diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:50 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:50 -0700 |
| commit | 0ef0e259a140283dd2cf5d32275373e0be0f9f83 (patch) | |
| tree | a53181fa1b476683197b973f2f91069bfb457134 /30479-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '30479-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/30479-h.htm | 6663 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 188588 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/images/f0001-image.jpg | bin | 0 -> 75303 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/images/illus-emb.png | bin | 0 -> 7769 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/images/p0028a-insert.jpg | bin | 0 -> 74283 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/images/p0142a-insert.jpg | bin | 0 -> 93353 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 30479-h/images/p0200a-insert.jpg | bin | 0 -> 69425 bytes |
7 files changed, 6663 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/30479-h/30479-h.htm b/30479-h/30479-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65df15e --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/30479-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6663 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Camerons of Highboro, by Beth B. Gilchrist.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + p {margin-top: 0.1em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.1em;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + p.caption {font-size:smaller;} + div.text {} + div.text p {text-indent: 1.0em;} + div.text p.ni {text-indent: 0em;} + p.center {text-align: center;} + h1,h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h1 {font-size:1.6em;} + h2 {font-size:1.4em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + p.dropcap, p.noindent {text-indent: 0em;} + span.dropcapt {margin-left: -0.5em;} + div.figcenter p {text-align: center;} + + /* defaults for epub and print */ + hr.pb {border: none; page-break-after: always; margin-top: 4em;} + .pagenum {display: none;} + .pncolor {color: inherit;} + + /* override for browser */ + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none; border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; + position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; + background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30479 ***</div> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/f0001-image.jpg' alt='' title='' width='363' height='502' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +How good bacon tasted when you broiled it yourself on a forked stick<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.2em;margin-bottom:30px;'>THE CAMERONS<br />OF HIGHBORO</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.1em;'>BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.3em;'>BETH B. GILCHRIST</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.9em;margin-bottom:40px;'>Author of “C<span style='font-size:0.7em;'>INDERELLA’S</span> G<span style='font-size:0.7em;'>RANDDAUGHTER</span>,” etc.</p> +<p class='tp' >ILLUSTRATED BY<br />PHILLIPPS WARD</p> + +<div style='margin:60px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' >NEW YORK<br />THE CENTURY CO.<br />1919</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.9em;'>Copyright, 1919, by<br />T<span style='font-size:0.7em;'>HE</span> C<span style='font-size:0.7em;'>ENTURY</span> C<span style='font-size:0.7em;'>O</span>.</p> +<hr style='margin-left:45%; width:10%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black;' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.9em;'><i>Published, September, 1919</i></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>CONTENTS</p> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Elliott Plans and Fate Disposes</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_ELLIOTT_PLANS_AND_FATE_DISPOSES'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The End of a Journey</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_END_OF_A_JOURNEY'>23</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Cameron Farm</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_CAMERON_FARM'>37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>In Untrodden Fields</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_IN_UNTRODDEN_FIELDS'>63</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Slacker Unperceived</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_A_SLACKER_UNPERCEIVED'>91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Fliers</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_FLIERS'>120</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Picnicking</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_PICNICKING'>146</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Bee Sting</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_A_BEE_STING'>171</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Elliott Acts on an Idea</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_ELLIOTT_ACTS_ON_AN_IDEA'>197</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>What’s in a Dress?</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_WHATS_IN_A_DRESS'>223</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Missing</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_MISSING'>244</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Home-Loving Hearts</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_HOMELOVING_HEARTS'>265</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>How good bacon tasted when you broiled it yourself on a forked stick</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Laura took the new cousin up to her room</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Cutting the wiry brown stems in the fern-filled glade.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>140</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“I’m getting dinner all by myself”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>199</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:2.0em;'>THE CAMERONS OF HIGHBORO</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<h1>THE CAMERONS OF HIGHBORO</h1> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_ELLIOTT_PLANS_AND_FATE_DISPOSES' id='CHAPTER_I_ELLIOTT_PLANS_AND_FATE_DISPOSES'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>ELLIOTT PLANS AND FATE DISPOSES</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Now and then the accustomed world +turns a somersault; one day it faces +you with familiar features, the next it +wears a quite unrecognizable countenance. +The experience is, of course, nothing new, +though it is to be doubted whether it was +ever staged so dramatically and on so vast +a scale as during the past four years. +And no one to whom it happens is ever the +same afterward.</p> +<p>Elliott Cameron was not a refugee. +She did not trudge Flemish roads with the +pitiful salvage of her fortunes on her +back, nor was she turned out of a cottage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +in Poland with only a sackful of her household +treasures. Nevertheless, American +girl though she was, she had to be evacuated +from her house of life, the house she +had been building through sixteen petted, +autocratic years. This is the story of that +evacuation.</p> +<p>It was made, for all the world, like any +Pole’s or Serbian’s or Belgian’s; material +valuables she let pass with glorious carelessness, +as they left the silver spoons in +order to salvage some sentimental trifle +like a baby-shoe or old love-letters. Elliott +took the closing of her home as she +had taken the disposal of the big car, +cheerfully enough, but she could not leave +behind some absurd little tricks of thought +that she had always indulged in. She was +as strange to the road as any Picardy peasant +and as bewildered, with—shall I say +it?—considerably less pluck and spirit than +some of them, when the landmarks she had +lived by were swept away. But they, you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +see, had a dim notion of what was happening +to them. Elliott had none. She +didn’t even know that she was being evacuated. +She knew only that ways which +had always worked before had mysteriously +ceased working, that prejudices and +preoccupations and habits of mind and action, +which she had spent her life in accumulating, +she must now say good-by to, +and that the war, instead of being across +the sea, a thing one’s friends and cousins +sailed away to, had unaccountably got +right into America itself and was interfering +to an unreasonable extent in affairs +that were none of its business.</p> +<p>Father came home one night from a +week’s absence and said, as he unfolded +his napkin, “Well, chicken, I’m going to +France.”</p> +<p>They were alone at dinner. Miss Reynolds, +the housekeeper, was dining out +with friends, as she sometimes did; nights +that, though they both liked Miss Reynolds, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +father and daughter checked with a +red mark.</p> +<p>“To France?” A little thrill pricked +the girl’s spine as she questioned. “Is it +Red Cross?”</p> +<p>“Not this time. An investigation for +the government. It may, probably will, +take months. The government wants a +thorough job done. Uncle Samuel thinks +your ancient parent competent to hold up +one end of the thing.”</p> +<p>“Stop!” Elliott’s soft order commandeered +all her dimples.</p> +<p>“I won’t have you maligning my father, +you naughty man! Ancient parent, +indeed! That’s splendid, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“I rather like it. I was hoping it would +strike you the same way.”</p> +<p>“When do you go?”</p> +<p>“As soon as I can get my affairs in +shape—I could leave to-morrow, if I had +to. Probably I shall be off in a week or +ten days.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></div> +<p>“I suppose the government didn’t say +anything about my investigating something, +too?”</p> +<p>“Now you mention it, I do not recollect +that the subject came up.”</p> +<p>She shook her head reprovingly, “That +<i>was</i> an omission! However, I think I’ll +go as your secretary.”</p> +<p>Mr. Cameron smiled across the table. +How pretty she was, how daintily arch +in her sweetness! “That arrangement +would be entirely satisfactory to me, my +dear, but I am not taking a secretary. I +shall get one over there, when I need one.”</p> +<p>“But what can I go as?” pursued the +girl. “I’d like to go as something.”</p> +<p>Heavens! she looked as though she +meant it! “I’m afraid you can’t go, Lot, +this time.”</p> +<p>She lifted cajoling eyes. “But I want +to. Oh, <i>I</i> know! I can go to school in +Paris.”</p> +<p>Her little air of having settled the matter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +left him smiling but serious. “France +has mouths enough to feed without one extra +school-girl’s, chicken.”</p> +<p>“I don’t eat much. Are you afraid of +submarines?”</p> +<p>“For you, yes.”</p> +<p>“I’m not. Daddies dear, <i>mayn’t</i> I go? +I’d love to be near you.”</p> +<p>“Positively, my love, you may not.”</p> +<p>She drew down the corners of her mouth +and went through a bewitching imitation +of wiping tears out of her eyes. But she +wasn’t really disappointed. She had been +fairly certain in advance of what the verdict +would be. There had been a bare +chance, of something different—that was +all, and it didn’t pay to let chances, even +the barest, go by default. So she crumbled +her warbread and remarked thoughtfully, +“I suppose I can stay at home, but it +won’t be very exciting.”</p> +<p>Her father seemed to find his next words +hard to say. “I had a notion we might +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +close the house. It is rather expensive to +keep up; not much point in doing so just +for one, is there? In going to France I +shall give my services.”</p> +<p>“Of course. But the house—” The +delicate brows lifted. “What were you +thinking of doing with me?”</p> +<p>“Dumping you on the corner. What +else?” The two laughed together as at a +good joke. But there was a tightening in +the man’s throat. He wondered how +soon, after next week, he would again be +sitting at table opposite that vivacious +young face.</p> +<p>“Seriously, Lot, I met Bob in Washington. +He was there on conservation business. +When he heard what I was contemplating, +he asked you up to Highboro. +Said Jessica and he would be delighted to +have you visit them for a year. They’re +generous souls. It struck me as a good +plan. Your uncle is a fine man, and I have +always admired his wife. I’ve never seen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +as much of her as I’d have liked. What +do you say to the idea?”</p> +<p>“Um-m-m.” Elliott did not commit +herself. “Uncle Bob and Aunt Jessica are +very nice, but I don’t know them.”</p> +<p>“House full of boys and girls. You +won’t be lonely.”</p> +<p>The piquant nose wrinkled mischievously. +“That would never do. I like my +own way too well.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “And you generally manage +to get it by hook or by crook!”</p> +<p>“I? You malign me. You <i>give</i> it to +me because you like me.”</p> +<p>How adorably pretty she looked!</p> +<p>He laughed again. “You’ve got your +old dad there, all right. Yes, yes, you’ve +got him there!”</p> +<p>“Didn’t I tell you just now that you +mustn’t call my father old?”</p> +<p>“So you did! So you did! Well, well, +the truth will out now and then, you know. +<i>Could</i> you inveigle Jane into giving us +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +more butter?—By the way, here’s a letter +from Jessica. I found it in the stack +on my desk to-night. Better read it before +you say no.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I will,” Elliott received the letter +without enthusiasm. “Very good of her, +I’m sure. I’ll write and thank her to-morrow; +but I think I’ll go to Aunt +Nell’s.”</p> +<p>“Just as you say. You know Elinor +better. But I rather incline to Bob and +Jess. There is something to be said for +variety, Lot.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but a year is so long. Why, Father +Cameron, a year is three hundred and +sixty-five whole days long and I don’t know +how many hours and minutes and—and +seconds. The seconds are awful! Daddles +darling, I never could support life +away from you in a perfectly strange +family for all those interminable seconds!”</p> +<p>“Your own cousins, chicken; and they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +wouldn’t seem strange long. I’ve a notion +they’d help make time hustle. Better +read the letter. It’s a good letter.”</p> +<p>“I will—when I don’t have you to talk +to. What’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“Bless me, I forgot to tell Miss Reynolds! +Nell’s coming to-night. Wired +half an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“Aunt Nell? Oh, jolly!” The slender +hands clapped in joyful pantomime. “But +don’t worry about Miss Reynolds. <i>I</i> will +tell Anna to make a room ready. Now we +can settle things talking. It’s so much +more satisfactory than writing.”</p> +<p>The man laughed. “Can’t say no, so +easily, eh, chicken?”</p> +<p>She joined in his laugh. “There is +something in that, of course, but it isn’t +very polite of you to insinuate that any +one would <i>wish</i> to say no to me.”</p> +<p>“I stand corrected of an error in tact. +No, I can’t quite see Elinor turning you +down.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></div> +<p>That was the joy of these two; they were +such boon companions, like brother and sister +together instead of father and daughter.</p> +<p>But now Elliott, too, remembered something. +“Oh, Father! Quincy has scarlet +fever!”