Dawn

  CHAPTER XX

  WITH CHIN UP

  Keith came in April. The day before he was expected, Susan, sweepingoff the side porch, was accosted by Mrs. McGuire.

  It was the first warm spring-like day, and Mrs. McGuire, bareheadedand coatless, had opened the back-yard gate and was picking her wayacross the spongy turf.

  "My, but isn't this a great day, Susan!" she called, with an ecstatic,indrawn breath. "I only wish it was as nice under foot."

  "Hain't you got no rubbers on?" Susan's disapproving eyes sought Mrs.McGuire's feet.

  Mrs. McGuire laughed lightly.

  "No. That's the one thing I leave off the first possible minute. Someway, I feel as if I was helpin' along the spring."

  "Humph! Well, I should help along somethin' 'sides spring, I guess, ifI did it. Besides, it strikes me rubbers ain't the only thing you'releavin' off." Susan's disapproving eyes had swept now to Mrs.McGuire's unprotected head and shoulders.

  "Oh, I'm not cold. I love it. As if this glorious spring sunshinecould do any one any harm! Susan, it's LIEUTENANT McGuire, now! I cameover to tell you. My John's been promoted."

  "Sho, you don't say! Ain't that wonderful, now?" Susan's broom stoppedin midair.

  "Not when you know my John!" The proud mother lifted her head alittle. "'For bravery an' valiant service'--Lieutenant McGuire! OhSusan, Susan, but I'm the proud woman this mornin'!"

  "Yes, of course, of course, I ain't wonderin' you be!" Susan drew along sigh and fell to sweeping again.

  Mrs. McGuire, looking into Susan's face, came a step nearer. Her ownface sobered.

  "An' me braggin' like this, when you folks-! I know--you're thinkin'of that poor blind boy. An' it's just to-morrow that he comes, isn'tit?"

  Susan nodded dumbly.

  "An' it's all ended now an' decided--he can't ever see, I s'pose,"went on Mrs. McGuire. "I heard 'em talkin' down to the store lastnight. It seems terrible."

  "Yes, it does." Susan was sweeping vigorously now, over and over againin the same place.

  "I wonder how--he'll take it."

  Susan stopped sweeping and turned with a jerk.

  "Take it? He's got to take it, hain't he?" she demanded fiercely."He's GOT TO! An' things you've got to do, you do. That's all. You'llsee. Keith Burton ain't no quitter. He'll take it with his head up an'his shoulders braced. I know. You'll see. Don't I remember the look onhis blessed face that day he went away, an' stood on them steps there,callin' back his cheery good-bye?"

  "But, Susan, there was hope then, an' there isn't any now--an' youhaven't seen him since. You forget that."

  "No, I don't," retorted Susan doggedly. "I ain't forgettin' nothin'.'But you'll see!"

  "An' he's older. He realizes more. Why, he must be--How old is he,anyway?"

  "He'll be nineteen next June."

  "Almost a man. Poor boy, poor boy--an' him with all these years ofblack darkness ahead of him! I tell you, Susan, I never appreciated myeyes as I have since Keith lost his. Seems as though anybody that'sgot their eyes hadn't ought to complain of--anything. I was thinkin'this mornin', comin' over, how good it was just to SEE the blue skyan' the sunshine an' the little buds breakin' through their brownjackets. Why, Susan, I never realized how good just seein' was--till Ithought of Keith, who can't never see again."

  "Yes. Well, I've got to go in now, Mis' McGuire. Good-bye."

  Words, manner, and tone of voice were discourtesy itself; but Mrs.McGuire, looking at Susan's quivering face, brimming eyes, and setlips, knew it for what it was and did not mistake it for--discourtesy.But because she knew Susan would prefer it so, she turned away with alight "Yes, so've I. Good-bye!" which gave no sign that she had seenand understood.

  Dr. Stewart came himself with Keith to Hinsdale and accompanied him tothe house. It had been the doctor's own suggestion that neither theboy's father nor Susan should meet them at the train. Perhaps thedoctor feared for that meeting. Naturally it would not be an easy one.Naturally too, he did not want to add one straw to Keith's alreadygrievous burden. So he had written:

  I will come to the house. As I am a little uncertain as to the train Ican catch from Boston, do not try to meet me at the station.

  "Jest as if we couldn't see through that subterranean!" Susan hadmuttered to herself over the dishes that morning. "I guess he knowswhat train he's goin' to take all right. He jest didn't want us tomeet him an' make a scenic at the depot. I wonder if he thinks Iwould! Don't he think I knows anything?"

  But, after all, it was very simple, very quiet, very ordinary. Dr.Stewart rang the bell and Susan went to the door. And there theystood: Keith, big and strong and handsome (Susan had forgotten thattwo years could transform a somewhat awkward boy into so fine andstalwart a youth); the doctor, pale, and with an apprehensiveuncertainty in his eyes.

  "Well, Susan, how are you?" Keith's voice was strong and steady, andthe outstretched hand gripped hers with a clasp that hurt.

