CHAPTER XV
ST. VALENTINE
After that day when, on the lee side of the sand-dune the Evringham familyread together the story of Johnnie and Chips, it was some time before thelast tale in the story book was called for.
The farmhouse where they boarded stood near a pond formed by the rushing inof the sea during some change in the sands of the beach, so here was stillanother water playmate for Jewel.
"I do hope," said Mr. Evringham meditatively, on the first morning that heand Jewel stood together on its green bank, "I do hope that very particularhousekeeper, Nature, will let this pond alone until we go!"
Jewel looked up at his serious face with the lines between the eyes. "Shewouldn't touch this great big pond, would she?" she asked.
"Ho! Wouldn't she? Well, I guess so."
"But," suggested Jewel, lifting her shoulders, "she's too busy in summer inthe ravines and everywhere."
"Oh," Mr. Evringham nodded his head knowingly. "Nature looks out foreverything."
"Grandpa!" Jewel's eyes were intent. "Would she ask Summer to touch thisgreat big pond? What would she want to do it for?"
"Oh, more house-cleaning, I suppose."
The child chuckled as she looked out across the blue waves, rippling inthe wind and white-capped here and there, "When you know it's washed allthe _time_, grandpa," she responded. "The waves are just scrubbing it now.Can't you see?"
"Yes," the broker nodded gravely. "No doubt that is why she has to empty itso seldom. Sometimes she lets it go a very long time; but then the daycomes when she begins to think it over, and to calculate how much sedimentand one thing and another there is in the bottom of that pond; and at lastshe says, 'Come now, out it must go!'"
"But how can she get it out, how?" asked Jewel keenly interested. "Thebrooks are all running somewhere, but the pond doesn't. How can she dip itout? It would take Summer's hottest sun a year!"
"Yes, indeed, Nature is too clever to try that. The winds are her servants,you know, and they understand their business perfectly; so when she says'That pond needs to be cleaned out,' they merely get up a storm some nightafter everybody's gone to bed. The people have seen the pond fine and fullwhen the sun went down. All that night the wind howls and the windowsrattle and the trees bend and switch around; and if those in the farmhouse,instead of being in bed, were over there on the beach," the speaker wavedhis hand toward the shining white sand, distant, but in plain sight, "theymight see countless billows working for dear life to dig a trench throughthe hard sand. The wind sends one tremendous wave after another to helpthem, and as a great roller breaks and recedes, all the little crestedwaves scrabble with might and main, pulling at the softened sand, until,after hours of this labor, the cut is made completely through from sea topond."
Mr. Evringham looked down and met the unwinking gaze fixed upon him. "Thenwhy--why," asked Jewel, "when the big rollers keep coming, doesn't the pondget filled fuller than ever?"
The broker lifted his forefinger toward his face with a long drawn "Ah-h!Nature is much too clever for _that_. She may not have gone to college, butshe understands engineering, all the same. All this is accomplished just atthe right moment for the outgoing tide to pull at the pond with a mightyhand. Well,"--pausing dramatically,--"you can imagine what happens when thedeep cut is finished."
"Does the pond have to go, grandpa?"
"It just does, and in a hurry!"
"Is it sorry, do you think?" asked Jewel doubtfully.
"We-ell, I don't know that I ever thought of that side of it; but you canimagine the feelings of the people in the farmhouse, who went to bed besidethe ripples of a smiling little lake, and woke to find themselves near agreat empty bog."
Jewel thought and sighed deeply. "Well," she said, at last, "I hope Naturewill wait till we're gone. I love this pond."
"Indeed I hope so, too. There wouldn't be any pleasant side to it."
Jewel's thoughtful face brightened. "Except for the little fishes andwater-creatures that would rush out to sea. It's fun for _them_. Mustn'tthey be surprised when that happens, grandpa?"
"I should think so! Do you suppose the wind gives them any warning, or anytime to pack?"
Jewel laughed. "I don't know; but just think of rushing out into thosegreat breakers, when you don't expect it, right from living so quietly inthe pond!"
"H'm. A good deal like going straight from Bel-Air Park to Wall Street, Ishould think."
Jewel grew serious. "I think fish have the most _fun_," she said. "Do youknow, grandpa, I've decided that if I couldn't be your little grandchild,I'd rather be a lobster than anything."
The broker threw up his head, laughing. "Some children could combine thetwo," he replied, "but you can't."
"What?" asked Jewel.
"Nothing. Why not be a fish, Jewel? They're much more graceful."
"But they can't creep around among the coral and peek into oyster shells atthe pearls."
"Imagine a lobster peeking!" Mr. Evringham strained his eyes to theirwidest and stared at Jewel, who shouted.
"That's just the way the sand-fleas look," she exclaimed.
"Well," remarked the broker, recovering his ordinary expression, "you mayas well remain a little girl, so far as that goes. You can creep aroundamong the coral and peek at pearls at Tiffany's."
"What's Tiffany's?"
"Something you will take more interest in when you're older." The brokershook his head. "The difference is that the lobster wouldn't care to wearthe coral and pearls. An awful thought comes over me once in a while,Jewel," he added, after a pause.
The child looked up at him seriously. "It can be met," she answeredquickly.
He smiled. He understood her peculiar expressions in these days. "Hardly, Ithink," he answered. "It is this: that you are going to grow up."
Jewel looked off at the blue water. "Well," she replied at last hopefully,"you're grown up, you know, and perhaps you'll like me then just as much asI do you."
He squeezed the little hand he held. "We'll hope so," he said.
"And besides, grandpa," she went on, for she had heard him express the samedread before, "we'll be together every day, so perhaps you won't notice it.Sometimes I've tried to see a flower open. I've known it was going to doit, and I've been just _bound_ I'd see it; and I've watched and watched,but I never could see when the leaves spread, no matter how much I tried,and yet it would get to be a rose, somehow. Perhaps some day somebody'llsay to you, 'Why, Jewel's a grown up lady, isn't she?' and you'll say, 'Isshe, really? Why, I hadn't noticed it.'"
"That's a comforting idea," returned Mr. Evringham briefly, his eyesresting on the upturned face.
