember your own advice about those bridges of yours. He's started,and he's with the doctor. I don't think he'll turn back now."

  "No, I s'pose not," sighed Susan. "But I wish I could really KNOW howthings are!" she finished, as she took up her work again.

  Thirty-six hours later came the telegram from the doctor telling oftheir safe arrival, and a week later came a letter from Keith himselfto Susan. It was written in lead-pencil on paper that had beencarefully perforated so as to form lines not too near together.

  At the top of the page in parentheses were these words:

  DEAR SUSAN: If you think dad would like it you may read him a part orthe whole of this letter. I was afraid I wouldn't write very well andthat he wouldn't like to see it. So I write to you instead. I know youwon't mind.

  Below came the letter.

  DEAR SUSAN: How do you and dad do? I am well and hope you are thesame.

  This is an awfully pretty place with trees and big lawns all aroundit, and walks and seats everywhere in the summer, they say. We aren'tsitting outdoors to-day, though. It's only four below!

  We had a jolly trip out. The doctor's great. He spent half his timetalking to me about the things we were seeing out the window. We wentthrough a wonderful country, and saw lots of interesting things.

  The doctor's daughter was along, too. But she didn't have much to sayon the trip. I've seen quite a lot of her since we've been here,though, and she's ALL RIGHT. At first I didn't like her very well. Itwas her voice, I guess. It reminded me of somebody I didn't like to bereminded of. But after I got used to it I found she was really verynice and jolly. She knows lots of games, and we play together a lotnow. She's so different from that girl she sounded like that I don'tmind her voice now. And I don't think she minds (here a ratherunsuccessful erasure showed that "playing with me" had beensubstituted for "being with blind folks").

  She gave me this paper, and told me the folks at home would like aletter, she knew. That's why I'm writing it. And I guess that's enoughfor this time.

  Love to all. KEITH BURTON

  P.S. I'm going to have the operation to-morrow, but they won't knowfor quite a while whether it's successful or not, the doctor says. KEITH

  Susan read this letter, then took it at once to the studio and read itagain aloud.

  "Now ain't that great?" she crowed, as soon as she had finished.

  "Y-yes, but he didn't say much about himself or his treatment,"demurred the man.

  Susan made an impatient gesture.

  "Why, yes, he did, too! Lan' sakes, Mr. Burton, he didn't talk aboutnothin' else but himself an' his treatment, all the way through. Oh, Iknow he didn't say anything about his occultist treatment, if that'swhat you mean. But I didn't do no worryin' about that part. It was theother part."

  "The other part!"

  "Yes. They're treatin' him as if he wa'n't different an' queer. An'didn't you notice the way he wrote? Happy as a king tellin' about whathe SAW on the way out, an' the wonderful country they went through.They're all right--them two are. I shan't do no more worryin' aboutKeith. An' her fixin' that paper so cute for him to write on--Ideclare I'm that zealous of her I don't know what to do. Why couldn't_I_ 'a' thought of that?" she sighed, as she rose to leave the room.

  Two days later came a letter from the doctor. The operation had beenperformed and, so far as they could judge, all was well, though, asKeith had written, the real results would not show until the bandageswere removed some time later.

  When the schools opened again in January, Dorothy Parkman came back toHinsdale. Susan had been counting the days ever since Christmas, forshe knew Dorothy was coming, and she could scarcely wait to see her.This time, however, she did not have to tramp through the streets andstores looking for her, for Miss Dorothy came at once to the house andrang the bell.

  "I knew you'd want to hear all about Mr. Keith," she smiled brightlyinto Susan's eyes. "And I'm glad to report that he's doing all right."

  "Be them bandages off yet? Do you mean--he can see?" demanded Susanexcitedly, leading the way to the sitting-room.

  "Oh, no--no--not that!" cried the girl quickly. "I mean--he's doingall right so far. It's a week yet before the bandages can be removed,and even then, he probably won't see much--if at all. There'll have tobe another one--later--father says--maybe two more."

  "Oh!" Susan fell back, plainly disappointed. Then, suddenly, a newinterest flamed into her eyes.

  "An' he ain't sensed yet who you are?" she questioned.

  Miss Dorothy blushed, and Susan noticed suddenly how very pretty shewas.

  "No. Though I must confess that at first, when he heard my voice, helooked up much startled, and even rose from his seat. But I told himlots of folks thought I talked like Dorothy Parkman; and I justlaughed and turned it off, and made nothing of it. And so pretty quickhe made nothing of it, too. After that we got along beautifully."

  "I should say you did!" retorted Susan, almost enviously. "An' youfixin' up that paper so fine for him to write on!"

  Miss Dorothy blushed again--and again Susan noticed how very charmingwas the combination of brown eyes and yellow-gold hair.

  "Yes, he did like that paper," smiled the young girl. "He nevermentioned the lines, and neither did I. When I first suggested theletter home he was all ready to refuse, I could see; but I wouldn'tgive him the chance. Before he could even speak I had thrust the paperinto his hands, and I could see the wonder, interest, and joy in hisface as his fingers discovered the pricked lines and followed theircourse from edge to edge. But he didn't let ME know he'd found them--notmuch! 'Well, I don't know but they would like a letter,' was allhe said, casually. I knew then that I had won."

  "Well, I should say you had. But HOW did you know how?" cried Susan.

  "Oh, you told me first that I must talk to him as if he were notblind. Then father told me the same thing. He said lots of hispatients were like that. So I always tried to do it that way. And it'swonderful how, when you give it a little thought, you can manage totell them so much that they can turn about and tell somebody else,just as if they really had seen it."

  "I know, I know," nodded Susan. "An'--Miss Dorothy"--her voice grewunsteady--"he really IS goin' to see by an' by, ain't he?"

  The girl's face clouded.

  "They aren't at all sure of that."

  "But they can't tell YET?" Susan had grown a little white.

  "Oh, no, not sure."

  "An' they're goin' to give him all the chances there is?"

  "Certainly. I only spoke because I don't want you to be toodisappointed if--if we lose. You must remember that fully half of thecases do lose."

  Susan drew a long sigh. Then, determinedly she lifted her chin.

  "Well, I like to think we ain't goin' to belong to that half," shesaid.