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Cover]
GEORGINA OF THE RAINBOWS
"As Long as a Man Keeps Hope at the Prow He Keeps Afloat."
Georgina Of The Rainbows]
GEORGINA OF THE RAINBOWS
BY
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
_Author of "Two Little Knights of Kentucky," "The Giant Scissors," "The Desert of Waiting," etc._
"_. . . Still bear up and steer right onward._" MILTON
New York Britton Publishing Company
Copyright, 1916 BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
All Rights Reserved
To My Little God-daughter "ANNE ELIZABETH"
"At the Tip of Old Cape Cod."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. HER EARLIER MEMORIES 11 II. GEORGINA'S PLAYMATE MOTHER 22 III. THE TOWNCRIER HAS HIS SAY 30 IV. NEW FRIENDS AND THE GREEN STAIRS 40 V. IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF PIRATES 51 VI. SPEND-THE-DAY GUESTS 63 VII. "THE TISHBITE" 77 VIII. THE TELEGRAM THAT TOOK BARBY AWAY 86 IX. THE BIRTHDAY PRISM 96 X. MOVING PICTURES 111 XI. THE OLD RIFLE GIVES UP ITS SECRET 124 XII. A HARD PROMISE 135 XIII. LOST AND FOUND AT THE LINIMENT WAGON 141 XIV. BURIED TREASURE 154 XV. A NARROW ESCAPE 161 XVI. WHAT THE STORM DID 169 XVII. IN THE KEEPING OF THE DUNES 178 XVIII. FOUND OUT 187 XIX. TRACING THE LINIMENT WAGON 198 XX. DANCE OF THE RAINBOW FAIRIES 209 XXI. ON THE TRAIL OF THE WILD-CAT WOMAN 218 XXII. THE RAINBOW GAME 230 XXIII. LIGHT DAWNS FOR UNCLE DARCY 244 XXIV. A CONTRAST IN FATHERS 258 XXV. A LETTER TO HONG-KONG 272 XXVI. PEGGY JOINS THE RAINBOW-MAKERS 283 XXVII. A MODERN "ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON" 291 XXVIII. THE DOCTOR'S DISCOVERY 304 XXIX. WHILE THEY WAITED 317 XXX. NEARING THE END 329 XXXI. COMINGS AND GOINGS 336
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY RAY N. JACKSON
THE REAL GEORGINA (in life colors) _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE THEY TOOK THEIR WAY IN "THE BETSEY" 54 COMING ACROSS A SEA OF DREAMS 240 THE TOWNCRIER AND HIS LASS 310
"Put a Rainbow 'Round Your Troubles."--GEORGINA.]
Georgina of the Rainbows
CHAPTER I
HER EARLIER MEMORIES
IF old Jeremy Clapp had not sneezed his teeth into the fire that winterday this story might have had a more seemly beginning; but, being a truerecord, it must start with that sneeze, because it was the firsthappening in Georgina Huntingdon's life which she could rememberdistinctly.
She was in her high-chair by a window overlooking a gray sea, and with abib under her chin, was being fed dripping spoonfuls of bread and milkfrom the silver porringer which rested on the sill. The bowl was almoston a level with her little blue shoes which she kept kicking up and downon the step of her high-chair, wherefore the restraining hand whichseized her ankles at intervals. It was Mrs. Triplett's firm hand whichclutched her, and Mrs. Triplett's firm hand which fed her, so there wasnot the usual dilly-dallying over Georgina's breakfast as when hermother held the spoon. She always made a game of it, chanting nurseryrhymes in a gay, silver-bell-cockle-shell sort of way, as if she wereone of the "pretty maids all in a row," just stepped out of a picturebook.
Mrs. Triplett was an elderly widow, a distant relative of the family,who lived with them. "Tippy" the child called her before she could speakplainly--a foolish name for such a severe and dignified person, but Mrs.Triplett rather seemed to like it. Being the working housekeeper,companion and everything else which occasion required, she had no timeto make a game of Georgina's breakfast, even if she had known how. Notonce did she stop to say, "Curly-locks, Curly-locks, wilt thou be mine?"or to press her face suddenly against Georgina's dimpled rose-leaf cheekas if it were something too temptingly dear and sweet to be resisted.She merely said, "Here!" each time she thrust the spoon towards her.
Mrs. Triplett was in an especial hurry this morning, and did not evenlook up when old Jeremy came into the room to put more wood on the fire.In winter, when there was no garden work, Jeremy did everything aboutthe house which required a man's hand. Although he must have been nearlyeighty years old, he came in, tall and unbending, with a big log acrosshis shoulder. He walked stiffly, but his back was as straight as thelong poker with which he mended the fire.
Georgina had seen him coming and going about the place every day sinceshe had been brought to live in this old gray house beside the sea, butthis was the first time he had made any lasting impression upon hermemory. Henceforth, she was to carry with her as long as she should livethe picture of a hale, red-faced old man with a woolen muffler woundaround his lean throat. His knitted "wrist-warmers" slipped down overhis mottled, deeply-veined hands when he stooped to roll the log intothe fire. He let go with a grunt. The next instant a mighty sneezeseized him, and Georgina, who had been gazing in fascination at theshower of sparks he was making, saw all of his teeth go flying into thefire.