"So now, if the pond won't run away, we'll have the most _fun_," went onJewel, relieved. "They _said_ we could take this boat, grandpa, and have arow." She lifted her shoulders and smiled.
"H'm. A row and a swim combined," returned the broker. "I'm surprisedthey've nothing better this year than that ramshackle boat. You'll have tobail if we go."
"What's bail?" eagerly.
"Dipping out the water with a tin cup."
"Oh, that'll be fun. It'll be an adventure, grandpa, won't it?"
"I hope not," earnestly, was the reply; but Jewel was already sitting onthe grass pulling off her shoes and stockings. She leaped nimbly into thewet boat, and Mr. Evringham stepped gingerly after her, seeking for dryspots for his canvas shoes.
"I think," said the child joyfully, as they pushed off, "when the winds andwaves notice us having so much fun, they'll let the pond alone, don't you?"
"If they have any hearts at all," responded Mr. Evringham, bending to theoars.
"Oh, grandpa, you can tell stories like any thing!" exclaimed Jeweladmiringly.
"It has been said before," rejoined the broker modestly.
* * * * *
When outdoor gayeties had to be dispensed with one day, on account of athorough downpour of rain, the last story in Jewel's book was called for.
Th
e little circle gathered in the big living-room; there was no questionnow as to whether Mr. Evringham should be present.
"It is Hobson's choice this time," said Mrs. Evringham, "so we'll allchoose the story, won't we?"
"Let Anna Belle have the turn, though," replied Jewel. "She chose the firstone and she must have the last, because she doesn't have so much fun as therest of us." She hugged the doll and kissed her cheeks comfortingly. Itwas too true that often of late Anna Belle did not accompany all theexcursions, but she went to bed with Jewel every night, and it was seldomthat the child was too sleepy to take her into full confidence concerningthe events of the day; and Anna Belle, being of a sedentary turn and givento day dreams, was apparently quite as well pleased.
Now Mr. Evringham settled in a big easy-chair; the reader took a small oneby the window, and Jewel sat on the rug before the fire, holding AnnaBelle.
"Now we're off," said Mr. Evringham.
"Go to sleep if you like, father," remarked the author, smiling, and thenshe began to read the story entitled
ST. VALENTINE
There was a little buzz of interest in Miss Joslyn's room in the publicschool, one day in February, over the arrival of a new scholar. Only a verylittle buzz, because the new-comer was a plain little girl as to face anddress, with big, wondering eyes, and a high-necked and long-sleeved ginghamapron.
"Take this seat, Alma," said Miss Joslyn; and the little girl obeyed, whileAda Singer, the scholar directly behind her, nudged her friend, Lucy Berry,and mimicked the stranger's surprised way of looking around the room.
The first day in a new school is an ordeal to most children, but Alma feltno fear or strangeness, and gazed about her, well pleased with her novelsurroundings, and her innocent pleasure was a source of great amusement toAda.
"Isn't she queer-looking?" she asked of Lucy, as at noon they perched onthe window-sill in the dressing-room, where they always ate their lunchtogether.
"Yes, she has such big eyes," assented Lucy. "Who is she?"
"Why, her mother has just come to work in my father's factory. Her fatheris dead, or in prison, or something."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed a voice, and looking down from their elevated seat thegirls saw Alma Driscoll, a big tin dinner-pail in her hand, and her cheeksflushing. "My father went away because he was discouraged, but he is comingback."
Ada shrugged her shoulders and took a bite of jelly-cake. "What a delicateappetite you must have," she said, winking at Lucy and looking at the bigpail.
"Oh, it isn't full; the things don't fit very well," replied Alma, takingoff the cover and disclosing a little lunch at the bottom; "but it was allthe pail we had." Then she sat down on the floor of the dressing-room andtook out a piece of bread and butter.
"Well, upon my word, if that isn't cool!" exclaimed Ada, staring at thebrown gingham figure.
Alma looked up mildly. She had come to the dressing-room on purpose to eather lunch where she could look at Lucy Berry, who seemed beautiful to Alma,with her brown eyes, red cheeks, and soft cashmere dress, and it neveroccurred to her that she could be in the way.
Ada turned to Lucy with a curling lip. "I should hate to be a third party,shouldn't you?" she asked, so significantly that even Alma couldn't helpunderstanding her. Tears started to the big eyes as the little girldropped her bread back into the hollow depths of the pail, replaced thecover, and went away to find a solitary corner, with a sorer spot in herheart than she had ever known.
"Oh, why did you say that, Ada?" exclaimed Lucy, making a movement as if toslip down from the window-seat and follow.
"Don't you go one step after her, Lucy Berry," commanded Ada. "My motherdoesn't want me to associate with the children of the factory people.She'll find plenty of friends of her own kind."
"But you hurt her feelings," protested Lucy.
"Oh, no, I didn't," carelessly; "besides, if I did, she'll forget all aboutit. I had to let her know that she couldn't stay with us. Do you want astranger like that to hear everything we're saying?"
"I feel as if I ought to go and find her and see if she has somebody to eatwith."
"Very well, Lucy. If you go with her, I can't go with you, that's all. Youcan take your choice."
The final tone in Ada's voice destroyed Lucy's courage. The little girlswere very fond of one another, and Lucy was entirely under strong-willedAda's influence.
Ada was a most attractive little person. Her father, the owner of thefactory, was the richest man in town; and to play on Ada's wonderful piano,where you had only to push with your feet to play the gayest music, or toride with her in her automobile, were exciting joys to her friends. Shealways had money in her pocket, and boxes of candy for the entertainment ofother children, and Lucy was proud of her own position as Ada's intimatefriend. So when it came to making a choice between this brilliant companionand the gingham-clad daughter of a factory hand, Lucy Berry's courage andsympathy oozed away, and she sat back on the window-seat, while Ada begantalking about something else.
