CHAPTER XXX
An April Harvest
SPRING is an unknown season in Lakeville. But if one waits sufficientlylong, there comes at last a period known as the breaking of winter.Since, owing to the heavy snows of January, February and March, thereis always a great deal of winter to break, the process is an extendedand--to the "overshoed" young--a decidedly trying one. But even innortherly Lakeville there finally came an afternoon when the girlsdecided that the day was much too fine to be spent indoors; and thatthe hour had arrived when it would be safe to leave off rubbers. Thesnow had disappeared except in very shaded spots and the Bay was freeof ice except for a line of white that showed far out beyond theintense blue. The sidewalks were comparatively dry, but streams oficy water gurgled merrily in the deep gutters that ran down all thesloping streets. Although this abundant moisture was only the result ofmelting snow in the hills back of Lakeville and possessed no beauty initself, these impetuous streams gave forth pleasant springlike soundsand made one think sentimentally of babbling brooks, fresh clover andblossoms by the wayside. Yet one needed to draw pretty heavily on one'simagination to see either flowers or grass at that early date; but the_feel_ of them, as Jean said, was certainly in the air.
"Let's walk down by Mrs. Malony's," suggested Mabel.
"She doesn't milk at this time of day, does she?" queried Henrietta,cautiously.
"We needn't go in," assured Mabel. "We'll just run down one hill and upthe other; but it's always lovely to walk along the shore road. There'sa sort of a side-walk--if folks aren't too particular."
"Wouldn't it be beautiful," sighed Jean, "if Bettie could only cometoo? This air would do anybody good."
"Yes," mourned Marjory, "nothing seems quite right without Bettie."
The girls, a trifle saddened, went slowly down the hill.
"We must certainly steer clear of Mrs. Malony," warned Henrietta, asthe egg-woman's house became visible. "Another dose of her hot milkwould drive me from Lakeville."
"There she is now!" exclaimed Mabel. "I recognize her by her cow; she'sdriving it home."
"Perhaps it ran away to look for summer," offered Marjory. "The ladyseems displeased with her pet."
"An' how are the darlin' childer?" cried Mrs. Malony, greeting herfriends while yet a long way off. "'Tis a sight for a quane to see, somanny purty lasses. But where's me little black-oiyed Bettie--there'sthe swate choild for yez? Sure Oi heard she was loike to die, wanwhile back. Betther, is ut? Thot's good, thot's good. An' wud yezbelave ut, Miss Mabel,--'tis fatter than iver yez are, Oi see--Oi hadyez in me moind all this blissid day."
"Why?" asked Mabel, rather coldly.
"Well, 'twas loike this, darlin'," explained Mrs. Malony, dropping hervoice to a more confidential tone and nodding significantly toward adistant chimney. "'Twas siven o'clock the mornin' whin Oi seen smokerisin' from the shanty beyant. All day Oi've been moinded to be goin'acrost the p'int an' lookin' in at thot windy to see if 'twas thotbig-eyed Frinch wan come back wid the spring."
"You don't mean Rosa Marie's mother!" gasped Mabel.
"Thot same," proceeded Mrs. Malony, calmly. "But what wid Malonywhite-washin' me kitchen, an' me pesky hins walkin' in me parlor and mecow breakin' down me fince, sure Oi've had no toime to be traipsin'about."
"Couldn't you go now?" queried Jean, eagerly. "If it _is_ that woman weought to know it."
"Wait till Oi toi up me cow," consented Mrs. Malony.
The four friends, with Mrs. Malony in tow, picked their way over thebadly kept path that led to the shanty.
"The door's been mended," announced observant Marjory.
"It doesn't seem quite proper," said gentle-mannered Jean, "to peekinto people's windows. Couldn't we knock and ask in a perfectly properway to see the lady of the house?"
"Sure we could thot," replied Mrs. Malony.
"Do hurry!" urged Mabel, breathlessly.
There was no response to Jean's rather nervous knock; but when Mrs.Malony applied her stout knuckles to the door there were results. Thedoor was opened cautiously, just a tiny crack at first, then to itsfull extent. A dark-eyed woman with two thick braids falling over hershapely shoulders confronted them.