</p> +<p>“Scarlet fever? When did he come +down?”</p> +<p>“Just to-day. They suspected it yesterday, +and Stannard came over to Phil +Tracy’s. To-day the doctor made sure. +So Maude and Grace are going right on +from the wedding to that Western ranch +where they were invited. All their outfits +are in the house here, but they will get new +ones in New York.”</p> +<p>“Where’s James?”</p> +<p>“Uncle James went to the hotel, and +Aunt Margaret, of course, is quarantined. +Quincy isn’t very sick. They’ve postponed +all their house-parties for two +months.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></div> +<p>“H’m. Where do they think the boy +caught it?”</p> +<p>“Not an idea. He came home from +school Thursday.”</p> +<p>“Well, Cedarville will be minus Camerons +for a while, won’t it?”</p> +<p>“It certainly will. Both houses closed—or +Uncle James’s virtually so. Do you +know what Aunt Nell is coming for?”</p> +<p>“Not the ghost of a notion. Perhaps +she is going to adopt a dozen young Belgians +and wants me to draw up the papers.”</p> +<p>“Mercy! I hope not a whole dozen, if +I am to stay at Clover Hill with her. Half +a dozen would be enough.”</p> +<p>“Want you at Clover Hill?” said Aunt +Elinor, when the first greetings were over +and she had heard the news. “Why, you +dear child, of course I do! Or rather I +should, if I were to be there myself. But +I’m going to France, too.”</p> +<p>“To France!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<p>“Red Cross,” with an enthusiastic nod +of the perfectly dressed head. “Lou Emery +and I are going over. That’s what +I stopped off to tell you people. Ran down +to New York to see about my papers. It’s +all settled. We sail next week. Now +I’m hurrying back to shut up Clover Hill. +Then for something worth while! Do you +know,” the fine eyes turned from contemplation +of a great mass of pink roses on +the table, “I feel as though I were on the +point of beginning to live at last. All my +days I have spent dashing about madly in +search of a good time. Now—well, now +I shall go where I’m sent, live for weeks, +maybe, without a bath, sleep in my clothes +in any old place, when I sleep at all; but +I’m crazy, simply crazy to get over there +and begin.”</p> +<p>It was then that Elliott began dimly to +sense a predicament. Even then she +didn’t recognize it for an <i>impasse</i>. Such +things didn’t happen to Elliott Cameron. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +But she did wish that Quincy had selected +another time for isolating her Uncle +James’s house. Not that she particularly +desired to spend a year, or a fraction of a +year, with the James Camerons, but they +were preferable to her Uncle Robert’s +family, on the principle that ills you know +and understand make a safer venture than +a jump in the dark. Nothing radical was +wrong with the Robert Camerons except +that they were dark horses. They lived +farther away than the other Camerons, +which wouldn’t have mattered—geography +seldom bothered a Cameron—if +they hadn’t chosen to let it. On second +thoughts, perhaps that, however, was exactly +what did matter. Elliott understood +that the Robert Camerons were poor. +More than once she had heard her father +say he feared “Bob was hard up.” But +Bob was as proud as he was hard up; Elliott +knew that Father had never succeeded +in lending him any money.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></div> +<p>She let these things pass through her +mind as she reviewed the situation. Proud +and independent and poor—those were +worthy qualities, but they did not make +any family interesting. They were more +apt, Elliott thought, to make it uninteresting. +No, the Robert Camerons were out +of the question, kindly though they might +be. If she must spend a year outside her +own home, away from her father-comrade, +she preferred to spend it with her own sort.</p> +<p>There is this to be said for Elliott Cameron; +she had no mother, had had no +mother since she could remember. The +mother Elliott could not remember had +been a very lovely person, and as broad-minded +as she was charming. Elliott had +her mother’s charm, a personal magnetism +that twined people around her little finger, +but she was essentially narrow-minded. +With Elliott it was a matter of upbringing, +of coming-up rather, since within somewhat +wide limits her upbringing had, after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +all, been largely in her own hands. Henry +Cameron had had neither the heart nor the +will to thwart his only child.</p> +<p>Before she went to bed, Elliott, curled +up on her window-seat, read Aunt Jessica’s +letter. It was a good letter, a delightful +letter, and more than that. If she had +been older, she might, just from reading it, +have seen why her father wanted her to +go to Highboro. As it was, something +tugged at her heartstrings for a moment, +but only for a moment. Then she swung +her foot over the edge of the window-seat +and disposed of the situation, as she had always +disposed of situations, to her liking. +She had no notion that the Fates this time +were against her.</p> +<p>The next day her cousin Stannard Cameron +came over. Stannard was a long, +lazy youth, with a notion that what he did +or didn’t do was a matter of some importance +to the universe. All the Camerons +were inclined to that supposition, all but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +the Robert Camerons; and we don’t know +about them yet.</p> +<p>“So they’re going to ship me up into the +wilds of Vermont to Uncle Bob’s,” he +ended his tale of woe. “They’ll be long +on the soil, and all that rot. Have a farm, +haven’t they?”</p> +<p>“I was invited up there, too,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>“<i>You!</i>” An instant change became visible +in the melancholy countenance. “Going?”</p> +<p>“No, I think not.”</p> +<p>“Oh, come on! Be a sport. We’d +have fun together.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be a sport, but not that kind.”</p> +<p>“Guess again, Elliott. You and I could +paint the place red, whatever kind of a +shack it is they’ve got.”</p> +<p>“Stannard,” said the girl, “you’re terribly +young. If you think I’d go anywhere +with you and put up any kind of a +game on our cousins—<i>cousins</i>, Stan—”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span></div> +<p>“There are cousins and cousins.”</p> +<p>She shook her head. “No wilds in +mine. When do you start?”</p> +<p>“To-morrow, worse luck! What <i>are</i> +you going to do?”</p> +<p>She smiled tantalizingly. “I have made +plans.” True, she had made plans. The +fact that the second party to the transaction +was not yet aware of their existence +did not alter the fact that she had made +them. Then she devoted herself to the despondent +Stannard, and sent him away +cheered almost to the point of thinking, +when he left the house, that Vermont was +not quite off the map.</p> +<p>Not so Elizabeth Royce. Bess knew +precisely what was on the map, and had +Vermont been there, she would have noticed +it. There was not much, Miss Royce +secretly flattered herself, that escaped her. +She had heard of Mr. Robert Cameron; +but whether he resided in Kamchatka or +Timbuctoo she could not have told you. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +Mr. Robert Cameron, she had adduced +with an acumen beyond her years, was +the unsuccessful member of a highly successful +family. And now Elliott, adorable +Elliott, was to be marooned in this uncharted +district for a whole year. It was +unthinkable!</p> +<p>“But, Elliott darling, you’d <i>die</i> in Vermont!”</p> +<p>“Oh, no!” said Elliott; “I don’t think +I should find it pleasant, but I shouldn’t +die.”</p> +<p>“Pleasant!” sniffed Miss Royce. “I +should say not.”</p> +<p>“It <i>is</i> rather far away from everybody. +Think of not seeing you for a year, Bess!”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to think of it. What’s +the matter with your Uncle James’s house +when the quarantine’s lifted?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. But it has only just been put +on.”</p> +<p>“And the tournament next week. You +<i>can’t</i> miss that! Oh, <i>Elliott</i>!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></div> +<p>“I think,” remarked Elliott pensively, +“there ought to be a home opened for girls +whose fathers are in France.”</p> +<p>“Why,” asked Bess, gripped by a great +idea, “why shouldn’t you come to us while +your uncle’s house is quarantined?”</p> +<p>Why not, indeed? Elliott thought Bess +a little slow in arriving at so obvious and +satisfactory a solution of the whole difficulty, +but she was properly reluctant about +accepting in haste. “Wouldn’t that be +too much trouble? Of course, it would be +perfectly lovely for me, but what would +your mother say?”</p> +<p>“Mother will love to have you!” Miss +Royce spoke with conviction.</p> +<p>They spent the rest of the afternoon +making plans and Elizabeth went home +walking on air.</p> +<p>But Mother, alas! proved a stumbling-block. +“That would be very nice,” she +said, “very nice indeed; but Elliott Cameron +has plenty of relatives. They will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +make some arrangement among them. I +should hardly feel at liberty to interfere +with their plans.”</p> +<p>“But her Aunt Elinor is going to +France, and you know the James Camerons’ +house is in quarantine. That leaves +only the Vermont Camerons—”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. I remember, now, there was +a third brother. They have their plans, +probably.”</p> +<p>And that was absolutely all Bess could +get her mother to say.</p> +<p>“But, Mother,” she almost sobbed at +last, “I—I <i>asked</i> her!”</p> +<p>“Then I am afraid you will have to un-ask +her,” said Mrs. Royce. “We really +can’t get another person into the house this +summer, with your Aunt Grace and her +family coming in July.”</p> +<p>Then it was that Elliott discovered the +<i>impasse</i>. Try as she would, she could find +no way out, and she lost a good deal of +sleep in the attempt. To have to do something +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +that she didn’t wish to do was intolerable. +You may think this very silly; if +you do, it shows that you have not always +had your own way. Elliott had never had +anything but her own way. That it had +been in the main a sweet and likable way +did not change the fact. And how Stannard +would gloat over her! He had had to +do the thing himself, but secretly she had +looked down on him for it, just as she had +always despised girls who lamented their +obligation to go to places where they did +not wish to go. There was always, she +had held, a way out, if you used your +brains. Altogether, it was a disconcerted, +bewildered, and thoroughly put-out young +lady who, a week later, found herself taking +the train for Highboro. The world—her +familiar, complacent, agreeable +world—had lost its equilibrium.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_END_OF_A_JOURNEY' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_END_OF_A_JOURNEY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>THE END OF A JOURNEY</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Hours later, from a red-plush, Pullmanless +train, Elliott Cameron +stepped down to three people—a tall, dark, +surprisingly pretty girl a little older than +herself, a chunky girl of twelve, and a +middle-sized, freckle-faced boy. The boy +took her bag and asked for her trunk-checks +quite as well as any of her other +cousins could have done and the tall girl +kissed her and said how glad they were to +have the chance to know her.</p> +<p>“I am Laura,” she said, “and here is +Gertrude; and Henry will bring up your +trunks to-morrow, unless you need them +to-night. Mother sent you her love. Oh, +we’re so glad to have you come!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></div> +<p>Then it is to be feared that Elliott perjured +herself. Her all-day journey had +not in the least reconciled her to the situation; +if anything, she was feeling more +bewildered and put out than when she +started. But surprise and dismay had not +routed her desire to please. She smiled +prettily as her glance swept the welcoming +faces, and kissed the girls and handed the +boy two bits of pasteboard, and said—Oh, +Elliott!—how delighted she was to see +them at last. You would never have +dreamed from Elliott’s lips that she was +not overjoyed at the chance to come to +Highboro and become acquainted with +cousins that she had never known.</p> +<p>But Laura, who was wiser than she +looked, noticed that the new-comer’s eyes +were not half so happy as her tongue. +Poor dear, thought Laura, how pretty she +was and how daintily patrician and charming! +But her father was on his way to +France! And though he went in civilian +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +capacity and wasn’t in the least likely to +get hurt, when they were seated in the car +Laura leaned over and kissed her new +cousin again, with the recollection warm +on her lips of empty, anxious days when +she too had waited for the release of +the cards announcing safe arrivals overseas.</p> +<p>Elliott, who was every minute realizing +more fully the inexorableness of the fact +that she was where she was and not where +she wasn’t, kissed back without much +thought. It was her nature to kiss back, +however she might feel underneath, and +the surprising suddenness of the whole affair +had left her numb. She really hadn’t +much curiosity about the life into which +she was going. What did it matter, since +she didn’t intend to stay in it? Just as +soon as the quarantine was lifted from +Uncle James’s house she meant to go back +to Cedarville. But she did notice that the +little car was not new, that on their way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +through the town every one they met +bowed and smiled, that Henry had amazingly +good manners for a country boy, that +Laura looked very strong, that Gertrude +was all hands and elbows and feet and +eyes, and that the car was continually +either climbing up or sliding down hills. +It slid out of the village down a hill, and +it was climbing a hill when it met squarely +in the road a long, low, white house, +canopied by four big elms set at the four +corners, and gave up the ascent altogether +with a despairing honk-honk of its +horn.</p> +<p>A lady rose from the wide veranda of +the white house, laid something gray on a +table, and came smilingly down the steps. +A little girl of eight followed her, two dogs +dashed out, and a kitten. The road ran +into the yard and stopped; but behind the +house the hill kept on going up. Elliott +understood that she had arrived at the +Robert Camerons’.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/p0028a-insert.jpg' alt='' title='' width='554' height='365' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +Laura took the new cousin up to her room<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div> +<p>The lady, who was tall and dark-haired, +like Laura, but with lines of gray threading +the black, put her arms around the girl +and kissed her. Even in her preoccupation, +Elliott was dimly aware that the quality +of this embrace was subtly different +from any that she had ever received before, +though the lady’s words were not +unlike Laura’s. “Dear child,” she said, +“we are so glad to know you.” And the +big dark eyes smiled into Elliott’s with a +look that was quite new to that young person’s +experience. She didn’t know why +she felt a queer thrill run up her spine, but +the thrill was there, just for a minute. +Then it was gone and the girl only thought +that Aunt Jessica had the most fascinating +eyes that she had ever seen; whenever she +chose, it seemed that she could turn on a +great steady light to shine through their +velvety blackness.