This first school-day was Alma Driscoll's introduction into the worldoutside of her mother's love. She had never felt so lonely as whensurrounded by all these girls, each of whom had her intimate friend, andamong whom she was not wanted. She could not help feeling that she wasdifferent from the others, and day by day the wondering eyes grew shy andlonely; and she avoided the children out of school hours, bravely hidingfrom her mother that the gingham apron, which always hid her faded dress,seemed to her a badge of disgrace that separated her from her daintilydressed schoolmates.
Such was the state of affairs when St. Valentine's day dawned. Alma's twoweeks of school had seemed a little eternity to her; but this day she couldfeel that there was something unusual in the air, and she could not helpbeing affected by the pleasurable excitement afloat in the room. She knewwhat the big white box by the door was for, and when, after school, MissJoslyn was appointed to uncover and distribute the valentines, Alma foundherself following the crowd, until, pressed close to Lucy Berry's side, shestood in the centre of the merry group about the teacher.
While the dainty envelopes were being passed around her, a shade ofwistfulness crept over the child's face, and her eager fingers crumpled thechecked apron as though Alma feared they might otherwise touch thebeautiful valentines that shone so enticingly with red and blue, gold andsilver. Suddenly Miss Joslyn spoke her name,--Alma Driscoll; only she said"Miss Alma Driscoll," and, yes, there was no mistake about it, she had readit off one of those vine-wreathed envelopes.
"Did you ever see such a goose!" exclaimed Ada Singer, as she watched themixture of shyness and eagerness with which Alma took her valentine andopened the envelope.
Poor little Alma! How her heart beat as she unfolded her prize--and how itsank when she beheld the coarse, flaring picture of a sewing girl, with adisgusting rhyme printed beneath it. She dropped the valentine, a great sobof disappointment choked her, and bursting into tears, she pushed her waythrough the crowd and rushed from the schoolroom.
"What is the meaning of that?" asked Miss Joslyn.
For answer some one handed her the picture. The young lady glanced at it,then tore it in pieces as she looked sadly around on her scholars.
"Whoever sent this knows that Alma's mother works in the factory," shesaid. "It makes me ashamed of my whole school to think there is one childin it cruel enough to do this thing;" then, amid the silent consternationof the scholars, Miss Joslyn rose, and leaving the half-emptied box, wenthome without another word.
"What a fuss about nothing," said Ada Singer. "The idea of crying becauseyou get a 'comic!' What else could Alma Driscoll expect?"
Lucy Berry's cheeks had been growing redder all through this scene, and nowshe turned upon Ada.
"She has a right to expect a great deal else," she returned excitedly, "butwe've all been so hateful to her it's a wonder if she did. I wish I'd beenkind to her before," she continued, her heart aching with the remembranceof the little lonely figure, and the big, hollow dinner-pail; "but I'mgoing
to be her friend now, always, and you can be friends with us or not,just as you please;" and turning from the astonished Ada, Lucy Berrymarched out of the schoolroom, fearing she should cry if she stayed, andsure that if there were any more beauties for her in the white box, herstanch friend, Frank Morse, would take care of them for her. Among thevalentines she had already received was one addressed in his handwriting,and she looked at it as she walked along.
"It's the handsomest one I ever saw," she thought, lifting a rose here, anda group of cupids there, and reading the tender messages thus disclosed.
"I know what I'll do!" she exclaimed aloud. "I'll send it to Alma. Frankwon't care," and covering the valentine in its box, she started to run, andturned a corner at such speed that she bumped into somebody coming at equalor greater speed, from the opposite direction. A passer-by just then wouldhave been amused to see a boy and girl sitting flat on the sidewalk,rubbing their heads and staring at one another.
"Lucy Berry!"
"Frank Morse!"
"What's up?"
"Nothing. Something's down, and it's me."
"Well, excuse me; but I guess you haven't seen any more stars than I have.I don't care anything for the Fourth now, I've seen enough fireworks tolast me a year."
Both children laughed. "You've got grit, Lucy," added Frank, jumping up andcoming to help her. "Most girls would have boo-hooed over that."
"Oh, I wouldn't," returned the little girl, springing to her feet. "I'm tooexcited."
"Well, what _is_ up?" persisted Frank. "I skipped out of the side door totry to meet you."
"Well, you did," laughed Lucy. "Oh, Frank, I don't know how I can laugh,"she pursued, sobering. "I don't deserve to, ever again."
"What is it? Something about that Driscoll kid? She was crying. I was backthere and I didn't hear what Miss Joslyn said; but I saw her leave, andthen you, and I thought _I_'d go to the fire, too, if there was one."
"Oh, there is," returned Lucy, "right in here." She grasped the waist ofher dress over where her heart was beating hard.
Frank Morse was older than herself and Ada, and she knew that he was one ofthe few of their friends whose good opinion Ada cared for. To enlist him onAlma's side would mean something.
"Is Ada still there?" she added.
"Yes, she took charge of the valentine box after Miss Joslyn left."
"Oh, Frank, do you suppose she could have sent Alma the 'comic'?" Genuinegrief made Lucy's voice unsteady.
"Supposing she did," returned Frank stoutly. "Is that what Big-Eyes wascrying about? I hate people to be touchy and blubber over a thing likethat."
"You don't know. Her mother works in the factory, and this was a horridpicture making fun of it. Think of your own mother earning your living andbeing made fun of."
"Ada wouldn't do that," replied Frank shortly. "What made you think of sucha thing?"
"It was error for me to say it," returned Lucy, with a meek groan. "I'vebeen doing error things ever since Alma came to school. Oh, Frank, you're aChristian Scientist, too. You must help me to get things straight."
"You don't need to be a Christian Scientist to see that it wasn't a squaredeal to send the kid that picture."
"No, I know it; but when Alma first came, Ada said her mother didn't allowher to go with girls from the factory, and so I stopped trying to be kindto Alma, because Ada wouldn't like me if I did; and it's been suchmesmerism, Frank."
The boy smiled. "Do you remember the stories your mother used to tell usabout the work of the error-fairies?"
"Indeed I do. My head's just been full of it the last fifteen minutes. I'vedone nothing for two weeks but give the error-fairies backbones, and Idon't care what happens to me, or how much I'm punished, if I can only doright again."
