But before Phyllis had finished speaking, Mrs. Challenger had swept her aside and gone downstairs.
Rosalie lingered near Phyllis for a minute.
"I think this may be going to be an answer to one of our prayers, don't you, Phyllie?" she whispered eagerly.
"Better wait till you see, dearie. It may turn out to be a family tree after all, or at least a branch."
Five minutes later, the girls, listening at the top of the stairs, heard Jenifer and Bob come in, and they slipped down to tell their mother it was time for her to start; but they found their mother signing a big official-looking document with a great seal on one end and Jenifer standing by to sign his name as a witness. The insistent gentleman stood smiling above the table, and as the last name was written, he accepted his fountain pen from Jenifer's hand and said to Mary Challenger:
"That's all, Mrs. Challenger; that's quite all for today. Thank you for coming down. Mr. Wright was anxious to get the matter settled up. The rest of the papers are down at the office in our vault and are perfectly safe until you call for them when you get beck. I hope you will enjoy your property. Of course, it isn't really an estate, just a modest comfortable home, but I think you'll like it. Oh, and here's your bankbook. You'll find the entries there of all interest that has accrued while the estate was being settled. And now, I'll bid you good afternoon, and sorry to have bothered you."
He bowed himself out of the door, and the family stood staring at one another, until Bob, who didn't know at all what it was about, announced that the taxi had come to take his mother to the station.
Then they began to pour out questions, but Jenifer stopped them.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but you haven't much time, Mrs. Challenger, if you really want to catch this train."
"All right! I'm ready. Bob, get my suitcase. It's upstairs. Phyllis, what did you do with my handbag? Sorry, children, but Phyllis heard it all. She can tell you what she knows. I don't know much about it myself. I've been left some property by a cousin I never saw, who died in England. He's only a fourth cousin. It sounds like a fairy story, but if it's anything worthwhile, we'll enjoy it when I get back. Now, be good children, and don't any of you get lost. Phyllis, you won't forget what I told you to tell Father--"
She was gone, with Jenifer sitting beside her in the taxi smiling and waving his hand as if he were an old friend of the family.
Phyllis stood on the sidewalk twirling a couple of keys tied together with a string, waving her hands joyously, and Melissa in the doorway was thinking how handsome Jenifer looked as he took off his hat especially to her when they drove away.
It seemed very strange to have their mother gone, just at night, too, that way, and all this excitement: Melissa home with a long tale to tell, and then these mystical keys, and the strange story of the inheritance. The girls were so excited they could hardly get the table cleared off. They talked and talked while they washed the dishes.
"And Lissa," said Rosalie with shining eyes, "you can't talk that way anymore about God not answering prayer. Wait till you hear about the money in the cuckoo clock. Phyllis, you tell her about the cuckoo clock and how we prayed for money for Mother to go and see Stephen."
Melissa listened in wonder as the three told together, first one, then the other, about how Bob found the money in the clock, and then she turned to Rosalie, who was watching her with happy eyes.
"That's wonderful, isn't it, Rosy dear? But I've been finding out some things, too. I prayed myself when I got in the terrible storm alone, and some while I was in that car and was so frightened. And then I prayed when I found I'd had to stay alone out on the railroad platform. I tell you, I was afraid when I lay down. And I was cold and wet, too, and so tired. And God heard me, I'm sure of it."
She was still just a minute, and they all stood watching her in some embarrassment. It didn't sound a bit like the old Melissa. Then she began to speak again.
"I've found out something else," she said in a low voice, lifting shy eyes to theirs. "I've found that I've been a sinner, and I've taken Jesus Christ for my Savior. I guess you'll think it's strange, the way I've been talking lately, but I've learned a lot of things since I went away, and--I'm very happy this new way. I don't know if I can be very different, but I want to be."
There was a great silence in the kitchen. Bob turned his back and looked out the dark window, beginning to whistle softly. Rosalie went and laid a soft kiss on the back of her sister's neck as she sat at the table wiping silver, and Phyllis spoke up at last.
"I guess we all have a lot to learn! I know I had. We've all been praying. Bob and I, too, haven't we, Bob?"
"Sure thing!" said Bob, with his back still turned and a strange soft sound to his voice.
"And Mother's been praying, too," went on Phyllis, "but----somehow I didn't know how you'd feel about it. You've been so--since you went to college--you know--"
"I know," said Melissa, "I was all wrong. I'm glad I found out. But isn't it kind of odd how we all found out at once? Well, we all went through a lot of hard things together. I used to wonder how there could be a God who'd let us suffer so and be so humiliated, but Mr. Jenifer says that God has sometimes to let the people He loves suffer really hard things because they won't listen to Him any other way. I guess that's the way we were."
"I guess we were," said Phyllis. "I wonder what Father will say to it. He doesn't know what we've been through, of course. And Steve. He's had it pretty soft. I just wonder what they'll think to know we feel this way."
"I wonder!" said Melissa softly.
"Now," said Phyllis, flinging her dishcloth on the line to dry. "I promised Mother I'd put you to bed at once, Lissa. You've got a lot of sleep to make up. Come on, here goes! No more talk tonight."