</p> +<p>Laura took the new cousin up to her +room. The house through which they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +passed seemed rather a barren affair, but +somehow pleasant in spite of its dark +painted floors and rag rugs and unmistakably +shabby furniture. Flowers were +everywhere, doors stood open, and breezes +blew in at the windows, billowing the +straight scrim curtains. The guest’s room +was small and slant-ceilinged. One picture, +an unframed photograph of a big +tree leaning over a brook, was tacked to +the wall; a braided rug lay on the floor; +on a small table were flowers and a book; +over the queer old chest of drawers hung a +small mirror; there was no pier-glass at +all. Very spotless and neat, but bare—hopelessly +bare, unless one liked that sort +of thing.</p> +<p>There was one bit of civilization, however, +that these people appreciated—one’s +need of warm water. As Elliott bathed +and dressed, her spirits lightened a little. +It did rather freshen a person’s outlook, +on a hot day, to get clean. She even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +opened the book to discover its name. +“Lorna Doone.” Was that the kind of +thing they read at the farm? She had always +meant to read “Lorna Doone,” when +she had time enough. It looked so interminably +long. But there wouldn’t be +much else to do up here, she reflected. +Then she surveyed what she could of herself +in the dim little mirror—probably +Laura would wish to copy her style of +hair-dressing—and descended, very slender +and chic, to supper.</p> +<p>It was a big circle which sat down at +that supper-table. There was Uncle +Robert, short and jolly and full of jokes, +who wished to hear all about everybody +and plied Elliott with questions. There +was another new cousin, a wiry boy called +Tom, and a boy older than Henry, who +certainly wasn’t a cousin, but who seemed +very much one of the family and who was +introduced as Bruce Fearing. And there +was Stannard. Stannard had returned in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +high feather from Upton and intercourse +with a classmate whom he would doubtless +have termed his kind. Stannard was inclined +for a minute or two to indulge in +code talk with Elliott. She did not encourage +him and it amused her to observe +how speedily the conversation became general +again, though in quite what way it +was accomplished she could not detect.</p> +<p>But if these new cousins’ manners were +above reproach, their supper-table was far +from sophisticated. No maid appeared, +and Gertrude and Tom and eight-year-old +Priscilla changed the plates. Laura and +Aunt Jessica, Elliott noticed, had entered +from the kitchen. It was no secret that +all the girls had been berrying in the forenoon. +Henry seemed to have had a hand +in making the ice-cream, judging by the +compliments he received. So that was the +way they lived, thought the new guest! +It was, however, a surprisingly good supper. +Elliott was astonished at herself for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +eating so much salad, so many berries and +muffins, and for passing her plate twice for +ice-cream.</p> +<p>After supper every one seemed to feel +it the natural thing to set to work and “do” +the dishes, or something else equally pressing; +at least every one for a short time +grew amazingly busy. Even Elliott asked +for an apron—it was Elliott’s code when +in Rome to do as the Romans do—though +she was relieved when her uncle tucked +her arm in his and said she must come and +talk to him on the porch. As they left +the kitchen, the boy Bruce was skilfully +whirling a string mop in a pan full of hot +suds.</p> +<p>Under cover of animated chatter with +her uncle Elliott viewed the prospect dolefully. +Dish-washing came three times a +day, didn’t it? The thing was evidently +a family rite in this household. The girl +understood her respite could be only temporary; +self-respect would see to that. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +But didn’t she catch a glimpse of Stannard +nonchalantly sauntering around a +corner of the house with the air of one who +hopes his back will not be noticed?</p> +<p>Presently she discovered another household +custom—to go up to the top of the +hill to watch the sunset. Up between +flowering borders and through a grassy +orchard the path climbed, thence to wind +through thickets of sweet fern and scramble +around boulders over a wild, fragrant +pasture slope. It was beautiful up there +on the hilltop, with its few big sheltering +trees, its welter of green crests on every +side, and its line of far blue peaks behind +which the sun went down—beautiful but +depressing. Depressing because every +one, except Stannard, seemed to enjoy it +so. Elliott couldn’t help seeing that they +were having a thoroughly good time. +There was something engaging about +these cousins that Elliott had never seen +among her cousins at home, a good-fellowship +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +that gave one in their presence a +sense of being closely knit together; of +something solid, dependable and secure, +for all its lightness and variety. But, oh, +dear! she knew that she wasn’t going to +care for the things that they cared for, or +enjoy doing the things that they did! And +there must be at least six weeks of this—dish-washing +and climbing hills, with +good frocks on. Six weeks, not a day +longer. But she exclaimed in pretty enthusiasm +over Laura’s disclosure of a bed +of maidenhair fern, tasted approvingly +Tom’s spring water, recited perfectly, +after only one hearing, Henry’s tale of the +peaks in view, and let Bruce Fearing give +her a geography lesson from the southernmost +point of the hilltop.</p> +<p>It was only when at last she was in bed +in the slant-ceilinged room, with her candle +blown out and a big moon looking in at +the window, that Elliott quite realized how +forlorn she felt and how very, very far +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +three thousand miles from Father was actually +going to seem.</p> +<p>The world up here in Vermont was so +very still. There were no lights except +the stars, and for a person accustomed to +an electrically illuminated street only a +few rods from her window, stars and a +moon merely added to the strangeness. +Soft noises came from the other rooms, +sounds of people moving about, but not a +sound from outside, nothing except at intervals +the cry of a mournful bird. After +a while the noises inside ceased. Elliott +lay quiet, staring at the moonlit room, and +feeling more utterly miserable than she +had ever felt before in her life. Homesick? +It must be that this was homesickness. +And she had been wont to laugh, +actually laugh, at girls who said they were +homesick! She hadn’t known that it felt +like this! She hadn’t known that anything +in all the world could feel as hideous +as this. She knew that in a minute +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +she was going to cry—she couldn’t help +herself; actually, Elliott Cameron was going +to cry.</p> +<p>A gentle tap came at the door. “Are +you asleep?” whispered a voice. “May I +come in?”</p> +<p>Laura entered, a tall white shape that +looked even taller in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“<i>Are</i> you sleepy?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>Laura settled softly on the foot of the +bed. “I hoped you weren’t. Let’s talk. +Doesn’t it seem a shame to waste time +sleeping on a night like this?”</p> +<p>Elliott tossed her a pillow. It was comforting +to have Laura there, to hear a +voice saying something, no matter what it +was talking about. And Laura’s voice +was very pleasant and what she said was +pleasant, too.</p> +<p>Soon another shape appeared at the +door Laura had left half-open. “It is too +fine a night to sleep, isn’t it, girls?” Aunt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +Jessica crossed the strip of moonlight and +dropped down beside Laura.</p> +<p>“Are you all in here?” presently inquired +a third voice. “I could hear you +talking and, anyway, I couldn’t sleep.”</p> +<p>“Come in,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>Gertrude burrowed comfortably down +on the other side of her mother.</p> +<p>Elliott, watching the three on the foot +of her bed, thought they looked very +happy. Her aunt’s hair hung in two +thick braids, like a girl’s, over her shoulders, +and her face, seen in the moonlight, +made Elliott feel things that she couldn’t +fit words to. She didn’t know what it +was she felt, exactly, but the forlornness +inside her began to grow less and less, until +at last, when her aunt bent down and +kissed her and a braid touched the pillow +on each side of Elliott’s face, it was quite +gone.</p> +<p>“Good night, little girl,” said Aunt Jessica, +“and happy dreams.”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_CAMERON_FARM' id='CHAPTER_III_CAMERON_FARM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>CAMERON FARM</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Elliot opened her eyes to bright +sunshine. For a minute she +couldn’t think where she was. Then the +strangeness came back with a stab, not so +poignant as on the night before but none +the less actual.</p> +<p>“Oh,” said a small, eager voice, “do you +think you’re going to stay waked up +now?”</p> +<p>Elliott’s eyes opened again, opened to +see Priscilla’s round, apple-cheeked face +at the door.</p> +<p>“It isn’t nice to peek, I know, but I’m +going to get your breakfast, and how could +I tell when to start it unless I watched to +see when you waked up?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></div> +<p>“<i>You</i> are going to get my breakfast?” +Elliott rose on one elbow in astonishment. +“All alone?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” said Priscilla. “Mother and +Laura are making jelly, and shelling peas +in between—to put up, you know—and +Trudy is pitching hay, so they can’t. Will +you have one egg or two? And do you +like ’em hard-boiled or soft; or would you +rather have ’em dropped on toast? And +how long does it take you to dress?”</p> +<p>“One—soft-boiled, please. I’ll be +down in half an hour.”</p> +<p>“Half an hour will give me lots of +time.” The small face disappeared and +the door closed softly.</p> +<p>Elliott rose breathlessly and looked at +her watch. Half an hour! She must +hurry. Priscilla would expect her. Priscilla +had the look of expecting people to +do what they said they would. And hereafter, +of course, she must get up to breakfast. +She wondered how Priscilla’s breakfast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +would taste. Heavens, how these +people worked!</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, Priscilla’s breakfast +tasted delicious. The toast was done +to a turn; the egg was of just the right +softness; a saucer of fresh raspberries +waited beside a pot of cream, and the whole +was served on a little table in a corner of +the veranda.</p> +<p>“Laura said you’d like it out here,” +Priscilla announced anxiously. “Do +you?”</p> +<p>“Very much indeed.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, then. I’m going to +have some berries and milk right opposite +you. I always get hungry about this time +in the forenoon.”</p> +<p>“When do you have breakfast, regular +breakfast, I mean?”</p> +<p>“At six o’clock in summer, when there’s +so much to do.”</p> +<p>Six o’clock! Elliott turned her gasp of +astonishment into a cough.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<p>“<i>I</i> sometimes choke,” said Priscilla, +“when I’m awfully hungry.”</p> +<p>“Does Stannard eat breakfast at six?” +Elliott felt she must get to the bed-rock of +facts.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!”</p> +<p>“What is he doing now?”</p> +<p>Priscilla wrinkled her small brow. +“Father and Bruce and Henry are haying, +and Tom’s hoeing carrots. I <i>think</i> Stan’s +hoeing carrots, too. One day last week he +hoed up two whole rows of beets; he +thought they were weeds. Oh!” A small +hand was clapped over the round red +mouth. “I didn’t mean to tell you that. +Mother said I mustn’t ever speak of it, +’cause he’d feel bad. Don’t you think +you could forget it, quick?”</p> +<p>“I’ve forgotten it now.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, then. After breakfast +I’m going to show you my chickens +and my calf. Did you know, I’ve a whole +calf all to myself?—a black-and-whitey +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +one. There are some cunning pigs, too. +Maybe you’d like to see them. And then +I ’spect you’ll want to go out to the hay-field, +or maybe make jelly.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Elliott, “I can’t see any +of it too soon.” But she was ashamed of +her double meaning, with those round, +eager eyes upon her. And her heart went +down quite into her boots.</p> +<p>But the chickens, she had to confess, +were rather amusing. Priscilla had them +all named and was quite sure some of +them, at least, answered to their names +and not merely to the sound of her voice. +She appealed to Elliott for corroboration +on this point and Elliott grew almost interested +trying to decide whether or not +Chanticleer knew he was “Chanticleer” +and not “Sunflower.” There were also +“Fluff” and “Scratch” and “Lady Gay” +and “Ruby Crown” and “Marshal Haig” +and “General Pétain” and many more, besides +“Brevity,” so named because, as Priscilla +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +solicitously explained, she never +seemed to grow. They all, with the exception +of Brevity, looked as like as peas to +Elliott, but Priscilla seemed to have no difficulty +in distinguishing them.</p> +<p>Priscilla’s enthusiasm was contagious; +or, to be more exact, it was so big and +warm and generous that it covered any +deficiency of enthusiasm in another. Elliott +found herself trailing Priscilla +through the barns and even out to see the +pigs, meeting Ferdinand Foch, the very +new colt, and Kitchener of Khartoum, who +had been a new colt three years before, +and almost holding hands with the “black-and-whitey” +calf, which Priscilla had very +nearly decided to call General Pershing. +And didn’t Elliott think that would be a +nice name, with “J.J.” for short? Elliott +had barely delivered herself of a somewhat +amused affirmative (though the +amusement she knew enough to conceal), +when the small tongue tripped into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +pigs’ roster. Every animal on the farm +seemed to have a name and a personality. +Priscilla detailed characteristics quite as +though their possessors were human.</p> +<p>It was an enlightened but somewhat +surfeited cousin whom Priscilla blissfully +escorted into the summer kitchen, a big +latticed space filled with the pleasant odors +of currant jelly. On the broad table stood +trays of ruby-filled glasses.</p> +<p>“We’ve seen all the creatures,” Priscilla +announced jubilantly “and she loves ’em. +Oh, the jelly’s done, isn’t it? Mumsie, +may we scrape the kettle?”</p> +<p>Aunt Jessica laughed. “Elliott may not +care to scrape kettles.”</p> +<p>Priscilla opened her eyes wide at the absurdity +of the suggestion. “You do, don’t +you? You must! Everybody does. Just +wait a minute till I get spoons.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think I quite know how to do +it,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>The next minute a teaspoon was thrust +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +into her hand. “Didn’t you <i>ever</i>?” +Priscilla’s voice was both aghast and pitying. +“It wastes a lot, not scraping kettles. +Good as candy, too. Here, you begin.” +She pushed a preserving-kettle forward +hospitably.