"Who's going to punish you?" asked Frank, not quite seeing the reason forso much feeling.
"Ada. We've always had so much fun, and now it's all over."
"Oh, I guess not. Ada Singer's all right."
Lucy didn't think so. She was convinced that her friend had done this lastunkindness to Alma, and it was the shock of that discovery that was causinga portion of her suffering now.
Frank and Lucy talked for a few minutes longer, and it was agreed that theformer should return to the school and get any other valentines that shouldbe there for Lucy and himself; then, as soon as it grew dark, they wouldrun to the Driscoll cottage with an offering.
Late that afternoon three mothers were called to interviews with threelittle girls. Lucy Berry surprised hers by rushing in where Mrs. Berry wasseated, sewing.
"Oh!" exclaimed the little girl, "I'm so sorry all over, mother!"
"Then you must know why you can't be," returned Mrs. Berry, looking up atthe flushed face and seeing something there that made her put aside herwork.
Lucy usually considered herself too large to sit in her mother's lap, butnow she did so, and flinging her arms around her neck, poured out the wholestory.
"To think that Ada _could_ send it!" finished Lucy, with one big sob.
"Be careful, be careful. You don't know that she did," replied Mrs. Berry."'Thou shalt not bear false witness.'"
"Oh, I do _hope_ she didn't," responded Lucy, "but Ada is stuck up. I'vebeen seeing it more and more lately."
"And how about the beam in my little girl's own eye?" asked Mrs. Berrygently.
"Haven't I been telling you all about it? I've been just as selfish andcowardly as I could be." Lucy's voice was despairing.
"I think there's a beam there still. I think you are angry with Ada."
"How can I help it? If it hadn't been for her I shouldn't have been somean."
"Oh, Lucy dear!" Mrs. Berry smiled over the head on her shoulder. "There isold Adam again, blaming somebody else for his fall. Have you forgotten thatthere is only one person you have the right to work with and change?"
"I don't care," replied Lucy hotly. "I've been calling evil good. I have.I've been calling Ada good and sticking to her and letting her run me."
"Was it because of what you could get from her, or because of what youcould do for her?" asked Mrs. Berry quietly.
Lucy was silent a minute, then she spoke: "She wanted me. She liked mebetter than anybody."
"Well, now you see what selfish attachments can turn into," returned Mrs.Berry. "Do you remember the teaching about the worthlessness of mortal mindlove? Here are you and Ada, yesterday thinking you love one another, andto-day at enmity."
"I'm going with Alma Driscoll now, and I'm going to eat my lunch with her,and everything. I should think that was unselfish."
"Perhaps it will be. We'll see. Isn't it a little comfort to you to thinkthat it will be some punishment to Ada to see you do it?"
"I don't know," replied Lucy, who was so honest that she hesitated.
"Well, then, think until you do know, and be very certain whether thethoughts that are stirring you so are all loving. You see, dearie, we'reall so tempted, in times of excitement, to begin at the wrong end: temptedto begin with ourselves instead of with God. The all-loving Creator of youand Ada and Alma has made three dear children, one just as precious to Himas another. If the loveliness of His creation is hidden by somethingdiscordant, then we must work away at it; and one's own consciousness isthe place where she has a right to work, and that helps all. It says in theBible 'When He giveth quietness who then can make trouble?' You can restyourself with the thought of His great quietness now, and you will reflectit."
Mrs. Berry paused and her rocking-chair swayed softly back and forth duringa moment of silence.
"You know enough about Science," she went on, at last, "to be certain thatweeks of an offended manner with Ada would have no effect except to makeher long to punish you. You know that love is reflected in love, and thatits opposite is just as certain to be reflected unless one knows God'struth."
"But you don't say anything at all about Alma," said Lucy. "She's the chiefone."
Mrs. Berry smiled. "No," she returned gently. "You are the chief one. Justas so
on as your thought is surely right, don't you know that your heavenlyFather is going to show you how to unravel this little snarl? You rememberthere isn't any personality to error, whether it tries to fasten on Ada, oron you."
Lucy sat upright. Her cheeks were still flushed, but her eyes had losttheir excited light. "Frank Morse and I are going to take some prettyvalentines to Alma's as soon as it is dark," she said.
"That will be pleasant. Now let us read over the lesson for to-day again,and know what a joyous thing life is."
"Well, mother, will you go and see Mrs. Driscoll some time?"
"Certainly I will, Sunday. I suppose she is too busy to see me other days."
In the Singer house another excited child had rushed home from school andsought and found her mother.
Mrs. Singer had just reached a most interesting spot in the novel she wasreading, when Ada startled her by running into the room and slamming thedoor behind her.
"Mother, you know you don't want me to go with the factory people," shecried.
"Of course not. What's the matter?" returned Mrs. Singer briefly, keepingher finger between the leaves of her half-closed book.
"Why, Lucy Berry is angry with me, and I don't care. I shall never go withher again!"
"Dear me, Ada. I should think you could settle these little differenceswithout bothering me. What has the factory to do with it?"
"Why, there is a new girl at school, Alma Driscoll, and her mother worksthere; and she tried to come with Lucy and me, and Lucy would have lether, but I told her you wouldn't like it, and, anyway, of course we didn'twant her. So to-day when the valentine box was opened, Alma Driscoll got a'comic;' and she couldn't take a joke and cried and went home. I can't beara cry-baby, anyway. And then Miss Joslyn made a fuss about it and _she_went home, and after that Lucy Berry flared up at me and said she was goingto be friends with Alma after this, and _she_ went home. It just spoiledeverybody's fun to have them act so silly. Lucy got Frank Morse to bringout all his valentines and hers. I'll never go with her again, whether shegoes with Alma or not!"
Angry little sparks were shining in Ada's eyes, and she evidently madegreat effort not to cry.
"What was this comic valentine that made so much trouble?"
"Oh, something about a factory girl. You know the verses are always sillyon those."
"Well, it wasn't very nice to send it to her before all the children, Imust say. Who do you suppose did it?"
"No one ever tells who sends valentines," returned Ada defiantly. "No onewill ever know."