  Then, in some way never quite clear to her, Susan found herself in thebig living-room with Keith and the doctor and Daniel Burton, allshaking hands and all talking at once. They sat down then, and theirsentences became less broken, less incoherent. But they said onlyordinary things about the day, the weather, the journey home, JohnMcGuire, the war, the President's message, the entry of the UnitedStates into the conflict. There was nothing whatever said about eyesthat could see or eyes that could not see, or operations that failed.

  And by and by the doctor got up and said that he must go. To be sure,the good-byes were a little hurriedly spoken, and the voices were at alittle higher pitch than was usual; and when the doctor had gone,Keith and his father went at once upstairs to the studio and shut thedoor.

  Susan went out into the kitchen then and took up her neglected work.She made a great clatter of pans and dishes, and she sang lustily ather "mad song," and at several others. But every now and then, betweensongs and rattles, she would stop and listen intently; and twice sheclimbed halfway up the back stairs and stood poised, her breathsuspended, her anxious eyes on that closed studio door.

  Yet supper that night was another very ordinary occurrence, with Keithand his father talking of the war and Susan waiting upon them with acheerfulness that was almost obtrusive.

  In her own room that night, however, Susan addressed an imaginaryKeith, all in the dark.

  "You're fine an' splendid, an' I love you for it, Keith, my boy," shechoked; "but you don't fool your old Susan. Your chin is up, jest as Isaid 'twould be, an' you're marchin' straight ahead. But inside, yourheart is breakin'. Do you think I don't KNOW? But we ain't goin' tolet each other KNOW we know, Keith, my boy. Not much we ain't! An' Iguess if you can march straight ahead with your chin up, the rest ofus can, all right. We'll see!"

  And Susan was singing again the next morning when she did herbreakfast dishes.

  At ten o'clock Keith came into the kitchen.

  "Where's dad, Susan? He isn't in the studio and I've looked in everyroom in the house and I can't find him anywhere." Keith spoke with theaggrieved air of one who has been deprived of his just rights.

  Susan's countenance changed. "Why, Keith, don't you--that is, yourfather--Didn't he tell you?" stammered Susan.

  "Tell me what?"

  "Why, that--that he was goin' to be away."

  "No, he didn't. What do you mean? Away where? How long?"

  "Why, er--working."

  "Sketching?--in this storm? Nonsense, Susan! Besides, he'd have takenme. He always took me. Susan, what's the matter? Where IS dad?" A noteof uncertainty, almost fear, had crept into the boy's voice. "You'rekeeping--SOMETHING from me."

  Susan caught her breath and threw a swift look into Keith's unseeingeyes. Then she laughed, hysterically, a bit noisily.

  "Keepin' somethin' from you? Why, sure we ain't, boy! Didn't I jesttell you? He's workin' down to McGuire's."

  "WORKING! Down to MCGUIRE'S!" Keith plainly did not yet understand.

  "Sure! An' he's got a real good position, too." Susan spoke jauntily,en
thusiastically.

  "But the McGuires never buy pictures," frowned Keith, "or want--" Hestopped short. Face, voice, and manner underwent a complete change."Susan, you don't mean that dad is CLERKING down there behind thatgrocery counter!"

  Susan saw and recognized the utter horror and dismay in Keith's lace,and quailed before it. But she managed in some way to keep her voicestill triumphant.

  "Sure he is! An' he gets real good wages, too, an'--" But Keith with alow cry had gone.

  Before the noon dinner, however, he appeared again at the kitchendoor. His face was very white now.

  "Susan, how long has dad been doing this?"

  "Oh, quite a while. Funny, now! Hain't he ever told you?"

  "No. But there seem to be quite a number of things that you peoplehaven't told me."

  Susan winced, but she still held her ground jauntily.

  "Oh, yes, quite a while," she nodded cheerfully. "An' he gets-"

  "But doesn't he paint any more--at all?" interrupted the boy sharply.

  "Why, no; no, I don't know that he does," tossed Susan airily. "An' ofcourse, if he's found somethin' he likes better--"

  "Susan, you don't have to talk like that to me" interposed Keithquietly. "I understand, of course. There are some things that can beseen without--eyes."

  "Oh, but honest, Keith, he--" But once again Keith had gone and Susanfound herself talking to empty air.

  When Susan went into the dining-room that evening to wait at dinner,she went with fear and trepidation, and she looked apprehensively intothe faces of the two men sitting opposite each other. But in thekitchen, a few minutes later, she muttered to herself:

  "Pooh! I needn't have worried. They've got sense, both of 'em, an'they know that what's got to be has got to be. That's all. An' that itdon't do no good to fuss. I needn't have worried."

  But Susan did worry. She did not like the look on Keith's face. Shedid not like the nervous twitching of his hands. She did not like theexaggerated cheerfulness of his manner.

  And Keith WAS cheerful. He played solitaire with his marked cards andwhistled. He worked at his raised-picture puzzles and sang snatches ofmerry song. He talked with anybody who came near him--talked very fastand laughed a great deal. But behind the whistling and the singing andthe laughter Susan detected a tense strain and nervousness that shedid not like. And at times, when she knew Keith thought himself alone,there was an expression on his face that disturbed Susan not a little.

  But because, outwardly, it was all "cheerfulness," Susan kept herpeace; but she also kept her eyes on Keith.