</p> +<p>Elliott hesitated.</p> +<p>“<i>I’ll</i> show you.” The small hand shot +in, scraped vigorously for a minute, and +withdrew, the spoon heaped with ruddy +jelly. “There! Mother didn’t leave as +much as usual, though. I ’spect it’s +’cause sugar’s so scarce. She thought she +must put it all into the glasses. But +there’s always something you can scrape +up.”</p> +<p>“It is delicious,” said Elliott, graciously; +“and what a lovely color!”</p> +<p>Priscilla beamed. “You may have two +scrapes to my one, because you have so +much time to make up.”</p> +<p>“You generous little soul! I couldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +think of doing that. We will take our +‘scrapes’ together.”</p> +<p>Priscilla teetered a little on her toes. “I +like you,” she said. “I like you a whole +lot. I’d hug you if my hands weren’t +sticky. Scraping kettles makes you awful +sticky. You make me think of a +princess, too. You’re so bee-yeautiful to +look at. Maybe that isn’t polite to say. +Mother says it isn’t always nice to speak +right out all you think.”</p> +<p>The dimples twinkled in Elliott’s cheeks. +“When you think things like that, it is polite +enough.” In the direct rays of Priscilla’s +shining admiration she began to feel +like her normal, petted self once more. +Complacently she followed the little girl +into the main kitchen. It was a long, low, +sunny room with a group of three windows +at each end, through which the morning +breeze pushed coolly. Between the windows +opened many doors. At one side +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +stood a range, all shining nickel and cleanly +black. Opposite the range, at a gleaming +white sink, Aunt Jessica was busying herself +with many pans. At an immaculately +scoured table Laura was pouring peas into +glass jars. On the walls was a blue-and-white +paper; even the woodwork was +white.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know a kitchen,” Elliott spoke +impulsively, “could be so pretty.”</p> +<p>“This is our work-room,” said her aunt. +“We think the place where we work ought +to be the prettiest room in the house. +White paint requires more frequent scrubbing +than colored paint; but the girls say +they don’t mind, since it keeps our spirits +smiling. Would you like to help dry these +pans? You will find towels on that line +behind the stove.”</p> +<p>Elliott brought the dish-towels, and +proceeded to forget her own surprise at +the request in the interest of Aunt Jessica’s +talk. Mrs. Cameron had a lovely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +voice; the girl did not remember ever having +heard a more beautiful voice, and it +was used with a cultured ease that suddenly +reminded Elliott of an almost forgotten +remark once made in her hearing by +Stannard’s mother. “It is a sin and +shame,” Aunt Margaret had said, “to bury +a woman like Jessica Cameron on a farm. +What possessed her to let Robert take her +there in the first place is beyond my comprehension. +Granting that first mistake, +why she has let him stay all these years is +another enigma. Robert is all very well, +but Jessica! I would defy any one to produce +the situation <i>anywhere</i> that Jessica +wouldn’t be equal to.”</p> +<p>That had been a good deal for Aunt +Margaret to say. Elliott had realized it +at the time and wondered a little; now she +understood the words, or thought she did. +Why, even drying milk-pans took on a certain +distinction when it was done in Aunt +Jessica’s presence!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></div> +<p>Then Aunt Jessica said something that +really did surprise her young guest. She +had been watching the girl closely, quite +without Elliott’s knowledge.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you would like this for your +own special part of the work,” she said +pleasantly. “We each have our little +chores, you know. I couldn’t let every +girl attempt the milk things, but you are +so careful and thorough that I haven’t the +least hesitation about giving them to you. +Now I am going to wash the separator. +Watch me, and then you will know just +what to do.”</p> +<p>The words left Elliott gasping. Wash +the separator, all by herself, every day—or +was it twice a day?—for as long as she +stayed here! And pans—all these pans? +What was a separator, anyway? She +wished flatly to refuse, but the words stuck +in her throat. There was something about +Aunt Jessica that you couldn’t say no to. +Aunt Jessica so palpably expected you to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +be delighted. She was discriminating, +too. She had recognized at once that Elliott +was not an ordinary girl. But—but—</p> +<p>It was all so disconcerting that self-possessed +Elliott stammered. She stammered +from pure surprise and chagrin and a confusing +mixture of emotions, but what she +stammered was in answer to Aunt Jessica’s +tone and extracted from her by the force +of Aunt Jessica’s personality. The words +came out in spite of herself.</p> +<p>“Oh—oh, thank you,” she said, a bit +blankly. Then she blushed with confusion. +How awkward she had been. +Oughtn’t Aunt Jessica to have thanked +her?</p> +<p>If Aunt Jessica noticed either the confusion +or the blankness, she gave no sign.</p> +<p>“That will be fine!” she said heartily. +“I saw by the way you handled those pans +that I could depend on you.”</p> +<p>Insensibly Elliott’s chin lifted. She regarded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +the pans with new interest. “Of +course,” she assented, “one has to be particular.”</p> +<p>“Very particular,” said Aunt Jessica, +and her dark eyes smiled on the girl.</p> +<p>The words, as she spoke them, sounded +like a compliment. It mightn’t be so bad, +Elliott reflected, to wash milk-pans every +morning. And in Rome you do as the Romans +do. She watched closely while Aunt +Jessica washed the separator. She could +easily do that, she was sure. It did not +seem to require any unusual skill or +strength or brain-power.</p> +<p>“It is not hard work,” said Aunt Jessica, +pleasantly. “But so many girls aren’t dependable. +I couldn’t count on them to +make everything clean. Sometimes I +think just plain dependableness is the most +delightful trait in the world. It’s so rare, +you know.”</p> +<p>Elliott opened her eyes wide. She had +been accustomed to hear charm and wit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +and vivacity spoken of in those terms, but +dependableness? It had always seemed +such a homely, commonplace thing, not +worth mentioning. And here was Aunt +Jessica talking of it as of a crown jewel! +Right down in her heart at that minute Elliott +vowed that the separator should always +be clean.</p> +<p>The separator, however, must not commit +her indiscriminately, she saw that +clearly. Perhaps in fact, it would save +her. Hadn’t Aunt Jessica said each had +her own tasks? Ergo, you let others +alone. But she had an uncomfortable +feeling that this reasoning might prove +false in practice; in this household a good +many tasks seemed to be pooled. How +about them?</p> +<p>And then Laura looked up from her jars +and said the oddest thing yet in all this +morning of odd sayings: “Oh, Mother, +mayn’t we take our dinner out? It is such +a perfectly beautiful day!” As though a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +beautiful day had anything to do with +where you ate your dinner!</p> +<p>But Aunt Jessica, without the least surprise +in her voice, responded promptly: +“Why, yes! We have three hours free +now, and it seems a crime to stay in the +house.”</p> +<p>What in the world did they mean?</p> +<p>Priscilla seemed to have no difficulty in +understanding. She jumped up and down +and cried: “Oh, goody! goody! We’re +going to take our dinner out! We’re going +to take our dinner out! Isn’t it +<i>jolly</i>?”</p> +<p>She was standing in front of Elliott as +she spoke, and the girl felt that some reply +was expected of her. “Why, can we? +Where do we go?” she asked, exactly as +though she expected to see a hotel spring +up out of the ground before her eyes.</p> +<p>“Lots of days we do,” said Priscilla. +“We’ll find a nice place. Oh, I’m glad it +takes peas three whole hours to can themselves. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +I think they’re kind of slow, +though, don’t you?”</p> +<p>Laura noticed the bewilderment on Elliott’s +face. “Priscilla means that we are +going to eat our dinner out-of-doors while +the peas cook in the hot-water bath,” she +explained. “Don’t you want to pack up +the cookies? You will find them in that +stone crock on the first shelf in the pantry, +right behind the door. There’s a pasteboard +box in there, too, that will do to put +them in.”</p> +<p>“How many shall I put up?” questioned +Elliott.</p> +<p>“Oh, as many as you think we’ll eat. +And I warn you we have good appetites.”</p> +<p>Those were the vaguest directions, Elliott +thought, that she had ever heard; but +she found the box and the stone pot of +cookies and stood a minute, counting the +people who were to eat them. Four right +here in the kitchen and five—no, six—out-of-doors. +Would two dozen cookies be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +enough for ten people? She put her head +into the kitchen to ask, but there was no +one in sight, so she had to decide the point +by herself. After nibbling a crumb she +thought not, and added another dozen. +And then there was still so much room left +that she just filled up the box, regardless. +Afterward she was very glad of it. She +wouldn’t have supposed it possible for ten +people to eat as many cookies as those ten +people ate after all the other things they had +eaten.</p> +<p>By the time she had finished her calculations +with the cookies, Aunt Jessica and +Laura and Priscilla were ready. When +Elliott emerged from the pantry, the little +car was at the kitchen door, with a hamper +and two pails of water in it, and on the +back seat a long, queer-looking box that +Laura told Elliott was a fireless cooker.</p> +<p>“Home-made,” said Laura, “you’d +know that to look at it, but it works just +as well. It’s the grandest thing, especially +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +when we want to eat out-of-doors. +Saves lots of trouble.”</p> +<p>Elliott gasped. “You mean you carry +it along to cook the dinner in?”</p> +<p>“Why, the dinner’s cooking in it now! +Hop on, everybody. Mother, you take the +wheel. Elliott and I will ride on the +steps.”</p> +<p>Away they sped, bumpity-bump, to the +hay-field, picking up the carrot-hoers as +they went. It is astonishing how many +people can cling to one little car, when +those people are neither very wide nor, +some of them, very tall. From the hay-field +they nosed their way into a little dell, +all ferns and cool white birches, and far +above, a canopy of leaf-traceried blue +sky. In the next few minutes it became +very plain to the new cousin that the Camerons +were used to doing this kind of +thing. Every one seemed to know exactly +what to do. The pails of water were +swung to one side; the fireless cooker took +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +up its position on a flat gray rock. The +hamper yielded loaves of bread—light and +dark, that one cut for oneself on a smooth +white board—and a basket stocked with +plates and cups and knives and forks and +spoons. Potted meat and potatoes and +two kinds of vegetables, as they were +wanted, came from the fireless cooker, all +deliciously tender and piping hot. It was +like a cafeteria in the open, thought Elliott, +except that one had no tray.</p> +<p>And every one laughed and joked and +had a good time. Even Elliott had a +fairly good time, though she thought it was +thoroughly queer. You see, it had never +occurred to her that people could pick up +their dinner and run out-of-doors into any +lovely spot that they came to, to eat it. +She wasn’t at all sure she cared for that +way of doing things. But she liked the +beauty of the little dell, the ferny smell of +it, and the sunshine and cheerfulness. +The occasional darning-needles, and small +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +green worms, and black or other colored +bugs, she enjoyed less. She hadn’t been +accustomed to associate such things with +her dinner. But nobody else seemed to +mind; perhaps the others were used to taking +bugs and worms with their meals. If +one appeared, they threw him away and +went on eating as though nothing had happened.</p> +<p>And of course it was rather clever of +them, the girl reflected, to take a picnic +when they could get it. If they hadn’t +done so, she didn’t quite see, judging by +the portion of a day she had so far observed, +how they could have got any picnics +at all. The method utilized scraps of +time, left-overs and between-times, that +were good for little else. It was a rather +arresting discovery, to find out that people +could divert themselves without giving up +their whole time to it. But, after all, it +wasn’t a method for her. She was positive +on that point. It seemed the least little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +bit common, too—such whole-hearted +absorption as the Camerons showed in pursuits +that were just plain work.</p> +<p>“Stan,” she demanded, late that afternoon, +“is there any tennis here?”</p> +<p>“Not so you’d notice it. What are you +thinking of, in war-time, Elliott? Uncle +Samuel expects every farmer to do his +duty. All the men and older boys around +here have either volunteered or been +drafted. So we’re all farmers, especially +the girls. <i>Quod erat demonstrandum</i>. +Savvy?”</p> +<p>“Any luncheons?”</p> +<p>“Meals, Lot, plain meals.”</p> +<p>“Parties?”</p> +<p>Stannard threw up his hands. “Never +heard of ’em!”</p> +<p>“Canoeing?”</p> +<p>“No water big enough.”</p> +<p>“I suppose nobody here thinks of motoring +for pleasure.”</p> +<p>“Never. Too busy.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></div> +<p>“Or gets an invitation for a spin?”</p> +<p>“You’re behind the times.”</p> +<p>“So I see.”</p> +<p>“Harry told me that this summer is +extra strenuous,” Stannard explained; +“but they’ve always rather gone in for the +useful, I take it. Had to, most likely. +They’d be all right, too, if they didn’t live +so. They’re a good sort, an awfully good +sort. But, ginger, how a fellow’d have +to hump to keep up with ’em! I don’t try. +I do a little, and then sit back and call it +done.”</p> +<p>If Elliott hadn’t been so miserable, she +would have laughed. Stannard had hit +himself off very well, she thought. He +had his good points, too. Not once had +he reminded her that she hadn’t intended +to spend her summer on a farm. But she +was too unhappy to tease him as she might +have done at another time. She was still +bewildered and inclined to resent the trick +life had played her. The prospect didn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +look any better on close inspection than it +had at first; rather worse, if anything. +Imagine her, Elliott Cameron pitching +hay! Not that any one had asked her to. +But how could a person live for six weeks +with these people and not do what they +did? Such was Elliott’s code. Delightful +people, too. But she didn’t wish to +pitch hay and she loathed washing dishes. +There was something so messy about dish-washing, +ordinary dish-washing; milk-pans +were different.