The matter of the inheritance had made little impression on the rest of the family, excepting Phyllis, who had heard the lawyer's announcement. It was to the others an unknown quantity, very pleasant to dream about but not at all real. They referred to it cheerfully several times as a joke.
"When we get our millions," Melissa had said as she wiped a bent fork, "I move we buy a dozen new forks."
"Aw, gee, I'd like a new sweater," said Bob. "Mine's ripped all across one shoulder."
But Phyllis thought a great deal about it after everyone was in bed. She lay there wide awake and planned about it. Would it be a little cottage with a yard around it somewhere in the country? And in the morning before anyone else was up, she took out the keys and looked at them wisely. She meant to go and see that house before anybody else, just to find out if there was anything they could do with it. It couldn't be sold; there had been a proviso in the will to that effect, the lawyer said.
The cousin had wanted his home to stay in the family. Strange. Why did he care after he was dead? There was a letter from him among the papers. Mother had taken that with her to read. That would likely tell all about it. Then her thoughts drifted off to Melissa and how wonderful it was that she, too, had prayed and felt she had been answered, and she fell asleep at last, praying for Steve and that her mother might not find him worse.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sunday morning the children all slept late, for they were worn out with excitement and anxiety. While they were eating a combination meal of late breakfast and early dinner, Brady came in with a message from their mother that had come over his telephone. She had arrived safely and had found Stephen's condition slightly better. The cerebral symptoms were not quite so strongly present. The doctor thought that the next two or three days might see a marked improvement. The children were to be very careful and not take risks in any way. She sent her love and reminded them not to worry their father with anything.
That lifted a heavy load from Melissa's mind, for ever since she had left him, she had been depressed by the thought of her brother tossing in delirium and fever.
Melissa took charge of the house and sent Phyllis off to visit their father.
It was the first time Phyllis had been to see her
father for two months. The doctor had wanted him to see nobody but his wife if possible. His eyes lit up at sight of her.
"Why, how you've grown, daughter!" he said. "And how pretty you are. I'd forgotten what a charming family I have and thought of you all just as babies. But where is your mother? She isn't sick, is she?"
"No, but she's gone to visit Steve. We had word he had broken his leg--now don't get worried!" she added quickly as she saw the look on her father's face. "He's much better, but Mother thought she better go and cheer him up a little," said Phyllis, according to the plan that had been agreed upon between herself and her mother.
"Oh, but that's hard for him now just at the end near commencement!" said the father. "Athletes will take such risks! I hope it won't affect his marks. Of course, a broken leg will mend--you say he's really better?----but it's hard to have to suffer and keep still so long. Poor Steve! How long did your mother plan to stay? When did she go?"
"Just last night, Father. She decided quite suddenly. She wasn't quite sure just how long she ought to stay. She said it would depend somewhat on Steve's state of mind. If he was cheerful and satisfied, she might come back soon, though she thought she ought to stay long enough to go over his clothes and put them in shape. He'll probably need a lot of darning."
She was making out quite a good case, she thought, and her father did not seem much upset by it.
"How did he break his leg? Was it a fall?"
"Well, we haven't had the details," said Phyllis vaguely. "Mother can tell you more when she comes. Or maybe she'll write you. She didn't like to be away from you long."
"Oh, I'm all right. I'm fine. They'll be dismissing me soon. By the way, I'm to have another examination tomorrow, and after it they want me to sleep, so you better plan not to visit me until Tuesday for they won't likely let you in."
Phyllis felt very happy when she finally came away. It was great to see her father looking so well, and there was a gentleness about him that was so different from his hurried days when he was a busy professor rushed from morning to night and no time for his children to get acquainted with him. It thrilled her heart. Oh, that inheritance of Mother's surely would have something in it that would help them to find a solution to the matter of a home where Father would have the right conditions.
Phyllis found Jenifer at the house when she reached home. He had come to tell them that their mother got off safely and to see if Melissa was all right after her journey. They asked him to stay and have supper with them, and he agreed if they would go to evening church with him. He had his car, and there was room for everybody.
Bob would have wriggled out of such an invitation ordinarily, but he had "fallen" for Jenifer as he said, and he went without a murmur.
"Gee, I wouldn't mind going to church every Sunday if it was like that!" said Bob, who had listened intently. "I never heard a guy preach like that. That was real!"
And so the first day of their mother's absence passed happily.
There was a letter from their mother in the morning mail next day. It came after Melissa had gone out after a job that Jenifer had told her about, and Phyllis read it alone.
Dear Children:
It seems a long time since I left home. I can hardly believe only one night has passed. This is just a line to let you know that your brother is really better today. He opened his eyes this morning a few minutes and seemed to know me. I'm glad I came. The doctor says it may make all the difference in the world in his recovery having me here. Tell Father not to worry, and you be sure to let me know if he needs me, for I can always come and send one of you back here to Steve.
