CHAPTER XVII
GOOD NEWS
Grandfather remembered Christopher’s promise to Jane and did get upanother picnic “for the ladies,” but the ladies included only Jane andher grandmother. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty were not invited forseveral reasons, chiefly because grandmother had expressed the wish tohave it strictly a family party. She realized that the end of Jane’s andChristopher’s visit at Sunnycrest was drawing near; that before verylong their father and mother would return and carry the children back totheir home in the city. And so she thought that one last party, all bythemselves, would be very nice. Jane and Christopher thought so too.They were always happy and contented with their grandparents.
Of course they went to the woods—the only picnic grounds worthconsidering except on circus day. Grandfather drove past the swimmingpool, so that Jane might see the spot where Christopher had learned toswim and wherein he had almost drowned on that memorable afternoon. Theywent on farther yet into the woods. It was all deliciously green andbrown; still and cool. Jane was quite confident that she would catchsight of a fairy before long.
Grandfather had brought some fishing-tackle, and after the picnic groundwas chosen and the horse unharnessed and made comfortable, they all satin a row on the bank of the stream and fished. At the end of half anhour Jane, to Christopher’s secret envy, was the only one who had caughtanything. It was a fat little perch that wriggled and shone in thesunlight.
“Oh, the poor little thing!” cried Jane, and covered her face with herhands while grandfather took it off the hook.
“Coward-y cat!” jeered Christopher. “Isn’t that just like a girl! Afraidof a fish!”
Jane took up the cold, squirming thing and held it tight in both hands,looking her brother straight in the eyes.
“I am not a coward-y cat, Kit Baker,” she said quietly. “I just couldn’tbear to see the poor thing being hurt with that dreadful sharp hook.”
Christopher felt subdued. It had not occurred to him to feel sorry forthe fish.
“It’s only a fish,” he muttered. “They don’t feel much.”
“Janey is quite right,” said grandfather. “A truly kind heart alwayssympathizes with any animal, however small, that is in pain.”
They fished on patiently for another half hour, not talking much(Christopher could not keep absolutely silent) for fear of scaring awaythe fish, which, however, must have had either a bad fright or awarning, for they refused to bite or even nibble. Finally grandmothersuggested that it was rather useless to try any longer.
“But one fish won’t go very far,” grumbled Christopher. “Let’s try forjust one more. It’s hungry work, fishing.”
“I think Huldah has packed enough in the basket to keep us from starvinguntil supper time,” laughed grandmother, “and as there is only one poorlittle fish for all of us, suppose we just put him back into the water?”
“Oh, no,” cried Christopher aggrieved.
“Oh, yes, let’s,” exclaimed Jane. “Poor little fish, we’ll make himhappy. He’s my fish and I guess I have the right to say what shall bedone with him,” she added defiantly, seizing the basket as Christophermade a lunge for it. “If your stomach wasn’t so greedy, Kit Baker, yourheart would be kinder.”
Jane let the wriggling pink fish slip back into the brook, where hedarted out of sight in an instant among the rushes.
The hamper that Huldah had packed certainly did promise to satisfy theappetite of even the hungriest people in the world. There were all sortsand conditions of sandwiches; thin and square with the crusts cut off.Some had slices of chicken inside, others pink boiled tongue. Stillothers had tender leaves of dressed lettuce—these were grandmother’sfavorites—and others with jelly. Then there were soft ginger cakes andcrisp sugar wafers; apple pie—Huldah’s famous apple pie with plenty ofcinnamon—hard boiled eggs that had the yolks beaten up with saladdressing; pears, plums and a whole chocolate layer cake. There were alsobottles of milk and coffee which latter grandmother heated over a spiritlamp in a tiny saucepan put in for the purpose. Christopher wanted tobuild a fire out of sticks and bits of wood for the coffee, butgrandfather said it was too hot for that.
After the luncheon was over, Jane and Christopher went off to gathermoss and pine-needles. Jane had planned to make a pine pillow to takehome to her mother, who declared that they always cured her headaches.Letty had promised to help her with the sewing, for Jane did not like tosew very well, not even to make doll’s clothes, and it was only a laborof love (or the occasional desire to be thought grown-up) that couldinduce her to use a needle.