</p> +<p>Then suddenly Elliott Cameron did a +strange thing. By this time she had +shaken off Stannard and had betaken herself +and her disgust to the edge of the +woods. She was so very miserable that +she didn’t know herself and she knew herself +less than ever in this next act. Alone +in the woods, as she thought, with only +moss underfoot and high green boughs +overhead, Elliott lifted her foot and deliberately +and with vehemence stamped it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +“I don’t like things!” she whispered, a little +shocked at her own words. “I don’t +<i>like</i> things!”</p> +<p>Then she looked up and met the amused +eyes of Bruce Fearing.</p> +<p>For a minute the hot color flooded the +girl’s face. But she seized the bull by the +horns. “I am cross,” she said, “frightfully +cross!” And she looked so engagingly +pretty as she said it that Bruce +thought he had never seen so attractive a +girl.</p> +<p>“Anything in particular gone wrong +with the universe?”</p> +<p>“Everything, with my part of it.” +What possessed her, she wondered afterward, +to say what she said next? “I +never wanted to come here.”</p> +<p>“That so? We’ve been thinking it +rather nice.”</p> +<p>In spite of herself, she was mollified. +“It isn’t quite that, either,” she explained. +“I’ve only just discovered the real trouble, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +myself. What makes me so mad isn’t +altogether the fact that I didn’t want to +come up here. It’s that I hadn’t any +choice. I <i>had</i> to come.”</p> +<p>The boy’s eyes twinkled. “So that’s +what’s bothering you, is it? Cheer up! +You had the choice of <i>how</i> you’d come, +didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Sometimes I think that’s all the +choice they give us in this world. It’s all +I’ve had, anyway—how I’d do a thing.”</p> +<p>“You mean, gracefully or—”</p> +<p>“I mean—”</p> +<p>“Hello!” said Stannard’s voice. “What +are you two chinning about before the +cows come home?”</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_IN_UNTRODDEN_FIELDS' id='CHAPTER_IV_IN_UNTRODDEN_FIELDS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>IN UNTRODDEN FIELDS</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“You don’t want to have much to do +with that fellow,” said Stannard, +when Bruce Fearing had gone on about +whatever business he had in hand.</p> +<p>“Why not?” Elliott’s tone was short. +She had wanted to hear what Bruce was +going to say.</p> +<p>“Oh, he is all right, enough, I guess, but +nobody knows where he came from. He +and that Pete brother of his are no relations +of ours, or of Aunt Jessica’s either.”</p> +<p>“How does he happen to be living here, +then?”</p> +<p>“Search me. Some kind of a pick-up, +I gathered. Nobody talks much about it. +They take him as a matter of course. All +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +right enough for them, if they want to, +but they really ought to warn strangers. +A fellow would think he was—er—all +right, you know.”</p> +<p>Stannard’s words made Elliott very uncomfortable. +She thought the reason they +disquieted her was that she had rather +liked Bruce Fearing, and now to have him +turn out a person whom she couldn’t be as +friendly with as she wished was disconcerting. +It was only another point in her +indictment of life on the Cameron farm; +one couldn’t tell whom one was knowing. +But she determined to sound Laura, which +would be easy enough, and Stannard’s +charge might prove unfounded.</p> +<p>But sounding Laura was not easy, +chiefly for the reason Stannard had +shrewdly deduced, that the Robert Camerons +took Peter and Bruce Fearing in quite +as matter-of-fact a way as they took themselves. +Laura even failed to discover that +she was being sounded.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div> +<p>“Who is this ‘Pete’ you’re always talking +about?” Elliott asked.</p> +<p>“Bruce’s older brother—I almost said +ours.” The two girls were skimming currants, +Laura with the swift skill of accustomed +fingers, Elliott more slowly. “He +is perfectly fine. I wish you could know +him.”</p> +<p>“I gathered he was Bruce’s brother.”</p> +<p>“He’s not a bit like Bruce. Pete is +short and dark and as quick as a flash. +You’d know he would make a splendid +aviator. There was a letter in the ‘Upton +News’ last night from an Upton doctor +who is over there, attached now to our +boys’ camp; did you see it? He says Bob +and Pete are ‘the acknowledged aces’ of +their squadron. That shows we must +have missed some of their letters. The +last one from Bob was written just after +he had finished his training.”</p> +<p>“This—Pete went from here?”</p> +<p>“He and Bob were in Tech together, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +juniors. They enlisted in Boston, and +they’ve kept pretty close tabs on each +other ever since. They had their training +over here in the same camps. In France, +Pete got into spirals first, ‘by a fluke,’ as +he put it; Bob was unlucky with his landings. +But, some way or other, Bob seems +to have beaten him to the actual fighting. +Now they’re in it together.” And Laura +smiled and then sighed, and the nimble +fingers stopped work for a minute, only +to speed faster than ever.</p> +<p>“I haven’t read you any of their letters, +have I? Or Sid’s either? (Sidney +is my twin, you know. He is at Devens.) +But I will. If anything, Pete’s are funnier +than Bob’s. Both the boys have an +eye to the jolly side of things. Sometimes +you wouldn’t think there was anything +to flying but a huge lark, by the way +they write. But there was one letter of +Pete’s (it was to Mother), written from +their first training-camp in France after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +one of the boys’ best friends had been +killed. Pete was evidently feeling sober, +but oh, so different from the way any one +would have felt about such a thing before +the war began! There was plenty of fun +in the letter, too, but toward the end, Pete +told about this Jim Stone’s death, and he +said: ‘It has made us all pretty serious, +but nobody’s blue. Jim was a splendid +fellow, and a chap can’t think he has +stopped as quick as all that. Mother +Jess, do you remember my talking to you +one Sunday after church, freshman vacation, +about the things I didn’t believe in? +Why didn’t you tell me I was a fool? You +knew it then, and I know it now.’ That’s +Pete all over. It made Mother and me +very happy.”</p> +<p>Elliott felt rather ashamed to continue +her probing. “Have they always lived +with you,” she asked, “the Fearings?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, ever since I can remember. +Isn’t Bruce splendid? I don’t know how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +we could have got on at all this summer +without Bruce.”</p> +<p>Then Elliott gave up. If a mystery existed, +either Laura didn’t know of it, or +she had forgotten it, or else she considered +it too negligible to mention.</p> +<p>The girl found that for some reason she +did not care to ask Stannard the source +of his information. Would Bruce himself +prove communicative? There could be no +harm in finding out. Besides, it would +tease Stannard to see her talking with +“that fellow,” and Elliott rather enjoyed +teasing Stannard. And didn’t she owe +him something for a dictatorial interruption?</p> +<p>The thing would require manœuvering. +You couldn’t talk to Bruce Fearing, or to +any one else up here, whenever you felt +like it; he was far too busy. But on +the hill at sunset Elliott found her +chance.</p> +<p>“I think Aunt Jessica,” she remarked, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +“is the most wonderful woman I’ve ever +seen.”</p> +<p>A glow lit up Bruce’s quiet gray eyes. +“Mother Jess,” he said, “is a miracle.”</p> +<p>“She is so terrifically busy, and yet she +never seems to hurry; and she always has +time to talk to you and she never acts +tired.”</p> +<p>“She is, though.”</p> +<p>“I suppose she must be, sometimes. I +like that name for her, ‘Mother Jess.’ +Your—aunt, is she?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” said Bruce, simply. “I’ve no +Cameron or Fordyce blood in me, or any +other pedigreed variety. My corpuscles +are unregistered. She and Father Bob +took Pete and me in when I was a baby +and Pete was a mere toddler. I was born +in the hotel down in the town there,—Am I +boring you?”</p> +<p>“No, indeed!” Elliott had the grace +to blush at the ease with which she was +carrying on her investigation.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>He wondered why she flushed, but went +on quietly. “Our own mother died there +in the hotel when I was a week old and we +didn’t seem to have any kin. At least, +they never showed up. Mother was evidently +a widow; Mother Jess got that from +her belongings. She stopped overnight at +Highboro, and I was born there. She +hadn’t told any one in the hotel where she +was going. Registered from Boston, but +nobody could be found in Boston who knew +of her. The authorities were going to +send Pete and me to some kind of a capitalized +Home, when Mother Jess stepped +in. She hadn’t enough boys, so she said. +Bob and Laura and Sid were on deck. +Henry and Tom came along later. Fordyce +was the one that died; he’d just +slipped out. Mother Jess was feeling +lonely, I guess. Anyway, she took us +two; said she thought we’d be better off +on the farm than in a Home and she +needed us—bless her! Do you wonder +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +Pete and I swear by the Camerons?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Elliott. “Indeed I don’t.” +She had what she had been angling for, in +good measure, but she rather wished she +hadn’t got it, after all. “Haven’t you +had any clue in all these years as to who +your people were?”</p> +<p>“Not the slightest. I’m willing to let +things rest as they are.”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course,” thought Elliott, +“but—” She let it go at “but.” Oughtn’t +somebody, as Stannard said, to have +warned her? These boys’ people might +have been very common persons, not at all +like Camerons. The fact that no relatives +appeared proved that, didn’t it? Every +one who was any one at all had a family. +Bruce did not look common: his gray eyes +and his broad forehead and his keen, thin +face were almost distinguished, and his +manners were above criticism. But one +never could tell. And hadn’t he been +brought up by Camerons? The very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +openness with which he had told his story +had something fine about it. He, like +Laura, seemed to see nothing in it to conceal.</p> +<p>Well, was there? Elliott could quite +clearly imagine what Aunt Margaret, +Stannard’s mother, would say to that +question. She had never especially cared +for Aunt Margaret. As Elliott looked at +Bruce Fearing, one of the pillars of her +familiar world began to totter. Actually, +she could think of no particularly good +reason why, when she had heard his story, +she should proceed to shun him. His history +simply didn’t seem to matter, except +to make her sorry for him; and yet she +couldn’t be really sorry for a boy who had +been brought up by Aunt Jessica.</p> +<p>Perhaps the Cameron Farm atmosphere +was already beginning to work.</p> +<p>“I think you and your brother had luck,” +she said.</p> +<p>“I know we did,” answered Bruce.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></div> +<p>Elliott turned the conversation. “I +wish you could tell me what you were going +to say, when we were interrupted yesterday, +about a person’s having no choice +except how he will do things—<i>you</i> having +had only that kind of choice.”</p> +<p>“I remember,” said Bruce. “Well, for +one thing, I suppose I could get grouchy, +if I chose, over not knowing who my people +were.”</p> +<p>“They may have been very splendid,” +said Elliott.</p> +<p>Bruce smiled. “It’s not likely.”</p> +<p>“In that case,” she countered, “you have +the satisfaction of <i>not</i> knowing who they +were.”</p> +<p>“Exactly. But that’s rather a crawl, +isn’t it? Of course, a fellow would like +to know.”</p> +<p>The boy bent forward, and, with painstaking +care, selected a blade from a tuft of +grass growing between his feet. He nibbled +a minute before he spoke again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></div> +<p>“See here, I’m going to tell you something +I haven’t told a soul. I’m crazy to +go to the war. Sometimes it seems as +though I couldn’t stay home. When +Pete’s letters come I have to go away somewhere +quick and chop wood! Anything to +get busy for a while.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t you too young? Would they +take you?”</p> +<p>“Take me? You bet they’d take me! +I’m eighteen. Don’t I look twenty?”</p> +<p>The girl’s eye ran critically over the +strong young body, with its long, supple, +sinewy lines. “Yes,” she nodded. “I +think you do.”</p> +<p>“They’d take me in a minute, in aviation +or anything else.”</p> +<p>“Then why don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Who’d help Father Bob through the +farm stunts? Young Bob’s gone, and +Pete and Sidney. They were always here +for the summer work. Henry’s a fine lad, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +but a boy still. Tom’s nothing but a boy, +though he does his bit. As for the Women’s +Land Army, it’s got up into these +parts, but not in force. Father Bob can’t +hire help: it’s not to be had. That’s why +Mother Jess and the girls are going in so +for farm work. They never did it before +this year, except in sport. We have +more land under cultivation this summer +than ever before, and fewer hands to +harvest it with. But Mother and the girls +sha’n’t have to work harder than they’re +doing now, if I can help it. Could I go +off and leave them, after all they’ve done +for me? But that’s not it, either—gratitude. +They’re mine, Father Bob and +Mother Jess are, and the rest; they’re my +folks. You’re not exactly grateful to +your own folks, you know. They belong +to you. And you don’t leave what belongs +to you in the lurch.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Elliott. With awakened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +eyes she was watching Bruce. No boy +had ever talked of such things to her before. +“So you’re not going?”</p> +<p>“Not of my own will. Of course, if the +war lasts and I’m drafted, or the help +problem lightens up, it will be different. +Pete’s gone. It was Pete’s right to go. +He’s the elder.”</p> +<p>“But you <i>are</i> choosing,” Elliott cried +earnestly. “Don’t you see? You’re +choosing to stay at home and—” words +came swiftly into her memory—“‘fight it +out on these lines all summer.’”</p> +<p>Bruce’s smile showed that he recognized +her quotation, but he shook his head. +“Choosing? I haven’t any choice—except +being decent about it. Don’t <i>you</i> see +I can’t go? I can only try to keep from +thinking about not going.”</p> +<p>“You being you,” said the girl, and she +spoke as simply and soberly as Bruce himself, +though her own warmth surprised +her, “I see you can’t go. But was that all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +you meant”—her voice grew ludicrously +disappointed—“by a person’s having a +choice only of how he will do a thing? +There’s nothing to that but making the +best of things!”</p> +<p>Bruce Fearing threw back his head and +laughed heartily.</p> +<p>“You’re the funniest girl I’ve ever +seen.”</p> +<p>“Then you can’t have seen many. But +<i>is</i> there?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps not. Stupid, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she nodded, “I’m afraid it is. +And frightfully old. I was hoping you +were going to tell me something new and +exciting.”</p> +<p>The boy chuckled again. “Nothing so +good as that. Besides, I’ve a hunch the +exciting things aren’t very new, after all.”