"Well, if the foolish child, whoever it was, only had known, she wasn't sosmart or so unkind as she thought she was. Mrs. Driscoll isn't an ordinaryfactory hand. She is an assistant in the bookkeeping department."
"Well, they must be awfully poor, the way Alma looks, anyway," returnedAda.
"I suppose they are poor. I happened to hear Mr. Knapp begging your fatherto let a Mrs. Driscoll have that position, and your father finallyconsented. I remember his telling how long the husband had been away tryingfor work, and what worthy people they were, old friends of his. They livedin some neighboring town; so when Mrs. Driscoll was offered this positionthey came here. They live"--
"Oh, I know where they live," interrupted Ada, "and I knew they werefactory people anyway, and you wouldn't want me going with girls likeAlma."
"I'd want you to be kind to her, of course," returned Mrs. Singer.
"Then she'd have stuck to us if I had been. I guess you've forgotten theway it is at school."
Mrs. Singer sighed and opened her book wistfully. "You ought to be kind toeverybody, Ada," she said vaguely, "but I really think I shall have to takeyou out of the public school. It is such a mixed crowd there. I should havedone it long ago, only your father thinks there is no such education."
Ada saw that in another minute her mother would be buried again in herstory. "But what shall I do about Frank and Lucy?" she asked, half crying.
"Why, is Frank in it, too?"
"Yes. I know Lucy has been talking to him. He came back and got hervalentines."
"Oh, pshaw! Don't make a quarrel over it. Just be polite to Alma Driscoll.They're perfectly respectable people. You don't need to avoid her. Don'tworry. Lucy will soon get over her little excitement, and you may be sureshe will be glad to make up with you and be more friendly than ever."
Mrs. Singer began to read, and Ada saw it was useless to pursue thesubject. She left the room undecidedly, her lips pressed together. Allright, let Lucy befriend Alma. She wouldn't _look_ at her, and they'd justsee which would get tired of it first.
This hard little determination seemed to give Ada a good deal of comfortfor the present, and she longed for to-morrow, to begin to show Lucy Berrywhat she had lost.
Meanwhile Alma Driscoll had hastened home to an empty cottage, where shethrew herself on the calico-covered bed and gave way again to her hurt andsorrow, until she had cried herself to sleep.
There her mother found her when she returned from work. Mrs. Driscoll hadplenty of troubles of her own in these days, adjusting herself to herpresent situation and trying hard to fill the position which her old friendMr. Knapp had found for her. Alma knew this, and every evening when hermother came home from the factory she met her cheerfully, and had so farbravely refrained from telling of the trials at school, which were big onesto her, and which she often longed to pour out; but the sight of hermother's face always silenced her. She knew, young as she was, that hermother was finding life in the great school of the world as hard as she wasin pretty Miss Joslyn's room; and so she kept still, but her eyes grewbigger, and her mother saw it.
To-day when Mrs. Driscoll came in, she was surprised to find the housedark. She lighted the lamp and saw Alma asleep on the bed. "Poor littledear," she thought. "The hours must seem long between school and my cominghome."
She went around quietly, getting supper, and when it was ready she cameagain to the bed and kissed Alma's cheek.
"Doesn't my little girl want anything to eat to-night?" she asked.
Alma turned and opened her eyes.
"Guess which it is," went on Mrs. Driscoll, smiling. "Breakfast or supper."
"Oh, have you come?" Alma sat up. She clasped her arms around her mother."Please don't make me go to school any more," she said, the big sob withwhich she went to sleep rising again in her throat.
"Why, what has happened, dear?" Mrs. Driscoll grew serious.
"I don't want to tell you, mother, only please let me stay at home. I'llstudy just as hard."
"You'd be lonely here all day, Alma."
"I want to be lonely," returned the little girl earnestly.
Mrs. Driscoll looked very sober. "Let's sit down at the table," she said,"for I have your boiled egg all ready."
Alma took her place opposite her mother. Supper was usually the bright spotin the day, but this evening there seemed nothing but clouds.
"I want to hear all about it, Alma, but you'd better eat first," said Mrs.Driscoll, as she poured the tea.
"It isn't anything very much," replied the little girl, torn between thelonging for sympathy and unwillingness to give her mother pain; "only therearen't any lonely children in that school. Everybody has some one she likesto play with."
A pang of understanding went through the mother's heart, so tender that sheforced a smile.
"Oh, my dearie," she said, "you remind me of the old song,--
'Every lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, have I, But all the lads, they smile on me, When comin' thro' the rye.'
If my Alma smiles on all the children, they'll all smile on her."
Alma shook her head. It was too great an undertaking to explain all thosedaily experiences of longing and disappointment to her mother. The child'sthroat grew so full of the sob that she could not swallow the nice egg.
"This is Valentine's Day," she said, with an effort. "They had a box inschool. Everybody got pretty ones but me. They sent me a 'comic.'"
She swallowed bravely betwee
n the sentences, but big tears rolled down hercheeks and splashed on the gingham apron.
"Well, wasn't it meant to make you laugh, dearie?"
"N-no. It was--was a hateful one. I--I can't tell you."
A line came in Mrs. Driscoll's forehead. Her swift thought pictured thescene only too vividly. She swallowed, too.
"Silly pictures can't hurt us, Alma," she said.
"But please don't make me go back," returned the child earnestly. "I criedand ran away, and I know all the other children laughed, and, oh, mother, I_can't_ go back!" She was sobbing again, now, and trying to dry her tearswith her apron.
Mrs. Driscoll's lips pressed firmly together to keep from quivering.
"Mother," said Alma brokenly, as soon as she could speak again, "when doyou think father will come home?"
For a minute the mother could not reply. The last letter she had receivedfrom her husband had sounded discouraged, and for six weeks now she hadheard nothing. Her anxiety was very great; but it made her position at thefactory more than ever important, while it increased the difficulty ofperforming her work.
"I can't tell, dearie," she answered low. "We must pray and wait."
As she finished speaking there came a loud knock at the door. A veryunusual sound this, for no one had yet called on them, except Mr. Knapp,once on business.