She swept a mildly curious glance over Mrs. Malony, over Jean, overMarjory, over Henrietta. Then her splendid eyes fell upon Mabel; theychanged instantaneously.
In a twinkling the woman had brushed past the others to seize startledMabel by both shoulders and to gaze piercingly into Mabel's frightenedeyes. The woman tried to speak; but, for a long moment, her voice wouldnot come.
"You--you!" she gasped, clutching Mabel still more tightly, as if shefeared that the youngster might escape. "Ees eet you for sure? Butw'ere, w'ere----?"
No further words would come. The poor creature's evident emotion waspitiful to see, and the girls were too overwhelmed to do more thanstare with all their might.
"Rosa Marie's all right," gulped Mabel, coming to the rescue withexactly the right words. "She's safe and happy."
"Ma babee, ma babee," moaned the woman, her long-lashed eyes beamingwith wonderful tenderness, and expressive of intense longing. "Bring meto heem queek--ah, so queek as evaire you can. Ma babee--I want heemqueek."
Then, without stopping for outer garments or even to close her door,and still holding fast to the abductor of Rosa Marie, the womanhurriedly led the way from the clearing.
Mrs. Malony would have remained with the party if she had notencountered her frolicsome cow, a section of fence-rail dangling fromher neck, strolling off toward town.
On the way up the long hill the woman, who still possessed all thebeauty and the "mother-looks" that Mabel had described, talked volublyin French, in Chippewa Indian and in broken English. As Henrietta wasable to understand some of the French and part of the English, thegirls were able to make out almost two-thirds of what she was saying.
On the day of Mabel's first visit the young mother had departed withher new husband, who, not wanting to be burdened with a step-child,had persuaded her to abandon Rosa Marie, for whom she had subsequentlymourned without ceasing. As might have been expected, the man hadproved unkind. He had beaten her, half starved her and finally desertedher. She had worked all winter for sufficient money to carry her toLakeville and had waited impatiently--all that time without news of herbaby--for mild weather in order that the shanty, the only home that sheknew, might become habitable.
The hill was steep and long, but all five hastened toward the top.Marjory ran ahead to ring the Black-Crane door-bell. Mabel piloted thetrembling mother straight to the nursery. Jean, learning from Martinwhere to look for Mrs. Crane, ran to fetch her.
Rosa Marie, in her little chair and placidly stringing beads, lookedup as unconcernedly as if it were an ordinary occasion. The woman,uttering broken, incoherent sounds sped across the big room, dropped toher knees and flung her arms about Rosa Marie. Then, for many moments,her face buried in Rosa Marie's neck, the only-half-civilized mothersobbed unrestrainedly.
The child, however, gazed stolidly over her mother's shoulder at theother visitors, all of whom were much more moved than she. Mrs. Crane,indeed, was shedding tears and even Mr. Black seemed touched. As forMabel, that sympathetic young person was weeping both visibly andaudibly, without exactly knowing why.
Since the repentant mother, who refused to let her baby out of her armsfor a single moment, begged to be allowed to take Rosa Marie to theshanty that very night, Mrs. Crane, aided by the willing girls and Mr.Black, did what they could toward making the place comfortable.
After Martin and Mr. Black had carried a whole motor-carful of bedding,food and fuel to the shanty, the now radiant mother, Rosa Marie, hertoys, her clothes and all her belongings, were likewise transportedto the humble lakeside dwelling. Everybody was so busy and the wholeaffair was over so quickly that no one had time for regrets.
"I declare," said Mrs. Crane, wonderingly, "I ought to feel as if I'dlost something. Instead, I'm all of a whirl."
"I said," Mabel triumphed, "that she'd
come back."
Jean was commissioned to go the next morning to break the news toBettie. It seemed to Dr. Bennett and to the hopeful Cottagers that thisimportant happening would surely rouse the listless little maid ifanything could. Mr. Black, who arrived with a great bunch of violetswhile Jean was telling the wonderful tale as graphically as she could,expectantly watched Bettie's pale countenance. Her wistful, weary eyesbrightened for a moment and a faint, tender smile flickered across herlips.