</p> +<p>Elliott went to sleep that night, if not +any happier, at least more interested. She +had looked deep into the heart of a boy, +different, it appeared, from any boy that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +she had ever known; and something loyal +and sturdy and tender she had seen there +had stirred her. It was odd how well acquainted +she felt with him; odd, too, how +curious she was to know him better, even +though he hadn’t the least idea who his +grandfather had been. “Bother his +grandfather!” Elliott chuckled to realize +how such a sentiment would horrify Aunt +Margaret. Grandfathers were very important +to Aunt Margaret and Aunt Margaret’s +children. Grandfathers had always +seemed fairly important to Elliott +herself until now. Was it their relative +unimportance in the Robert Camerons’ estimation, +or a pair of steady gray eyes, +that had altered her valuation? The girl +didn’t know and she was keen enough to +know that she didn’t; keen enough, too, +to perceive that the change in her estimation +of grandfathers applied to a single +case only and might be merely temporary.</p> +<p>However that might be, she was not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +ready yet to do anything so inherently distasteful +as make the best of what she +didn’t like, especially when nobody but +herself and two boys would know it. +When one makes the best of things, one +likes to do it to crowded galleries, that perceive +what is going on and applaud. The +Robert Camerons, Elliott was quite sure, +wouldn’t applaud. They would take it as +a matter of course, just as they took her +as a matter of course. They were quite +charming about it, as delightful hosts as +one could wish—if only they lived differently!—but +Elliott wasn’t used to being +taken for granted. She might have been +these new cousins’ own sort, for any difference +she could detect in their actions. +They didn’t seem to begin to understand +her importance. Perhaps she wasn’t so +important, after all. The doubt had never +before entered her mind.</p> +<p>The fact was, of course, that among +these busy, efficient people she was feeling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +quite useless; and she didn’t like to +appear incompetent when she knew herself +to be, in her own line, a thoroughly +able person. But it irked her to think +that she had been forced into a position +where in self-defense she must either acquire +a kind of efficiency she didn’t want +or do without. At the same time it troubled +her lest this reluctance become apparent. +For they were all loves and she +wouldn’t hurt their feelings for worlds. +And she did wish them to admire her. +But she had a feeling that they didn’t altogether, +not even Priscilla and Bruce.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, the next day when Laura +asked whether she would take her book out +to the hay-field or stay where she was on +the porch, Elliott looked up from “Lorna +Doone” and said, with the prettiest little +coaxing air, “If I go, will you let me pitch +hay?” And Laura answered as lightly, +“Certainly.” “I don’t believe you,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +Elliott. “You may ride on the hay-load,” +smiled Laura. “That won’t do at all,” +Elliott shook her head. “If I can’t pitch +hay, I’ll stay here.” Laura laughed and +said: “You certainly will be more comfortable +here. I can’t quite see you pitching +hay.” And Elliott retorted: “You +don’t know what I could do, if I tried. +But since you won’t let me try—”</p> +<p>It was all smiling and gay, but it was a +crawl, and Elliott knew it and knew that +Laura knew it, and she felt ashamed. +Wasn’t Stannard’s frank shirking better +than her camouflaged variety? But +hadn’t she picked berries all the morning +in a stuffy sunbonnet under a broiling sun, +until she felt as red as a berry and much +less fresh and sweet?</p> +<p>“It’s a shame,” said Laura, “that this +is just our busy season; but you know you +have to make hay while the sun shines. +Father thinks we can finish the lower +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +meadows to-day. Then to-morrow we +begin cutting on the hill. It’s really fun +to ride the hay-rake. I mostly drive the +rake, though now and then I pitch for +variety.”</p> +<p>She looked so strong and brown and +merry, as she talked, that Elliott, comfortably +established with “Lorna Doone,” felt +almost like flinging her book into the next +chair, slipping her arm through Laura’s, +and crying, “Lead on!” But she remembered +just in time that, as she hadn’t +wished to come to the Cameron Farm, it +would ill become her to have a good time +there. Which may seem like a childish +way of looking at the thing, but isn’t really +confined to children at all.</p> +<p>So the hay-makers tramped away down +the road, their laughter floating cheerfully +back over their shoulders; and Elliott sat +on the big shady veranda and read her +book.</p> +<p>She might have enjoyed it less had she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +heard Henry’s frank summary at the turn +of the lane, when his father inquired the +whereabouts of Stannard.</p> +<p>“Beau Brummell hiked over to Upton +half an hour ago. I offered him the other +Henry, but he doesn’t seem to care to +drive anything short of a Pierce-Arrow. +Twins, aren’t they?” and Henry nodded +in the direction of the veranda.</p> +<p>“Sh-h!” reproved Laura. “They’re +our guests.”</p> +<p>“Guests is just it. Yes, they’re <i>guests</i>, +all right.”</p> +<p>“Mother says they don’t know how to +work,” Priscilla observed.</p> +<p>“That’s another true word, too.”</p> +<p>Mother turned gaily in the road ahead. +“Who is talking about me?” she called.</p> +<p>Priscilla frisked on to join her, and +Henry fell back to a confidential exchange +with Laura. “Beau wouldn’t be so bad if +he could forget for a minute that he owned +the earth and had a mortgage on the solar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +system. But when he tries to snub Bruce—gee, +that gets me!”</p> +<p>“Aren’t you twanging the G string +rather often lately, Hal?—Stannard can’t +snub Bruce. Bruce isn’t the kind of fellow +to be snubbed.”</p> +<p>“Just the same, it makes me sick to think +anybody’s a cousin to me that would try +it.”</p> +<p>Laura switched back to the main subject. +“We didn’t ask them up here as extra +farm hands, you know.”</p> +<p>“Bull’s-eye,” said Henry, and grinned.</p> +<p>What she did not know failed to trouble +Elliott. She read on in lonely peace +through the afternoon. At a most exciting +point the telephone rang. Four, that +was the Cameron call. Elliott went into +the house and took down the receiver.</p> +<p>“Mr. Robert Cameron’s,” she said pleasantly.</p> +<p>“S-say!” stuttered a high, sharp voice, +“my little b-b-boys have let your c-c-cows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +out o’ the p-p-pasture. I’ll g-give ’em a +t-t-trouncin’, but ’t won’t git your c-c-cows +back. They let ’em out the G-G-Garrett +Road, and your medder gate’s open. Jim +B-B-Blake saw it this mornin’! Why the +man didn’t shut it, I d-d-dunno. You’ll +have to hurry to save your medder.”</p> +<p>“But,” gasped Elliott, “I don’t understand! +You say the cows—”</p> +<p>“Are comin’ down G-Garrett Road,” +snapped the stuttering voice, “the whole +kit an’ b-b-bilin’ of ’em. They’ll be inter +your upper m-medder in five m-m-minutes.”</p> +<p>Over the wire came the click of a receiver +snapping back on its hook. Elliott +hung up and started toward the door. The +cows had been let out. Just why this incident +was so disastrous she did not quite +comprehend, but she must go and tell her +uncle. Before her feet touched the veranda, +however, she stopped. Five minutes? +Why, there wouldn’t be time to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +go to the lower meadow, to say nothing of +any one’s doing anything about the situation.</p> +<p>And then, with breath-taking suddenness, +the thing burst on her. She was +alone in the house; even Aunt Jessica and +Priscilla had gone to the hay-field. The +situation, whatever it was, was up to her.</p> +<p>For a minute the girl leaned weakly +against the wall. Cows—there were +thirty in the herd—and she loathed cows! +She was afraid of cows. She knew nothing +about cows. She was never in the +slightest degree sure of what the creatures +might take it into their heads to do. +For a minute she stood irresolute. Then +something stirred in the girl, something +self-reliant and strong. Never in her life +had Elliott Cameron had to do alone anything +that she didn’t already know how to +do. Now for the first time she faced an +emergency on none but her own resources, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +an emergency that was quite out of her +line.</p> +<p>Her brain worked swiftly as her feet +moved to the door. In reality, she had +wavered only a second. When Tom went +for the cows, didn’t he take old Prince? +There was just a chance that Prince +wasn’t in the hay-field. She ran down +the steps calling, “Prince! Prince!” The +old dog rose deliberately from his place +on the shady side of the barn and trotted +toward her, wagging his tail. “Come, +Prince!” cried Elliott, and ran out of the +yard.</p> +<p>Luckily, berrying had that very morning +taken her by a short cut to the vicinity +of the upper meadow. She knew the +way. But what was likely to happen? +Town-bred girl that she was, she had no +idea. A recollection of the smooth, upstanding +expanse of the upper meadow +gave her a clue. If the cows got into that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +even erectness— She began to run, +Prince bounding beside her, his brown tail +a waving plume.</p> +<p>She could see the meadow now, a smooth +green sea ruffled by nothing heavier than +the light feet of the summer breeze. She +could see the great gate invitingly open to +the road and oh!—her heart stopped beating, +then pounded on at a suffocating pace—she +could see the cows! There they +came, down the hill, quite filling the narrow +roadway with their horrid bulk, making +it look like a moving river of broad +backs and tossing heads. What could she +do, the girl wondered; what could she do +against so many? She tried to run faster. +Somehow she must reach the gate first. +There was nothing even then, so far as she +knew, to prevent their trampling her down +and rushing over her into the waving +greenness, unless she could slam the gate +in their faces. You can see that she really +did not know much about cows.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div> +<p>But Prince knew them. Prince understood +now why his master’s guest had +summoned him to this hot run in the sunshine. +The prospect did not daunt Prince. +He ran barking to the meadow side of +the road. The foremost cow which, grazing +the dusty grass, had strayed toward +the gate, turned back into the ruts again. +Elliott pulled the gate shut, in her haste +leaving herself outside. There, too spent +to climb over, she flattened her slender +form against the gray boards, while, +driven by Prince, the whole herd, horns +tossing, tails switching, flanks heaving, +thudded its way past.</p> +<p>And there, three minutes later, Bruce, +dashing over the hill in response to a message +relayed by telephone and boy to the +lower meadow, found her.</p> +<p>“The cows have gone down,” Elliott told +him. “Prince has them. He will take +them home, won’t he?”</p> +<p>“Prince? Good enough! He’ll get the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +cows home all right. But what are you +doing in this mix-up?”</p> +<p>“A woman telephoned the house,” said +Elliott. “I was afraid I couldn’t reach +any of you in time, so I came over myself.”</p> +<p>“You like cows?” The question shot +at her like a bullet.</p> +<p>The piquant nose wrinkled entrancingly. +“Scared to death of ’em.”</p> +<p>“I guessed as much.” The boy nodded. +“Gee whiz, but you’ve got good stuff in +you!”</p> +<p>And though her shoes were dusty and +her hair tousled, and though her knees +hadn’t stopped shaking even yet, Elliott +Cameron felt a sudden sense of satisfaction +and pride. She turned and looked +over the fence at the meadow. In its unmarred +beauty it seemed to belong to her.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_A_SLACKER_UNPERCEIVED' id='CHAPTER_V_A_SLACKER_UNPERCEIVED'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>A SLACKER UNPERCEIVED</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“I think,” remarked Elliott, the next +morning, “that I will walk up and +watch the haying for a while.”</p> +<p>She had finished washing the separator +and the milk-pans. It had taken a full +hour the first morning; growing expertness +had already reduced the hour to three-quarters, +and she had hopes of further +reductions. She still held firmly to the +opinion that the process was uninteresting, +but an innate sense of fairness told her +that the milk-pans were no more than her +share. Of course, she couldn’t spend +six weeks in a household whose component +members were as busy as were this household’s +members, and do nothing at all. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +That was the disadvantage in coming to +the place. She was bound to dissemble +her feelings and wash milk-pans. But if +she had to wash them, she might as well +do it well. There was no question about +that. If the actual process still bored the +girl, the results did not. Elliott was +proud of her pans, with a pride in which +there was no atom of indifference. She +scoured them until they shone, not because, +as she told herself, she liked to scour, but +because she liked to see the pans shine.</p> +<p>Aunt Jessica liked to see them shine, too. +She paused on her way through the +kitchen. “What beautiful pans! I can +see my face in every one of them.”</p> +<p>A glow of elation struck through Elliott. +Aunt Jessica was loving and sweet, but +she did not lavish commendation in quarters +where it was not due. Elliott knew +her pans were beautiful, but Aunt Jessica’s +praise made them doubly so.</p> +<p>It was then, as she hung up her towels, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +that she made the remark about walking +up to the hill meadow. She had a notion +she would like to see the knives put +into that unbroken expanse of tall grass +for which she continued to feel a curious +responsibility. A mere appearance at the +field could not commit her to anything.</p> +<p>“If you are going up,” said Aunt Jessica, +“perhaps you will take some of these +cookies I have just baked. Gertrude has +made lemonade.”</p> +<p>That was one of the delightful things +about Aunt Jessica, Elliott thought: she +never probed beneath the surface of one’s +words, she never even looked curiosity, +and she gave one immediately a reason for +doing what one wished to do. Lemonade +and cookies made an appearance in the +hay-field the most natural thing in the +world.</p> +<p>The upper meadow proved a surprise. +Not its business—Elliott had expected +business, but its odd mingling of jollity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +with activity. They all seemed to be having +such a good time about their work. +And yet the jollity did not in the least interfere +with the business, which appeared +to be going forward in a systematic and +efficient way that even an untrained girl +could not fail to notice. Elliott’s advent +would have occasioned little disturbance, +she suspected, had it not been for the cookies. +She was used by now to having no +fuss made over her. Laura waved a hand +from her seat behind the horses; the boys +swung their hats; Priscilla darted over to +display a ground-sparrow’s nest that the +scythes had disclosed.