"I'll go," said Mrs. Driscoll. "Wipe your eyes, Alma."
To her surprise, when she opened the door no one was there. Something whiteon the step caught her eye in the gloom. It was a box, and when she broughtit to the light, she saw that it was addressed to Miss Alma Driscoll.
Her heart was too sore to hand it to the child until she had made certainthat its contents were not designed to hurt. One glimpse of the gold andred interior, however, made her clap on the cover again. She brought thebox to the table and seated herself.
"What's all this?" she asked, passing it to the child. "It seems to be foryou. There was nobody there, but I found that on the step."
Alma's swollen eyes looked wonderingly at the box as she took off the coverand discovered the elaborate valentine.
"My! What a beauty!" exclaimed her mother.
The little girl lifted the red roses and looked at the verses. The catcheskept coming in her throat and she smiled faintly.
"Who is this that hasn't any friend?" asked Mrs. Driscoll cheeringly.
"Somebody was sorry," returned Alma. "I wish they didn't have to be sorryfor me."
"Oh, you can't be sure. When I was a little girl all the best part ofValentine's Day was running around to the houses with them after dark. Howdo you know that this wasn't meant for you all day?"
"Because I remember it. Miss Joslyn handed it to Lucy Berry out of theschool box. Lucy is the prettiest"--
Another loud knocking at the door interrupted.
Mrs. Driscoll answered the call. A big white envelope lay on the step, andit was addressed to Alma. This time the latter's smile was a littlebrighter as she took out a handsome card covered with garlands and swingingcupids and inscribed "To my Valentine."
"Well, I never saw any prettier ones," said Mrs. Driscoll.
"But they weren't bought for me," returned Alma.
When soon again a knocking sounded on the door and a third valentineappeared, blossoming with violets, above which butterflies hovered, Mrs.Driscoll leaned lovingly toward her little girl.
"Alma," she said. "I think you were mistaken in saying that _all_ thechildren laughed when you received that 'comic.' Now," in a different tone,"let's have some fun! Some child or children are giving you the very bestthey have. Let's catch the next one who comes, and find out who yourfriends are!"
"Oh, no," returned Alma, smiling, but shrinking shyly from the idea.
"Yes, indeed. We all used to try when I was little. I'm going to stand bythe door and hold it open a bit and you see if I don't catch somebody."
Alma lifted her shoulders. She wasn't sure that she liked to have hermother try this; but Mrs. Driscoll went to the door, set it ajar in thedark, and stood beside it.
She did not expect there would be any further greetings, and did thisrather to amuse Alma, who sat examining her three valentines with a tearfullittle smile; but it was a very short time before another knock sounded onthe usually neglected door, and quick as a wink it opened and Mrs.Driscoll's hand flying out caught another hand. A little scream followed,and in a second she had drawn a young lady into the tiny hall.
They couldn't see one another's faces very well in the gloom.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Mrs. Driscoll, very much embarrassed. "Iwas trying to catch a valentine."
"Well, you did," laughed the stranger. "There's one on the step now, unlessmy skirt switched it off when I jumped. I didn't intend to come in thistime, though I meant to return after I had done an errand; but now I'mhere I'll stay a minute if it isn't too early."
"If you'll excuse the table," returned Mrs. Driscoll "Alma and I have alate tea." She stooped at the door and picked up a valentine from the edgeof the step, and both women were smiling as they entered the room whereAlma was standing, flushed and wide-eyed, scarcely able to believe that sherecognized the voice.
Sure enough, as the visitor came into the lamplight, the little girl sawthat the valentine her mother had caught and brought in out of the dark wasreally Miss Joslyn. She could hardly believe her eyes as she looked at themerry, blushing face which she was wont to see so serious and watchful. Allthe pretty teacher's scholars admired her, but she had a dignity andstrictness which gave them some awe of her, too, and it seemed wonderful toAlma that this important person should be standing here and laughing withher mother, right in their own sitting-room.
Miss Joslyn's bright eyes saw signs of tears in her pupil's face, and shealso saw the handsome valentines strewn upon the table. "Well, well, Alma!"she exclaimed softly, "you have quite a show there!"
"And here is another," said Mrs. Driscoll, handing the latest arrival tothe little girl. Alma smiled gratefully at her teacher as she opened theenvelope and took out a dove in full flight, carrying a leaf in its beak.On the leaf was printed in gold letters the word _Love_.
"I was caught in the act, Alma," laughed Miss Joslyn, "but I guess I am tooold and slow to be running about at night with valentines."
"I like it the best of all," replied the little girl. "It was bought forme," she added in her own thought, and she was right. Twenty minutes agothe white dove had been reposing at a stationer's, with every prospect ofremaining there until another Valentine's Day came around.
"Please sit down, Miss Joslyn," said Mrs. Driscoll.
"Well, just for a minute," replied the young lady, taking the offeredchair, "but I wish you would finish your supper."
"We had, really," replied Mrs. Driscoll, smiling, "or I shouldn't have beenplaying such a game by the door. You haven't been the giver of all thesevalentines, I suppose?"
"Oh, no, indeed. Those are from some of the school children, no doubt. I'vebeen trying to find an evening to come here for some time, but my workisn't done when school is out."
"I'm sure it isn't," replied Mrs. Driscoll, while Alma sat with her dove inher hands, watching the bright face that looked happy and at home in theseunusual surroundings. It seemed so very strange to be close to Miss Joslyn,like this, where the teacher had no bell to touch and no directions togive.
She looked at Alma and spoke: "The public school is a little hard for newscholars at first," she said, "where they enter in the middle of a term.You are going to like it better after a while, Alma."
"I think she will, too," put in Mrs. Driscoll. "My hours are long at thefactory and I have liked to think of Alma as safe in school. Does she dopretty well in her studies, Miss Joslyn?"
"Yes, I have no fault to find." The visitor smiled at Alma. "You haven'tbecome much acquainted yet," went on Miss Joslyn. "I have noticed that youeat your lunch alone. So do I. Supposing you and I have it together for awhile until you are more at home with the other scholars. I have anot
herchair in my corner, and we'll have a cosy time."