"I'm glad," said she. "Now Mrs. Crane won't have to have whooping coughand all the other things."
"Mrs. Crane is going to find work for Rosa Marie's mother," announcedJean, "and the shanty is to be mended."
"That's nice," returned Bettie, who, however, no longer seemedinterested in Rosa Marie's mother. "But my ears are tired now; don'ttell me any more."
After this failure, Mr. Black followed crestfallen Jean downstairs; hedrew her into the shabby Rectory parlor.
"Now, Jean," demanded he, sternly, "is there a solitary thing in thiswhole world that Bettie wants? Is there anything that could _possibly_happen that would wake her up and bring her back? I'm dreadfully afraidshe's slipping away from us, Jean; and she's far too precious to lose.Now think--think _hard_, little girl. Has she _ever_ wanted anything?"
"Why," responded Jean, slowly, as if some outside force were draggingthe words from her, "right after Christmas there _was_ something, Ithink. A big, impossible something that _nobody_ could possibly help.She didn't talk about it--and yet--and yet---- Perhaps she did worry."
"Go on," insisted Mr. Black, "I want it all."
"She seemed to get used to the idea so--so uncomplainingly. Still, shemay have cared more than anybody suspected. She's _like_ that--nevercries when she's hurt."
"What idea?" demanded Mr. Black. "Cared for what? Make it clear,child."
"You see," explained Jean, "all of us--Henrietta, Marjory, Mabeland I--have been talking a great deal about going away to boardingschool--we're all going. But Bettie--Bettie, of course, knew that shecouldn't go. There was no money and her father said----"
"And why in thunder," shouted Mr. Black, forgetting the invalid andstriding up and down the room with his fists clenched, "didn't somebodysay so? What do folks think the good Lord _gave_ us money for? Whydidn't--Come upstairs. We'll settle this thing right now."
Impulsive Mr. Black, with dazed Jean at his heels, opened Bettie's doorand walked in. Bettie lifted her tired eyes in very mild astonishment.
"Bad pennies," she smiled, "always come back. What's all the noiseabout?"
"Bettie," demanded Mr. Black, "do you want to go away to school withthose other girls next September?"
Bettie opened her eyes wide. Jean said afterwards that she "pricked upher ears," too.
"Because," continued Mr. Black, keeping a sharp watch on Bettie'sawakening countenance, "you're going. And if _I_ say you're going, yousurely are. Now, don't worry about it--the thing's settled. You'regoing with the others."
"Open the windows," pleaded Bettie, her face alight with some of theold-time eagerness. "I want to see how it smells outdoors."
"I believe we've done it," breathed Jean. "She looks a lot brighter."
And they had. No one had realized how tender, uncomplaining Bettie haddreaded losing her friends. And in her weakened state, both before andafter the fever, the trouble had seemed very big. The load had almostcrushed sick little Bettie. Now that it was lifted, and it was, forMr. Black swept everything before him, there was nothing to keep thelittle girl from getting well with truly gratifying speed.
"Bettie," asked Dr. Bennett, the next evening, "are you sure this isyour own pulse? If it is, it's behaving properly at last."
"She ate every bit of her supper," said Mrs. Tucker, happily, "and sheasked, this afternoon, if she owned any shoes. She's really gettingwell."
"I'm hurrying," laughed happy Bettie, "to make up for lost time. Dogive me things to make me fat--as fat as Mabel."
"She's certainly better," said the satisfied doctor. "By to-morrowwe'll have to tie her down to keep her from dancing. She's our ownBettie, at last."
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation errors repaired. Varied hyphenation retained.
Front page description, "Scovill" changed to "Scovel" (Florence ScovelShinn)
Page 96, "Bennettt" changed to "Bennett" (Mrs. Bennett, rescuing)
Page 165, "shruddered" changed to "shuddered" ("Ugh!" shuddered Marjory)
Page 214, repeated word "a" removed from text. Original read (like a alobster's)
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