</p> +<p>It was Priscilla who discovered the +cookies and sent a squeal of delight across +the meadow. But even then the workers +did not pause. Priscilla had to dance out +across the mown grass and squeal again +and wave both hands, a cooky in one, a +cup in the other, and add a shrill little +yelp, “Come on! Come on, peoples! You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +don’t know what we’ve got here,” before +they straggled over to what Henry called +“the refreshment booth.”</p> +<p>Then they were ready enough to notice +Elliott. Uncle Robert and the boys +cracked jokes, the girls chattered and +laughed, and every one called on her to +applaud the amount of work they had already +accomplished, exactly as though she +understood about such things.</p> +<p>And Elliott did applaud, reinforcing her +words with a whole battery of dimples, all +the while privately resolving that no contagion +of enthusiasm should inoculate her +with the haymaking germ. There were +factors that made it all a bit hard to withstand; +the sky was so blue, the breeze was +so jolly, the mown grass smelled so delicious, +and the mountain air had such zest +in it. But, on the other hand, the sun was +hot and downright and freckling; Priscilla’s +tip-tilted little nose was already liberally +besprinkled. If Laura hadn’t such +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +a wonderful skin, she would have been a +sight long ago, despite the wide brim of +her big straw hat. A mere farm hat, and +Laura looked like a mere husky farm girl, +as she guided her horses skilfully around +the field. How strong her arms must be! +But how could a girl with Laura’s intelligence +and high spirit and charm enjoy +putting all this time into haying? With +Priscilla, of course, matters stood differently. +Children never discriminate.</p> +<p>“No, I sha’n’t do that kind of thing,” +said Elliott, firmly. But she would investigate +the haymaking game, investigate it +coolly and dispassionately, to find out exactly +what it amounted to—aside, of +course, from an accumulation of dried +grass in barns. To this end, she invaded +the upper meadow a good many times, during +the next few days, took a turn on the +hay-rake, now and then helped load and +unload, riding down to the barn on a +mound of high-piled fragrance, and came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +to the conclusion that, as an activity, haymaking +wasn’t to be compared with knocking +a ball back and forth across a net. To +try one’s hand at it might do well enough, +now and then, to spice an otherwise luxurious +life, but as a steady diet the thing was +too unrelenting. One was driven by wind +and sun; even the clouds took a hand in +cudgeling one on. A person must keep at +it whether she cared to or not—in actual +practice this point never troubled Elliott, +who always stopped when she wished to—there +were no spectators, and, heaviest demerit +of all, it was undeniably hard work.</p> +<p>But she was curious to discover what +Laura found in it, and you know Elliott +Cameron well enough by this time to understand +that she was not a girl who hesitated +to ask for information.</p> +<p>The last load had dashed into the big +red barn two minutes before a thunder-shower, +and Laura, freshly tubbed and +laundered, was winding her long black +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +braids around her shapely little head. +Elliott sat on the bed and watched her.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you glad it’s done?” she asked.</p> +<p>“The haying? Oh, yes, I’m always glad +when we have it safely in. But I love it.”</p> +<p>“Really? It isn’t work for girls.”</p> +<p>“No? Then once a year I’ll take a vacation +from being a girl. But that doesn’t +hold now, you know. Everything is work +for girls that girls can do, to help win this +war.”</p> +<p>“To help win the war?” echoed Elliott, +and blankly and suddenly shut her mouth. +Why, she supposed it did help, after all! +But it was their work, the kind of thing +they had always done, up here at the Cameron +Farm; only, as Bruce had assured her, +the girls hadn’t done much of it. Was +that what Bruce had meant, too?</p> +<p>“Why did you suppose we put so much +more land under cultivation this year than +we ever had before, with less help in +sight?” Laura questioned. “Just for fun, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +or for the money we could get out of it?”</p> +<p>“I hadn’t thought much about it,” said +Elliott. She was thinking now. Had she +been a bit of a slacker? She loathed +slackers.</p> +<p>“I never thought of it as war work,” she +said. “Stupid, wasn’t I?”</p> +<p>Laura put the last hair-pin in place. +“Just thought of it as our job, did you? +So it is, of course. But when your job +happens to be war work too—well, you +just buckle down to it extra hard. I’ve +never been so thankful as this year and +last that we have the farm. It gives every +one of us such a splendid chance to feel +we’re really counting in this fight—the +boys over there and in camp, the rest of +us here.” Laura’s dark eyes were beginning +to shine. “Oh, I wouldn’t be anywhere +but on a farm for anything in the +wide world, unless, perhaps, somewhere in +France!”</p> +<p>She stopped suddenly, put down the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +hand-mirror with which she was surveying +her back hair, and blushed. “There!” +she said, “I forgot all about the fact that +you weren’t born on a farm, too. But +then, you can share ours for a year, so I’m +not going to apologize for a word I’ve +said, even if I have been bragging because +I’m so lucky.”</p> +<p>Bragging because she was lucky! And +Laura meant it. There was not the ghost +of a pose in her frank, downright young +pride. Her cousin felt like a person who +has been walking down-stairs and tries to +step off a tread that isn’t there. Elliott’s +own cheeks reddened as she thought of the +patronizing pity she had felt. Luckily, +Laura hadn’t seemed to notice it. And +Laura was quick to see things, too. Elliott +realized, with a little stab of chagrin, +that Laura wouldn’t understand why her +cousin had pitied her, even if some one +should be at pains to explain the fact to +her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p>But Elliott couldn’t let herself pass as +an intentional slacker.</p> +<p>“We girls did canteening at home; surgical +dressings and knitting, too, of course, +but canteening was the most fun.”</p> +<p>“That must have been fine.” Laura +was interested at once.</p> +<p>Elliott’s spirit revived. After all, +Laura was a country girl. “Do you have +a canteen here?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Highboro isn’t big enough. +No trains stop here for more than a minute. +We’re not on the direct line to any +of the camps, either.”</p> +<p>“Ours was a regular canteen,” said Elliott. +“They would telephone us when soldiers +were going through, and we would +go down, with Mrs. Royce or Aunt Margaret +or some other chaperon, and distribute +post-cards and cigarettes and +sweet chocolate; and ice-cream cones, if +the weather was hot. It was such fun to +talk to the men!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></div> +<p>“Ice-cream and cigarettes!” laughed +Laura. “I should think they’d have liked +something nourishing.”</p> +<p>“Oh, they got the nourishing things, if it +was time. The Government had an arrangement +with a restaurant just around +the corner to serve soldiers’ meals. We +didn’t have to do that.”</p> +<p>“You supplied the frills.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” Somehow Elliott did not quite +like the words.</p> +<p>Laura was quick to notice her discomfiture. +“I imagine they needed the frills +and the jollying, poor lonesome boys! +They’re so young, many of them, and not +used to being away from home; and the +life is strange, however well they may +like it.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Elliott. “More than one +bunch told us they hadn’t seen anything +to equal what we did for them this side of +New York. Our uniforms were so becoming, +too; even a plain girl looked cute +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +in those caps. Why, Laura, you might +have a uniform, mightn’t you, if it’s war +work?”</p> +<p>“What should I want of a uniform?”</p> +<p>“People who saw you would know what +you’re doing.”</p> +<p>“They know now, if they open their +eyes.”</p> +<p>“They’d know why, I mean—that it’s +war work.”</p> +<p>“Mercy! Nobody around here needs to +be told why a person hoes potatoes these +days. They’re all doing it.”</p> +<p>“Do you hoe potatoes?” Elliott had no +notion how comically her consternation sat +on her pretty features.</p> +<p>Laura laughed at the amazed face of her +cousin. “Of course I do, when potatoes +need hoeing.”</p> +<p>“But do you like it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, in a way. Hoeing potatoes +isn’t half bad.”</p> +<p>Elliott opened her lips to say that it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +wasn’t girls’ work, remembered that she +had made that remark once before, and +changed to, “It is hard work, and it isn’t +a bit interesting.”</p> +<p>Then Laura asked two questions that +left Elliott gasping. “Don’t you like to do +anything except what is easy? Though I +don’t know that it is any harder to hoe potatoes +for an hour than to play tennis that +length of time. And anything is interesting, +don’t you think, that has to be done?”</p> +<p>“Goodness, <i>no</i>!” ejaculated Elliott, when +she found her voice. “I don’t think that +at all! Do you, really?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes!” Laura laughed a trifle +deprecatingly. “I’m not bluffing. I +never thought I’d care to spray potatoes, +but one day it had to be done, and Father +and the boys were needed for something +else. It wasn’t any harder to do than +churning, and I found it rather fun to +watch the potato-bugs drop off. I calculated, +too, how many Belgians the potatoes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +in those hills would feed, either directly or +by setting wheat free, you know. I forget +now how many I made it. I know I +felt quite exhilarated when I was through. +Trudy helped.”</p> +<p>“Goodness!” murmured Elliott faintly. +For a minute she could find no other words. +Then she managed to remark: “Of +course every one gardens at home. They +have lots at the country club, and raise +potatoes and things, and you hear them +talking everywhere about bugs and blight +and cold pack. I never paid much attention. +It didn’t seem to be meant for girls. +The men and boys raise the things and the +wives and mothers can them. That’s the +way we do at home.”</p> +<p>“Traditional,” nodded Laura. “We divide +on those lines here to a certain extent, +too; but we’re rather Jacks of all trades +on this farm. The boys know how to can +and we girls to make hay.”</p> +<p>“The boys <i>can</i>?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></div> +<p>“Tom put up all our string-beans +last summer quite by himself. What does +it matter who does a thing, so it’s +done?”</p> +<p>Laura was dressed now, from the crown +of her smooth black head to the tip of her +white canvas shoes, and a very satisfactory +operation she had made of it. Elliott dismissed +Laura’s last remark, which had not +sounded very sensible to her—of course it +mattered who did things; why, that sometimes +was all that did matter!—and reflected +that, country bred though she was, +her cousin Laura had an air that many a +town girl might have envied. An ability +to find hard manual work interesting did +not seem to preclude the knowledge of how +to put on one’s clothes.</p> +<p>But Laura’s hands were not all that +hands should be, by Elliott’s standard; +they were well cared for, and as white as +soap and water could make them, but there +are some things that soap and water cannot +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +do when it is pitted against sun and +wind and contact with soil and berries and +fruits. Elliott hadn’t meant to look so +fixedly at Laura’s hands as to make her +thought visible, and the color rose in her +cheeks when Laura said, exactly as though +she were a mind-reader, “If you prefer +lily-white fingers to stirring around doing +things, why, you have to sit in a corner +and keep them lily-white. I like to stick +mine into too many pies ever to have them +look well.”</p> +<p>“They’re a lovely shape,” said Elliott, +seriously.</p> +<p>And then, to her amazement, Laura +laughed and leaned over and hugged her. +“And you’re a dear thing, even if you do +think my hands are no lady’s!”</p> +<p>Of course Elliott protested; but as that +was just what she did think, her protestations +were not very convincing.</p> +<p>“You can’t have everything,” said +Laura, quite as though she didn’t mind in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +the least what her hands looked like. The +strangest part of it all was that Elliott believed +Laura actually didn’t mind.</p> +<p>But she didn’t know how to answer her, +Laura’s words had raised the dust on all +those comfortable cushiony notions Elliott +had had sitting about in her mind for so +long that she supposed they were her very +own opinions. Until the dust settled she +couldn’t tell what she thought, whether +they belonged to her or had simply been +dumped on her by other people. She +couldn’t remember ever having been in +such a position before.</p> +<p>Yes, Elliott found a good deal to think +of. One had to draw the line somewhere; +she had told herself comfortably; but lines +seemed to be very queerly jumbled up in +this war. If a person couldn’t canteen +or help at a hostess house or do surgical +dressings or any of the other things that +had always stood in her mind for girl’s +war work, she had to do what she could, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +hadn’t she? And if it wasn’t necessary +to be tagged, why, it wasn’t. Laura in +blouse and short skirt, or even in overalls, +seemed to accomplish as much as any possible +Laura in a pantaloon suit or puttees +or any other land uniform. There really +didn’t seem any way out, now that Elliott +understood the matter. Perhaps she had +been rather dense not to understand it before.</p> +<p>“What would you like me to do this +morning, Uncle?” she asked the next day +at the breakfast-table. “I think it is time +I went to work.”</p> +<p>“Going to join the farmerettes?”</p> +<p>“Thinking of it.” She could feel, without +seeing, Stannard’s stare of astonishment. +No one else gave signs of surprise. +Stannard, thought the girl, really hadn’t +as good manners as his cousins.</p> +<p>Uncle Bob surveyed the trim figure, arrayed +in its dark smock and the shortest of +all Elliott’s short skirts. If he felt other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +than wholly serious he concealed the fact +well.</p> +<p>“The corn needs hoeing, both field-corn +and garden-corn. How about joining that +squad?”</p> +<p>“It suits me.”</p> +<p>Corn—didn’t Hoover urge people to eat +corn? In helping the corn crop, she too +might feel herself feeding the Belgians.</p> +<p>Gertrude linked her arm in her slender +cousin’s as they left the table. “I’ll show +you where the tools are,” she said. +“Harry runs the cultivator in the field, but +we use hand-hoes in the garden.”</p> +<p>“You will have to show me more than +that,” said Elliott. “What does hoeing do +to corn, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“Keeps down the weeds that eat up the +nourishment in the soil,” recited Gertrude +glibly, “and by stirring up the ground +keeps in the moisture. You like to know +the reason for things, too, don’t you? I’m +glad. I always do.