Everybody here is telling me how sweet Melissa is, and it makes my heart very proud. But when I saw the hard little couch where she slept for two nights with only a pillow, it made my heart ache. She was a brave girl.
I am enclosing the letter from that cousin of mine four times removed! I thought you would like to see it. Keep it carefully. I wouldn't say anything to Father about it yet until we know more about it. Don't lose those keys. We'll hunt up the house. It might be a place to go for a while, though I don't suppose from what the lawyer said that it can be much. Still, it can't be much more humble than where we are now, and if it is in the right location, it might be a great help. You see by the letter that there'll be some money, too, and that will be a help. I haven't an idea whether he was well off, but I judge not. I never heard much about them. They lived in the West when I was growing up, and I never met any of them. But it's a nice letter, isn't it?
Now I must go to Steve for a while. The nurse said I might sit by him if I wouldn't speak a word. Keep on praying, and be good children.
Lovingly,
Mother
Phyllis put her head down on the table and cried a few tears before she read the other letter. It was so strange to have Mother away, so sweet to get a letter from her so soon. Phyllis felt a heavy burden upon her.
The other letter was written in a cramped, trembling hand.
My dear cousin, (it read)
You do not know me at all, I suppose, and I know very little about you, but when I found that I had only a few months to live, I began to wonder what I should do with the few things of this world that have fallen to my share. I didn't exactly want to leave them to public charities, especially the house I built about ten years ago for my dear wife and myself to end our days in--she died in France soon after its completion and never saw it finished--and I never went back after that. I couldn't bear to. So I set about trying to find some relative, to leave my house and what else I had in some friendly hands. After several months, the lawyers into whose hands I had put the matter wrote me of having found trace of a Mary Challenger.
Then I remembered my mother having spoken of you, of having attended your wedding, and later of your having several children. I remember the name of one of them was Phyllis, which was my mother's name and I had always liked it. So it pleased me that I had got wind of someone who even in a distant way belonged to me.
You see, the house was just finished before we went abroad, or nearly so, and we had our furniture and things moved in by the storage people after we left. I had been called abroad suddenly on business. That is the reason I am putting a proviso in my will that the house shall not be sold by the legatee for at least ten years after inheriting it. My dear wife's personal effects are there, packed just as she left them in preparation for her trip. There will be her clothes and private letters and her little personal treasures. I would like some friendly person, some relative, to go over those things. I cannot do it myself for I am a sick man and could not stand the journey, but I don't like the idea of several cats on a charity board doing it, to maul over Hilda's silks and fine laces and speculate about her private affairs. I would like you, Mary Challenger, to do that for me.
And if it so be that Mary Challenger is not living, then I would like the house to go to that little Phyllis if she is alive. If not, then some other member of the family, with the same request that they do to my wife's personal effects what they would want done to their own in a similar case.
If your circumstances are such that it is convenient, I should be glad if you and your family would make my house your home for at least a part of every year for a time, for I would be glad to have the house loved by someone; we put so much thought and happy anticipation into it. I am leaving you money enough to keep up the house in the way that we would have done if we had lived there, and so I hope that may not be an objection into it. But in any event, I would like it kept in the family for at least ten years.
And now in closing, I wish you all the best blessings, with whatever dear ones you have with you.
I have a firm belief in the faith of my fathers, and I expect to join my wife in the house of many mansions, so that your enjoyment of the earthly home I am leaving behind need not be hampered by any sadness on my account. I am glad there is someone of my own family to whom I can leave my belongings when I go.
Your fourth cousin on your m
other's side,
Nathan Osgood Forsythe
When Phyllis had finished reading the letter, she put it carefully away in her mother's handkerchief box in her bureau drawer and then put her hat on. She had intended going out again to hunt a job, but she was too excited about that house now. If a person who could write a nice letter like that, a good Christian person, had intended living in the house, it must be good enough for them for at least a little while. It might be small, but what did that matter? They could even get a tent to supplement it if there weren't rooms enough for them all. It would be summertime soon. It would be fun to sleep in a tent. And perhaps, if it seemed wise, they could build a cheap addition. Maybe Steve could work at it with a carpenter, or--weren't there such things as patent houses already made to be set up? Well, she'd better not be planning till she saw where it was. Of course, ten years was a long time, and the neighborhood might not be pleasant or healthy. One could never tell. She would just go and see, for Mother might get her hopes all up about it and then be disappointed. Besides, the last thing Mother had said to her was, "See if you can't find us a house outside the city. Maybe there'll be money enough to pay for it pretty soon."
So Phyllis went to the traffic cop on the avenue and asked how to get to Lynwood. It was a pretty name, Lynwood! She said it over several times as she rode along in the trolley, Rosedale Lane, Lynwood. It sounded sylvan and restful. What if it should be a little white bungalow--it wouldn't be a stone one, that would be expecting too much, of course--but a little white one with green shutters and an apple tree in the yard perhaps. They could have a garden of poppies and lilies and delphinium. Maybe there would be more trees; an elm would be wonderful, but they belonged with estates, and the lawyer had distinctly reminded them that this was not an estate.