CHAPTER II. JENNY
Susan Warner turned to beam a welcome at the apparition standing in theopen door of the kitchen. With the sun back of her, shining through thefolds of her yellow muslin dress and glinting through her light, wavybrown hair, the girl did indeed look like a sprite of the springtime,and, to add to the picture, she held a branch, sweet with apricotblossoms.
"Greetings, Granny Sue!" she called gayly. "This is churning day, isn'tit?"
"That's right, 'tis, Jenny darlin', or leastwise 'twould o' been 'ceptin'for a message Mr. Pickson fetched over from Granger Place Seminary.There's some new pupils come sudden like, I reckon, an' they need eggs aday sooner than ordinary. I've got 'em all packed in the hamper, dearie.You've nothin' to do but hitch Dobbin and start."
"Righto, Granny Sue; but first I must put these poor blossoms into a jar.I found the branch broken and just hanging by a shred of bark on that oldtree 'way down by the fence corner."
Jenny took a brown jar from a cupboard as she talked and filled it withwater from the sink pump.
"They'll be lonely for their home tree, like as not," she chattered on,"but perhaps they'll be a bit glad when they find that they are tobrighten up our home for a few days. Don't you think maybe they will,Granny Sue? Don't you think when we can't do the thing we most want todo, we still can be happy if we are just alive and doing the mostbeautiful thing that is left for us to do?"
This last was called over her shoulder as she carried the jar andblossoming branch toward the door of the living-room. Luckily she did notpause for an answer, for the little old woman always felt confused whenher girl began such flights of fancy. Had she been obliged to reply, sheno doubt would have said:
"Why, 'taint likely, Jenny, that branch of apricot flowers even knowsit's broken off, an' as for that, the ones that are left will make allthe better fruit with some of 'em gone."
While the girl was placing the jar on the living-room center table, closeto the book that she had been reading, Granddad Si entered the kitchenfor a drink, and upon hearing of the message from Miss Granger, hehurried to the barn to hitch old Dobbin to the cart, and so, when fiveminutes later the girl skipped out, laughing over her shoulder at hergrandmother's admonition to go more slowly, lest she fall and break theeggs, there was Granddad Si fastening the last buckles. He straightenedup, pushed his frayed straw hat to the back of his head and surveyed thegirl with pardonable pride.
"Jenny, gal," he began, and from the expression in his eyes she knew justhow he would complete the sentence, and so, laughingly, she put her freehand over his mouth.
"Oh, granddad, 'tisn't so, not the least bit, and you mustn't say itagain. A stranger might hear you some time, and what if he should thinkthat I really believed it."
But the old man finished his sentence, even though the words were mumbledbehind the slim white hand of his girl:
"It's the Gospel truth, Jenny. I'm tellin' ye! Thar ain't a gal over tothat hifalutin seminary that's half as purty as yo' be. I reckon I know,'cause I watch the whole lot of 'em when they go down the road on themparade walks they take, with a teacher ahead and one behind like they wasa flock of geese and had to have a gooseherd along, which more'n likethey are. A silly parcel, allays gigglin'."
The last half of this speech had been more clearly spoken, for Jenny,having kissed him on the top of the nose from the wagon step, had climbedinto the cart.
As she was driving away, she called back to him: "Wrong you are,Granddad, for I am only an egg and honey vender, while they are allaristocrats. Good-bye."
Then, a second later, she turned again to sing out:
"Tell Granny I'd like a chocolate pudding tonight, all hidden inBrindle's yellowest cream."
Long after the girl had driven away, the farmer stood gazing down thelane. An old question had returned to trouble him:
Was it honest not to tell her that she wasn't their own kin?
He couldn't do it. It would break all of their hearts. She was their kin,somehow. No own grandchild could be dearer. Then he thought of the othergirl, Jenny's sister. He had heard something that day about her, and hehad been mighty sorry to hear it.
When his "gal" disappeared from sight, up one of the tree-shaded lanesleading toward the foothill estates, Farmer Si turned and walked slowlyback to the kitchen. He delivered Jenny's message about the chocolatepudding to his wife, who, even then, was preparing the vegetables forsupper. Crossing to the sink pump, the old man began working the handleup and down. A rush of crystal clear water rewarded his effort and, afterhaving quaffed a long refreshing draught of it, he wiped his mouth withthe back of his hand.
Then, after hanging his hat on its nail by the door, he sank down in hisfavorite arm chair close to the stove and sighed deeply as though he werevery weary. His wife looked at him questioningly and he said in a voiceand manner which were evidently evasive:
"Powerful poor weather for gettin' the crops started. Nothin' butsunshine this fortnight past."
Susan Warner was briskly beating the eggs needed for her darling'sfavorite pudding. When the whirr had ceased she turned and smiled acrossthe room at the old man whose position showed that he was dejected."What's worryin' yo', Si?" The tone of the old woman's voice promisedsympathy if it were needed. "'Tisn't about the farm yo're reallycogitatin'. I can tell that easy. Thar's suthin' else troublin' yo', an'yo' might as well speak out furst as last."
"Wall, yo're close to right, Susan, as I reckon yo' most allays are. Iwas mendin' the fence down by the highway when ol' Pickson drove up an'stopped to pass the time o' day, like he generally does, an' he says,says he, 'Si, have yo' heard the news?' I w'a'nt particular interested,bein' as Pickson allays starts off that a-way, but what he said nextfetched me to an upstandin', I kin tell you."
Susan Warner had stopped her work to listen.
"What did Mr. Pickson tell you, Si? Suthin' that troubled you?" sheinquired anxiously.
"Wall, sort o' that way. Mabbe it won't be nuthin' to worry about, andmabbe agin it will. Pickson said as how Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had gone tosome waterin' place over in France for her nerves, an' not wishin' toleave her daughter in the big city up north alone with the servants,she'd sent her to stay in the seminary down here for the time bein', an',what's more, a flock of her friends from San Francisco came along of her.Them are the new pupils you was mentionin' a spell ago, as being thereason extra eggs was needed."
The old woman stared at her spouse as one spellbound. When she spoke hervoice sounded strained and unnatural. "Si Warner, do yo' mean to tell meour Jenny has gone to fetch eggs for her very own sister an' her friends?They're likely to meet up wi' each other now, arter all these years, an'neither will know who the other really is. Oh, the pity of it, that oneof 'em should have all that money can buy, and the other of 'em ridin'around peddlin' eggs and honey."
But the old man took a different view of the matter. "Susan," he said,"if our gal had the pick of the two places, I reckon she'd choose stayin'with us. I reckon she would."
Susan Warner's practical nature had again asserted itself. "Wall, there'sno need for us to be figurin' about that. Jenny shall never know that shehas a sister. Who is there to tell her? An' what's more, she'll neverhave a chance to choose betwixt us and the Poindexter-Joneses." Then, asa tender expression crept into the faded blue eyes, the old woman added,"Jenny wouldn't leave us, Si. No, not for anyone. I'm sartin as to that,but I'm hopin' she'll never know as she isn't our own. I'm sure hopin'that she won't."