Fir trees were somewhat scarce in the grove and the children had to walksome distance. They left grandfather and grandmother discussingsomething in very low, serious tones.
“What are they talking about?” asked Christopher, pointing his thumbover his shoulder in the direction of his grandparents. “They look likethey sometimes do when we’ve been up to something.”
“But we haven’t—not for a long time,” put in Jane defensively. “Notsince the time you played hookey with Perk and drowned because youdidn’t know how to swim.”
“I didn’t play hookey. Grandfather let me go.”
“He didn’t say you might go in swimming.”
“Well, he has since,” returned Christopher triumphantly, as if thatsettled the matter. “But something is up,” he added, returning to hissubject. “Do you suppose they’ve found out about our putting that hardcider we found in the cellar into the pups’ milk?”
“It was only some left-over stuff, and it didn’t hurt the pups,” saidJane hurriedly, for the idea had been hers. “And it did make them actfunny.”
They both laughed at the recollection.
“Well, then, maybe it’s the green stripes I painted on the pig the daywe pretended he was a zebra in the circus. Grandfather said green paintwas very poisonous. I’d have used brown paint if I could have found any;it would have been lots more lifelike. Anyhow it didn’t seem to hurt thepig any, although it did lick a lot off.”
“I know what it is they’re talking about,” replied Jane with an air ofimportance. “It’s not the pigs and it’s not the pups. It’s about Letty.”
“Letty! What has she been doing?” demanded Christopher in astonishment.He had looked upon Letty as so far above naughtiness as to be consideredalmost a goody-goody.
“She hasn’t done anything,” explained Jane. “They are just talking aboutwhere Mrs. Hartwell-Jones is going to send her to school this fall. Iheard Mrs. Hartwell-Jones say something about it to grandmother the lasttime we were there.”
“Oh, is that all!” exclaimed Christopher indifferently, and lost hisinterest in the subject immediately.
But, if the twins had known it, Mr. and Mrs. Baker were discussingsomething much more interesting than Letty’s school, and that was,Letty’s whole future. Grandmother had had a very short, very happy notefrom Mrs. Hartwell-Jones just before leaving for the picnic. It seemedthat the “lady who wrote books,” after a great deal of discussion withher lawyer, a long letter from Mrs. Baker, the twins’ mother, somecorrespondence with Mrs. Drake (whose whereabouts Mrs. Hartwell-Joneshad had a good deal of trouble to discover), and finally a personalvisit from her lawyer, had resolved definitely upon the great step ofmaking Letty her own little girl.
As soon as they were alone, grandmother gave Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s noteto grandfather to read. It began with the announcement of theauthor-lady’s decision, included an invitation for the picnickers tostop at her house on their way home for congratulations and supper, andwound up with the request that she be allowed to tell the twins the newsherself.
“I want to see Janey’s face,” she wrote, “when she learns what awonderful thing has come to me out of her little idea of being helpfulto a fellow mortal. May the dear child grow up to be as tender andthoughtful a woman as she is a little girl! She will undoubtedly begreatly and widely beloved.”
“Isn’t it beautiful the way she speaks of our Janey?” said gr
andmotherwith tears in her eyes, when grandfather had finished reading the note.
“Does Letty know yet?” he asked.
“She is to tell her this afternoon, and we are to stop in on our wayhome from the picnic to rejoice with them. You see she invites us all tosupper.”
“That will please Kit,” smiled his grandfather. “You have not given Janea suspicion of it?”
“Of course not. Don’t you see that Mrs. Hartwell-Jones wants thepleasure of telling her herself, or let Letty do it. I wonder what Lettysaid and did when she was told, and what they are saying about it now?”
Letty’s feelings at that moment were really too mixed up and bewilderedto describe. She had had a very happy day, performing her customarytasks in the morning and driving as usual with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones inthe pony carriage. She had not felt a bit badly (as Jane had feared shemight) at not being invited to the picnic. She loved the children andtheir good times dearly, but she was equally satisfied to be alone withMrs. Hartwell-Jones.