If his eyes had suddenly dropped from their sockets upon the hearth, orhis ears floated off from the sides of his head, she could not have beenmore terrified, for she had not yet learned that one's teeth may be aseparate part of one's anatomy. It was such a terrible thing to see aman go to pieces in this undreamed-of fashion, that she began to screamand writhe around in her high-chair until it nearly turned over.
She did upset the silver porringer, and what was left of the bread andmilk splashed out on the floor, barely missing the rug. Mrs. Triplettsprang to snatch her from the toppling chair, thinking the child washaving a spasm. She did not connect it with old Jeremy's sneeze untilshe heard his wrathful gibbering, and turned to see him holding up theteeth, which he had fished out of the fire with the tongs.
They were an old-fashioned set such as one never sees now. They hadbeen made in England. They were hinged together like jaws, and Georginayelled again as she saw them all blackened and gaping, dangling from thetongs. It was not the grinning teeth themselves, however, whichfrightened her. It was the awful knowledge, vague though it was to herinfant mind, that a human body could fly apart in that way. And Tippy,not understanding the cause of her terror, never thought to explain thatthey were false and had been made by a man in some out-of-the-way cornerof Yorkshire, instead of by the Almighty, and that their removal waspainless.
It was several years before Georgina learned the truth, and theimpression made by the accident grew into a lurking fear which oftenhaunted her as time wore on. She never knew at what moment she might flyapart herself. That it was a distressing experience she knew from thelook on old Jeremy's face and the desperate pace at which he set off tohave himself mended.
She held her breath long enough to hear the door bang shut after him andhis hob-nailed shoes go scrunch, scrunch, through the gravel of the patharound the house, then she broke out crying again so violently thatTippy had hard work quieting her. She picked up the silver porringerfrom the floor and told her to look at the pretty bowl. The fall had puta dent into its side. And what would Georgina's great-great aunt havesaid could she have known what was going to happen to her handsome dish,
poor lady! Surely she never would have left it to such a naughtynamesake! Then, to stop her sobbing, Mrs. Triplett took one tinyfinger-tip in her large ones, and traced the name which was engravedaround the rim in tall, slim-looped letters: the name which had passeddown through many christenings to its present owner, "GeorginaHuntingdon."
Failing thus to pacify the frightened child, Mrs. Triplett held her upto the window overlooking the harbor, and dramatically bade her "hark!"Standing with her blue shoes on the window-sill, and a tear on each pinkcheek, Georgina flattened her nose against the glass and obedientlylistened.
The main street of the ancient seaport town, upon which she gazedexpectantly, curved three miles around the harbor, and the narrowboard-walk which ran along one side of it all the way, ended abruptlyjust in front of the house in a waste of sand. So there was nothing tobe seen but a fishing boat at anchor, and the waves crawling up thebeach, and nothing to be heard but the jangle of a bell somewhere downthe street. The sobs broke out again.
"Hush!" commanded Mrs. Triplett, giving her an impatient shake. "Hark towhat's coming up along. Can't you stop a minute and give the Towncrier achance? Or is it you're trying to outdo him?"
The word "Towncrier" was meaningless to Georgina. There was nothing bythat name in her linen book which held the pictures of all the animalsfrom Ape to Zebra, and there was nothing by that name down in Kentuckywhere she had lived all of her short life until these last few weeks.She did not even know whether what Mrs. Triplett said was coming alongwould be wearing a hat or horns. The cow that lowed at the pasture barsevery night back in Kentucky jangled a bell. Georgina had no distinctrecollection of the cow, but because of it the sound of a bell wasassociated in her mind with horns. So horns were what she halfwayexpected to see, as she watched breathlessly, with her face against theglass.
"Hark to what he's calling!" urged Mrs. Triplett. "A fish auction.There's a big boat in this morning with a load of fish, and theTowncrier is telling everybody about it."
So a Towncrier was a man! The next instant Georgina saw him. He was anold man, with bent shoulders and a fringe of gray hair showing under thefur cap pulled down to meet his ears. But there was such a happy twinklein his faded blue eyes, such goodness of heart in every wrinkle of theweather-beaten old face, that even the grumpiest people smiled a littlewhen they met him, and everybody he spoke to stepped along a bit morecheerful, just because the hearty way he said "_Good_ morning!" made theday seem really good.
"He's cold," said Tippy. "Let's tap on the window and beckon him to comein and warm himself before he starts back to town."
She caught up Georgina's hand to make it do the tapping, thinking itwould please her to give her a share in the invitation, but in hertouchy frame of mind it was only an added grievance to have her knucklesknocked against the pane, and her wails began afresh as the old man,answering the signal, shook his bell at her playfully, and turnedtowards the house.