Alma's heart beat fast. She had never heard that an invitation from royaltyis equivalent to a command, but instantly all possibility of staying athome from school disappeared. The picture rose before her thought of MissJoslyn as she always appeared at the long recess: her chair swung aboutuntil her profile only was visible, the white napkin on her desk, the bookin her hand as she read and ate at one and the same time. Little did Almasuspect what it meant to the kind teacher to give up that precioushalf-hour of solitude; but Miss Joslyn saw the child's eyes grow bright atthe dazzling prospect, and noted the color that covered even her foreheadas she murmured thanks and looked over at her mother for sympathy.
The young lady talked on for a few minutes and then said good-night,leaving an atmosphere of brightness behind her.
"Oh, mother, I don't know what all the children will say," said Alma,clasping her hands together. "I'm going to eat lunch with Miss Joslyn!"
"It's fine," responded Mrs. Driscoll, glad of the change in her littlegirl's expression, and wishing the ache at her own heart could be as easilycomforted. "Do you suppose Valentine's Day is over, dearie, or had I betterstand by the door again?"
"Oh, they wouldn't send me any more!" replied Alma, looking fondly at herdove. "I think Lucy Berry was so kind to give me her lovely things; but I'dlike to give them back."
"No, indeed, that wouldn't do," replied Mrs. Driscoll. "I'm going to standthere once more. Perhaps I'll catch somebody else to prove to you that Lucyisn't the only one thinking about you."
Mrs. Driscoll returned quietly to her post, and Alma could see her smilingface through the open door.
Alma had very much wanted to send valentines to a few children, herself;but five cents was all the spending money she could have, and she hadbought with it one valentine which had been addressed to Lucy Berry in theschool box. She was glad it had not come back to her to-night. That wouldhave been hardest of all to bear.
Just as she was thinking this there did come another knock at the door. Thechild looked up eagerly, and swiftly again Mrs. Driscoll's hand flew out,and grasping a garment, pulled gently and firmly.
"Well, well, ma'am!" exclaimed a bass voice, and this time it was thehostess's turn to give a little cry, followed by a laugh, as a stout,elderly man with chin whiskers came deliberately in.
She retreated. "Oh, Mr. Knapp, please excuse me! I thought you were avalentine!"
"Nobody'd have me, ma'am. Nobody'd have me. Not a mite o' use to try tostick a pair o' Cupid's wings on these shoulders. It would take an awfulpair to fly me. Well, come now," he added, with a broad, approving smile atthe laughing mother and child, "I'm right down glad to see you playin' agame. I've thought, the last few days, you was lookin' kind o' peaked anddown in the mouth; so, seein' as we found a letter for you that was somehowoverlooked this afternoon, I decided I'd bring it along. Might be fetchin'you a fortune, for all I knew."
Mrs. Driscoll's smile vanished, and her eyes looked eagerly into thegood-humored red face, as Mr. Knapp sought deliberately in his coat pocketand brought forth an envelope, at sight of which Alma's mother flushed andpaled.
"You have a valentine, too!" cried the little girl.
"Yes, it is from father. Won't you sit down, Mr. Knapp?"
"No, no, I'll just run along and let you read your letter in peace. I knowyou want to, and I hope it brings good news. If it don't, you just rememberit's always darkest before day. Frank Driscoll's bound to come out rightside up. He's a good feller."
So saying, the kind friend to this couple took his departure, and Mrs.Driscoll's eager fingers tore open the envelope.
At the first four words, "It's all right, Nettie," she crushed the paperagainst her happy eyes and then hugged Alma.
It _was_ all right. Mr. Driscoll had a position at last, and by the timesummer should come he was sure they could be together again.
After the letter had been read and re-read, the two washed and put away thesupper dishes with light hearts, and the next morning Mrs. Driscoll wentoff smiling to the factory, leaving a rather excited little girl to finishthe morning work and arrange the lunch in the tin pail which was to beopened beside Miss Joslyn's desk.
There were two other excited children getting ready for school thatmorning. They had both slept on their troubles, but were very differentlyprepared to meet the day. Ada Singer's mental attitude was, "I'll nevergive in, and Lucy Berry will find it out."
Lucy felt comforted, but there remained now the great step of eating lunchwith Alma and being punished by Ada in consequence. Her heart fluttered atthe thought; but she was going to try not to think of herself at all, butto do right and let the consequences take care of themselves.
"There isn't any other way," her mother said to her at parting. "Anythingwhich you do in any other spirit has simply to be done over again sometime."
"Not one error-fairy shall cheat me to-day," thought Lucy stoutly, and thena disconcerting idea came to her: supposing Alma shouldn't come to schoolat all!
But Alma was there. Ada Singer, too, wearing a charming new dress and witha head held up so stiffly that it couldn't turn to look at anybody. FrankMorse, from his seat at the back of the room, looked curiously from one toanother of the three girls and shook his head at his book.
At the first recess Ada Singer spoke to him as he was going out. "Wait aminute, Frank. It is so mild to-day, mother is coming for me after schoolwith the auto. We're going to take a long spin. Wouldn't you like to go?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Frank; "but don't you want to take Lucy in myplace?" He was a little uncomfortable.
"If I did I shouldn't ask you," returned Ada coolly.
"All right. Thank you," said Frank, but as he joined the boys on theplayground he felt still more uncomfortable.
Lucy Berry, as soon as the recess bell had sounded, had gone straight toAlma. Her cheeks were very red, and the brown eyes were full of kindness.
Alma looked up in shy pleasure at her, a little embarrassed because shedidn't know whether to thank Lucy for the valentines or not.
The latter did not give her time to speak. She said: "I came to see if youwon't eat your lunch with me to-day."
Alma colored. How full the world was of kind people! "I'd love to," sheanswered, "but I think Ada wants to have you all alone and"--
"But I'd like it if you would," said Lucy firmly, "because I want to getmore acquainted. My mother is coming to see yours on Sunday afternoon,too."