That usually placid lady appeared extraordinarily excited and restlessto-day.
“Oh!” Letty had exclaimed when she came into the sitting-room thatmorning with the breakfast tray, which she insisted upon preparingalways herself. “How pretty you look! Your cheeks are as rosy asJane’s!”
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had laughed and kissed Letty, but she said nothingof what was on her mind, until the afternoon. It was a warm, sunshinyday with a sort of hush over the earth. The air was still and full ofsweet, clean country smells. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty sat alonetogether in the large, up-stairs sitting-room. A little later they wereto have a tea-party of two, for Mrs. Hartwell-Jones always liked a cupof tea or chocolate in the afternoon.
“Letty, my dear,” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones gently, trying to keep theexcitement out of her voice, “please sit here on the stool, close by me.I have something very important to talk to you about.”
“Something important to talk to me about!” repeated Letty inastonishment. “Oh, what is it?”
“Sit there, dear child, facing me. Now look up at me so that I can watchyour eyes. Tell me, Letty dear, have you ever thought about what youwould do when you grew up?”
“Not very much; not at all since I have been with you. Before—when I waswith the circus I used to wonder what I could do to get away from itall. I knew that I could never stand it to go on travelling about with acircus all my life. Mrs. Drake was very good to me and the baby wasdear! But I hated the life; living in tents, always on the go; noschool, no little girl friends, no home!”
She sat looking at the floor thoughtfully for a moment.
“NOW LOOK UP AT ME”]
“I suppose I ought to have thought about it more,” she said humbly. “Iam afraid I have taken your kindness too much as a matter of course,dear Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. I shall try to show you how truly grateful Iam to you for giving me such a happy home! And you know how delighted Iam about boarding-school,” she added eagerly. “It seems just like—well,almost like heaven to be like other girls and go to school to learnthings and be happy. I shall study hard and be good in school to showhow grateful I am. And then, perhaps, when I am grown up, I can teachand pay you back for all you are going to do for me.”
“You dear little girl!” cried Mrs. Hartwell-Jones with a sob in hervoice, “I want no thanks but your happiness!
“But now, listen to what I have to say. How would you like beingsomebody’s little girl in earnest? To have a real home to go to inholiday time, and—and some one to love you and be as nearly a mother toyou as it is possible to be?”
Letty looked puzzled and a little frightened.
“Have you found some of my relatives? some one to claim me?” she asked.“Oh, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, I don’t want to leave you! I don’t, I don’t!You have taken as great care of me as my mother could have. Please don’tsend me away!”
“No, no, dear, never. You don’t understand, Letty darling. Do you knowwhat adoption means?”
“No, I am afraid I don’t,” said Letty meekly. She hung her head andblushed, embarrassed as she always was at her ignorance, when asked themeaning of something she did not know.
“It means,” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones slowly, “that any one who wishes,and there are no reasons why one should not do so, can take a littlegirl or boy into one’s home and make that child her very own, by law.And it means, Letty darling, that if you are willing, I intend to takeyou to my home and make you my own little daughter!”
Letty sat staring at her with wide eyes. She was too bewildered—toooverwhelmed to speak. Two great tears welled up in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’seyes and rolled down her cheeks. Then she gave an odd little cry andstretched out her arms.
“Oh, my little girl, my little girl!” she whispered.
Neither of them knew how long they sat there, wrapped in each other’sarms, not talking except for a quick question and answer now and then.At last they were interrupted by a hesitating knock on the door, andAnna Parsons’ voice was heard calling:
“Please, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, mother says she is afraid the chocolatewill spoil if it waits any longer.”
Letty laughed and springing to the door, threw it wide open.
“Oh, Anna,” she cried, “I am the happiest girl in the whole wide world!Bring in the chocolate and cakes, quick.”
Anna turned up her nose a trifle. It seemed rather a greedy thing to saythat one was the happiest girl in the world at sight of hot chocolateand cakes—even if they were Madeira cakes. But then, she did not knowthe wonderful thing that had happened to Letty.