As to what happened after that, Georgina's memory is a blank, save for aconfused recollection of being galloped to Banbury Cross on somebody'sknee, while a big hand helped her to clang the clapper of a bell far tooheavy for her to swing alone. But some dim picture of the kindly facepuckered into smiles for her comforting, stayed on in her mind as anobject seen through a fog, and thereafter she never saw the Towncrier gokling-klanging along the street without feeling a return of that samesense of safety which his song gave her that morning. Somehow, itrestored her confidence in all Creation which Jeremy's teeth hadshattered in their fall.
Taking advantage of Georgina's contentment at being settled on thevisitor's knee, Mrs. Triplett hurried for a cloth to wipe up the breadand milk. Kneeling on the floor beside it she sopped it up soenergetically that what she was saying came in jerks.
"It's a mercy you happened along, Mr. Darcy, or she might have beenscreaming yet. I never saw a child go into such a sudden tantrum."
The answer came in jerks also, for it took a vigorous trotting of theknees to keep such a heavy child as Georgina on the bounce. And in orderthat his words might not interfere with the game he sang them to thetune of "Ride a Cock Horse."
"_There must have been--some very good---- Reason for such--a hulla-ba-loo!_"
"I'll tell you when I come back," said Mrs. Triplett, on her feet againby this time and halfway to the kitchen with the dripping floor cloth.But when she reappeared in the doorway her own concerns had crowded outthe thought of old Jeremy's misfortune.
"My yeast is running all over the top of the crock, Mr. Darcy, and if Idon't get it mixed right away the whole baking will be spoiled."
"That's all right, ma'am," was the answer. "Go ahead with your dough.I'll keep the little lass out of mischief. Many's the time I have sat bythis fire with her father on my knee, as you know. But it's been yearssince I was in this room last."
There was a long pause in the Banbury Cross ride. The Crier was lookingaround the room from one familiar object to another with the gentlewistfulness which creeps into old eyes when they peer into the past forsomething that has ceased to be. Georgina grew impatient.
"More ride!" she commanded, waving her hands and clucking her tongue ashe had just taught her to do.
"Don't let her worry you, Mr. Darcy," called Mrs. Triplett from thekitchen. "Her mother will be back from the post-office most any minutenow. Just send her out here to me if she gets too bothersome."
Instantly Georgina cuddled her head down against his shoulder. She hadno mind to be separated from this new-found playfellow. When he produceda battered silver watch from the pocket of his velveteen waistcoat,holding it over her ear, she was charmed into a prolonged silence. Theclack of Tippy's spoon against the crock came in from the kitchen, andnow and then the fire snapped or the green fore-log made a sing-songhissing.
More than thirty years had passed by since the old Towncrier firstvisited the Huntingdon home. He was not the Towncrier then, but aseafaring man who had sailed many times around the globe, and had hisfill of adventure. Tired at last of such a roving life, he had foundanchorage to his liking in this quaint old fishing town at the tip endof Cape Cod. Georgina's grandfather, George Justin Huntingdon, a judgeand a writer of dry law books, had been one of the first to open hishome to him. They had been great friends, and little Justin, nowGeorgina's father, had been a still closer friend. Many a day they hadspent together, these two, fishing or blueberrying or tramping acrossthe dunes. The boy called him "Uncle Darcy," tagging after him like ashadow, and feeling a kinship in their mutual love of adventure whichdrew as strongly as family ties. The Judge always said that it was theold sailor's yarns of sea life which sent Justin into the navy "insteadof the law office where he belonged."
As the old man looked down at Georgina's soft, brown curls pressedagainst his shoulder, and felt her little dimpled hand lying warm on hisneck, he could almost believe it was the same child who had crept intohis heart thirty years ago. It was hard to think of the little lad asgrown, or as filling the responsible position of a naval surgeon. Yetwhen he counted back he realized that the Judge had been dead severalyears, and the house had been standing empty all that time. Justin hadnever been back since it was boarded up. He had written occasionallyduring the first of his absence, but only boyish scrawls which toldlittle about himself.
The only real news which the old man had of him was in the threeclippings from the Provincetown _Beacon_, which he carried about in hiswallet. The first was a mention of Justin's excellent record in fightinga fever epidemic in some naval station in the tropics. The next was thenotice of his marriage to a Kentucky girl by the name of BarbaraShirley, and the last was a paragraph clipped from a newspaper datedonly a few weeks back. It said that Mrs. Justin Huntingdon and littledaughter, Georgina, would arrive soon to take possession of the oldHuntingdon homestead which had been closed for many years. During theabsence of her husband, serving in foreign parts, she would have withher Mrs. Maria Triplett.
The Towncrier had known Mrs. Triplett as long as he had known the town.She had bee
n kind to him when he and his wife were in great trouble. Hewas thinking about that time now, because it had something to do withhis last visit to the Judge in this very room. She had happened to bepresent, too. And the green fore-log had made that same sing-songhissing. The sound carried his thoughts back so far that for a fewmoments he ceased to hear the clack of the spoon.