"I'm real glad she is," replied Alma, fairly basking in the light fromLucy's eyes. "I'd love to eat lunch with you, but Miss Joslyn invited me tohave it with her to-day."
"Oh!" Lucy's gaze grew larger. "Why, that's lovely!" she said, in an awedtone.
They had very little more time for talk before the short recess was over.As the children took their way to their seats, Alma was amazed to see AdaSinger pass Lucy without a word, and even turn her head to avoid lookingat her. The child had watched this close friendship so wistfully that sheinstantly saw there was trouble, and naturally thought of her invitationfrom Lucy as connected with it.
At the long recess, thoughts of this possible quarrel mingled with herpleasure in the visit with Miss Joslyn, who was a charming hostess. Many agirl or boy came to peep into the forbidden schoolroom, when the report wascirculated that Alma Driscoll was up on the platform laughing and talkingwith the teacher and eating lunch with her in the cosy corner.
Miss Joslyn insisted on exchanging a part of her lunch for Alma's,spreading the things together on the white napkin, and chatting so eagerlyand gayly that the little girl's face beamed. She soon told the teacherabout the good news that came after she left the night before, and MissJoslyn was very sympathetic. "It's a pretty nice world, isn't it?" sheasked, smiling.
"Yes'm, it's just a lovely world to-day, only--only there's one thing, MissJoslyn."
"What is it?"
"I think Lucy Berry and Ada Singer have had a quarrel."
"Oh, the inseparables? I g
uess not," the teacher smiled.
"Yes'm. The worst is, I think it's about me. Could I go out in thedressing-room to get my handkerchief, and see if they're on their usualwindow-sill?"
"Yes, indeed, if it will make you feel easier."
So Alma went out and soon returned. Lucy and Ada were not on theirwindow-sill. Each was sitting with a different group of girls.
Miss Joslyn saw the serious discomfort this gave her little companion, andpersuaded her away from the subject, returning to the congenial theme ofMr. Driscoll's new prospects.
But as soon as recess was over, Alma's thoughts went back to Ada Singer,for she felt certain that whatever had happened, Ada was the one to beappeased. The child could not bear to think of being the cause of troublecoming to dear, kind Lucy.
When school was dismissed, Ada Singer, her head carried high, put on herthings in the dressing-room within a few feet of Lucy, but ignoring herpresence. "I love her," thought Lucy, "and she does love me. Nothing cancheat either of us."
Ada went out without a look, and waited at the head of the stairs for FrankMorse. Alma Driscoll hastened up to her.
Ada drew away. Alma needn't think that because she had shared Miss Joslyn'sluncheon she would now be as good as anybody.
"Can I speak to you just one minute?" asked the little girl so eagerly, yetmeekly, that Ada turned to her; but now that she had gained attention, Almadid not know how to proceed. She hesitated and clasped and unclasped herhands over the gingham apron. "Please--please"--she stammered, "don't becross with Lucy. She felt sorry for me, but I'll never eat lunch withher,--truly."
"You don't know what you're talking about," rejoined Ada coldly.
"Yes, she does." It was Frank Morse's voice, and Ada, turning quickly, sawhim and Lucy standing a few feet behind her. The four children were alonein the deserted hall.
"Here," went on Frank bluntly, "I want you two girls to kiss and make up."
Ada blushed violently as she met Lucy's questioning, wistful look.
"Are you coming down to the auto, Frank?" she asked coolly. "Mother will bewaiting."
"Oh, come now, Ada, be a good fellow. If you and Lucy want to put on thegloves, I'll see fair play; but for pity's sake drop this icy lookbusiness. Great Scott, I'm glad I'm not a girl!"
The genuine disgust in the boy's tone as he closed did disturb Ada alittle, and then Lucy added at once, beseechingly:
"Oh, it's like a bad dream, Ada, to have anything the matter between us!"
"Whose fault is it?" asked Ada sharply. "Why did you fly at me soyesterday?"
Both girls had forgotten Alma who, like a soberly dressed, big-eyed littlebird, was watching the proceedings in much distress.
"You just the same as accused me of sending Alma the 'comic,'" continuedAda.
"Oh, _didn't_ you send it?" cried Lucy, fairly springing at her friend inher relief. "I don't care what you do to me then! I deserve anything, for Ireally thought you did."
Her eloquent face and the love in her eyes broke down some determination inAda's proud little heart, and raised another, perhaps quite as proud, butat least with an element of nobility. She foresaw that the dishonesty wasgoing to be more than she could bear.
"I did send it," she said suddenly, with her chin up. Then, ignoring Frankand Lucy's open-mouthed stares, she turned toward Alma. "I sent you the'comic,'" she went on. "I thought it would be fun, but it wasn't, and I'msorry. I should like to have you forgive me."
Her tone was far from humble, but it was music to Alma's ears. The littlegirl clasped her hands together. "Oh, I do," she replied earnestly, "and itmade everybody so kind! Please don't feel bad about it. I got the loveliestvalentines in the evening, and Miss Joslyn came to see us, and we had aletter from my father and he has a splendid place to work and--andeverything!"
Ada breathed a little faster at the close of this breathless speech. Alma'seagerness to ascribe even her father's good fortune to the sending of the'comic' touched her. In her embarrassment she took another determination.
"If you'll excuse me, Frank," she said turning to him, "I think I'll takeAlma home in the auto, instead of you."
"All right," returned the boy, his face flushed. "You're a brick, Ada!"
This praise from one who seldom praised gave Ada secret elation, and madeher resolve to deserve it. "Good-by, Lucy," was all she said, but thegirls' eyes met, and Lucy knew the trouble was over.
As Ada and Alma went downstairs, Lucy ran to the hall window, and Frankfollowed. "Don't let them see us," she said joyfully.
So, very cautiously, the two peeped and saw the handsome automobilewaiting. Mrs. Singer was sitting within and they saw Ada say something toher; then Alma, her thick coat over the gingham apron, and the largedinner-pail in her hand, climbed in, Ada after her, and away they all went.
Lucy turned to Frank with her face glowing.
"It's all right now," she said. "When Ada takes hold she never lets go; andnow she's taken hold right!"