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></div> +<p>It wasn’t half bad, with a hoe over her +shoulder, in company with other boys and +girls, to swing through the dewy morning +to the garden. Priscilla had joined the +squad when she heard Elliott was to be in +it, and with Stannard and Tom the three +girls made a little procession. It proved +a simple enough matter to wield a hoe. +Elliott watched the others for a few minutes, +and if her hills did not take on as +workmanlike an appearance as Tom’s and +Gertrude’s, or even as Priscilla’s, they all +assured her practice would mend the fault.</p> +<p>“You’ll do it all right,” Priscilla encouraged +her.</p> +<p>“Sure thing!” said Tom. “We might +have a race and see who gets his row done +first.”</p> +<p>“No races for me, yet,” said Elliott. +“It would be altogether too tame. I’d +qualify for the booby prize without trying. +But the rest of you may race, if you want +to.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>“Just wait!” prophesied Stannard +darkly. “Wait an hour or two and see +how you like hoeing.”</p> +<p>Elliott laughed. In the cool morning, +with the hoe fresh in her hand, she thought +of fatigue as something very far away. +Stan was always a little inclined to croak. +The thing was easy enough.</p> +<p>“Run along, little boy, to your row,” she +admonished him. “Can’t you see that I’m +busy?”</p> +<p>Elliott hoed briskly, if a bit awkwardly, +and painstakingly removed every weed. +The freshly stirred earth looked dark and +pleasant; the odor of it was good, too. +She compared what she had done with +what she hadn’t, and the contrast moved +her to new activity. But after a time—it +was not such a long time, either, though it +seemed hours—she thought it would be +pleasant to stop. The motion of the hoe +was monotonous. She straightened up +and leaned on the handle and surveyed her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +fellow-workers. Their backs looked very +industrious as they bent at varying distances +across the garden. Even Stannard +had left her behind.</p> +<p>Gertrude abandoned her row and came +and inspected Elliott’s. “That looks fine,” +she said, “for a beginner. You must stop +and rest whenever you’re tired. Mother +always tells us to begin a thing easy, not to +tire ourselves too much at first. She won’t +let us girls work when the sun’s too hot, +either.”</p> +<p>Elliott forced a smile. If she had done +what she wished to, she would have thrown +down her hoe and walked off the field. +But for the first time in her life she didn’t +feel quite like letting herself do what she +wished to.</p> +<p>What would these new cousins think of +her if she abandoned a task as abruptly as +that? But what good did her hoeing do?—a +few scratches on the border of this big +garden-patch. It couldn’t matter to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +Belgians or the Germans or Hoover or +anybody else whether she hoed or didn’t +hoe. Perhaps, if every one said that, even +of garden-patches—but not every one +would say it. Some people knew how +to hoe. Presumably some people liked +hoeing. Goodness, how long this row +was! Would she ever, <i>ever</i> reach the +end?</p> +<p>Priscilla bobbed up, a moist, flushed +Priscilla. “That looks nice. You haven’t +got very far yet, have you? Never mind. +Things go a lot faster after you’ve done +’em a while. Why, when I first tried to +play the piano, my fingers went so slow, +they just made me ache. Now they skip +along real quick.”</p> +<p>Elliott leaned on her hoe. “Do you play +the piano?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! Mother taught me. Good-by. +I must get back to my row.”</p> +<p>“Do you like hoeing?” Elliott called +after her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></div> +<p>“I like to get it done.” The small figure +skipped nimbly away.</p> +<p>“‘Get it done!’” Elliott addressed the +next clump of waving green blades, pessimism +in her voice. “After one row, isn’t +there another, and another, and <i>another</i>, +forever?” She slashed into a mat of +chickweed with venom.</p> +<p>“I knew you’d get tired,” said Stannard, +at her elbow. “Come on over to +those trees and rest a bit. Sun’s getting +hot here.”</p> +<p>Elliott looked at the clump of trees on +the edge of the field. Their shade invited +like a beckoning hand. Little beads of +perspiration stood on her forehead. A +warm lassitude spread through her body, +turning her muscles slack. Hadn’t Gertrude +said Aunt Jessica didn’t let them +work in too hot a sun?</p> +<p>“You’re tired; quit it!” urged Stannard.</p> +<p>“Not just yet,” said Elliott, and her hoe +bit at the ground again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<p>Tired? She should think she was tired! +And she had fully intended to go with +Stan. Then why hadn’t she gone? The +question puzzled the girl. Quit when you +like and make it up with cajolery was a +motto that Elliott had found very useful. +She was good at cajolery. What made +her hesitate to try it now?</p> +<p>She swung around, half minded to call +Stannard back, when a sentence flashed +into her mind, not a whole sentence, just +a fragment salvaged from a book some one +had once been reading in her hearing: +“This war will be won by tired men +who—” She couldn’t quite get the rest. +An impression persisted of keeping everlastingly +at it, but the words escaped her. +She swung back, her hail unsent. Well, +she was tired, dead tired, and her back +was broken and her hands were blistered, +or going to be, but nobody would think of +saying that that had anything to do with +winning the war. Stay; wouldn’t they? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +It seemed absurd; but, still, what made +people harp so on food if there weren’t +something in it? If all they said was true, +why—and Elliott’s tired back straightened—why, +she was helping a little bit; or she +would be if she didn’t quit.</p> +<p>It may seem absurd that it had taken a +backache to make Elliott visualize what +her cousins were really doing on their +farm. She ought, of course, to have been +able to see it quite clearly while she sat +on the veranda, but that isn’t always the +way things work. Now she seemed to see +the farm as part of a great fourth line of +defense, a trench that was feeding all the +other trenches and all the armies in the +open and all the people behind the armies, +a line whose success was indispensable to +victory, whose defeat would spell failure +everywhere. It was only for a minute +that she saw this quite clearly, with a kind +of illuminated insight that made her backache +well worth while. Then the minute +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +passed, and as Elliott bent to her hoe again +she was aware only of a suspicion that +possibly when one was having the most +fun was not always when one was being +the most useful.</p> +<p>“Well,” said a pleasant voice, “how does +the hoeing go?”</p> +<p>And there stood Laura with a pitcher in +her hand, and on her face a look—was it +of mingled surprise and respect?</p> +<p>“You mustn’t work too long the first +day,” she told Elliott. “You’re not hardened +to it yet, as we are. Take a rest now +and try it again later on. I have your +book under my arm.”</p> +<p>When, that noon, they all trooped up to +the house, hot and hungry, Elliott went +with them, hot and hungry, too. Nobody +thanked her for anything, and she didn’t +even notice the lack. Farming wasn’t like +canteening, where one expected thanks. +As she scrubbed her hands she noticed that +her nails were hopeless, but her attention +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +failed to concentrate on their demoralized +state. Hadn’t she finished her row?</p> +<p>“Stuck it out, did you?” said Bruce, as +they sat down at dinner. “I bet you +would.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t have dared look any of you +in the face again, if I hadn’t,” smiled Elliott. +But his words rang warm in her +ears.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_FLIERS' id='CHAPTER_VI_FLIERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>FLIERS</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Laura and Elliott were in the summer +kitchen, filling glass jars with +raspberries. As they finished filling each +jar, they capped it and lowered it into a +wash-boiler of hot water on the stove.</p> +<p>“It seems odd,” remarked Laura, “to +put up berries without sugar.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it horrid,” said Elliott, who had +never put up berries at all, but who was +longing for candy and hadn’t had courage +to suggest buying any. “I hope the Allies +are going to appreciate all we are doing +for them.”</p> +<p>“Do you?” Laura looked at her oddly. +“I hope we are going to appreciate all they +have done for us.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t we showing it?” Elliott felt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +really indignant at her cousin. “Think of +the sacrifices we’re making for them.”</p> +<p>“Sacrifices?”</p> +<p>How stupid Laura was! “You know as +well as I do how many things we are giving +up.”</p> +<p>“Sugar, for instance?” queried Laura.</p> +<p>“Sugar is one thing.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well,” said Laura, “I’d rather a +little Belgian had my extra pounds, poor +scrap! Of course, now and then I get +hungry for it, though Mother gives us all +the maple we want, but when I do get +hungry, I think about the Belgians and +the people of northern France who have +lost their homes, and of all those children +over there who haven’t enough to eat to +make them want to play; and I think about +the British fleet and what it has kept us +from for four years; and about the thousands +of girls who have given their youth +and prettiness to making munitions. I +think about things like that and then I say +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +to myself, ‘My goodness, what is a little +sugar, more or less!’ Why, Elliott, we +don’t begin to feel the war over here, not +as they feel it!”</p> +<p>Elliott, who considered that she felt the +war a good deal, demurred. “I have lost +my home,” she said, feeling a little +ashamed of the words as she said them.</p> +<p>“But it is there,” objected Laura. +“Your home is all ready to go back to, +isn’t it? That’s my point.”</p> +<p>“And there’s Father,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>“I know, and my brothers. But I don’t +feel that <i>I</i> have done anything in their +being in the army. It is doing them lots +of good: every letter shows that. And, +anyway, I’d be ashamed if they didn’t +go.”</p> +<p>“Something might happen,” said Elliott. +“What would you say then?”</p> +<p>“The same, I hope. But what I mean +is, the war doesn’t really touch us in the +routine of our every-day living. <i>We</i> don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +have to darken our windows at night and +take, every now and then, to the cellars. +The machinery of our lives isn’t thrown +out of gear. We don’t live hand in hand +with danger. But lots of us think we’re +killed if we have to use our brains a little, +if we’re asked to substitute for wheat +flour, and can’t have thick frosting on our +cake and eat meat three times a day. Oh, +I’ve heard ’em talk! Why, our life over +here isn’t really topsyturvy a bit!”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it?” There were things, Elliott +thought, that Laura, wise as she was, +didn’t know.</p> +<p>“We’re inconvenienced,” said Laura, +“but not hurt.”</p> +<p>Elliott was silent. She was trying to +decide whether or not she was hurt. Inconvenienced +seemed rather a slim verb +for what had happened to her. But she +didn’t go on to say what she had meant to +say about candy, and she felt in her secret +soul the least bit irritated at Laura.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<p>Then Priscilla whirled in on her tiptoes, +her hands behind her back. “The postman +went right straight by, though I hung +out the window and called and called. I +guess he didn’t hear me, he’s awful deaf +sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t I get a letter?” Elliott’s face +fell.</p> +<p>“Mail is slow getting through, these +days,” said Aunt Jessica, coming in from +the main kitchen. “We always allow an +extra day or two on the road. Wasn’t +there anything at all from Bob or Sidney +or Pete, Pris? You little witch, you certainly +are hiding something behind your +back.”</p> +<p>Then Priscilla gave a gay little squeal +and jumped up and down till her black +curls bobbed all over her face. When she +stopped jumping she looked straight at +Elliott.</p> +<p>“Which hand will you take?” she +asked.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>“I? Oh, have you a letter for me, after +all?”</p> +<p>“You didn’t guess it,” said the child. +“Which hand?”</p> +<p>“The right—no, the left.”</p> +<p>Priscilla shook her head. “You aren’t +a very good guesser, are you? But I’ll +give it to you this time. It’s not fat, but +it looks nice. He didn’t even get out, that +postman didn’t; he just tucked the letter in +the box as he rode along.”</p> +<p>“Certain sure he didn’t tuck any other +letter in too, Pris?” queried Laura.</p> +<p>The child held out empty hands.</p> +<p>“That’s no proof. Your eyes are too +bright.” Laura turned her around gently. +“Oh, I thought so! Stuck in your dress. +From Bob!”</p> +<p>“Two,” squealed Priscilla, with an emphatic +little hop. “Here, give ’em to +Mother. They’re ’dressed to her. Now +let’s get into ’em, quick. Shall I ring the +bell, Mother, to call in Father and the rest? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +Two letters from Bob is a great big emergency; +don’t you think so?”</p> +<p>The words filtered negligently through +Elliott’s inattention. All her conscious +thoughts were centered on her father’s +handwriting. She had had a cable before, +but this was his first letter. It almost made +her cry to see the familiar script and know +that she could get nothing but letters from +him for a whole long year. No hugs, no +kisses, no rumpling of her hair or his, no +confidential little talks—no anything that +had been her meat and drink for years. +How did people endure such separations? +A big lump came up in her throat and the +tears pricked her eyes; but she swallowed +very hard and blinked once or twice and +vowed, “I won’t cry, I <i>won’t</i>!”</p> +<p>And then suddenly, through her preoccupation, +she became aware of a hush +fallen on the bubbling expectancy of the +room. Glancing up from the page, she +saw Henry standing in the doorway. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +Even to unfamiliar eyes there was something +strangely arresting in the boy’s look, +a shocked gravity that cut like a premonition.</p> +<p>“They say Ted Gordon’s been killed,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Ted—Gordon!” cried Laura.</p> +<p>“Practice flight, at camp. Nobody +knows any particulars. Cy Jones told +Father.” The boy’s voice sounded dry +and hard.</p> +<p>“Are they certain there is no mistake?” +his mother asked quietly.</p> +<p>“I guess it’s true. Cy said the Gordons +had a telegram.”</p> +<p>“I must go over at once.” Mrs. Cameron +rose, putting the letters into Laura’s +hands, and took off her apron.</p> +<p>“I’ll bring the car around for you,” said +Henry.</p> +<p>“Thank you.” She smiled at him and +turned to the girls. “You know what we +are having for dinner, Laura. Priscilla +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +will help make the shortcake, I’m sure. +I will be back as soon as I can.”</p> +<p>Mutely the four watched the little car +roll out of the yard and down the hill.</p> +<p>Then Henry spoke. “Letters?”</p> +<p>“From Bob,” said Laura.</p> +<p>“Did she read ’em?”</p> +<p>Laura shook her head.</p> +<p>“Gee!” said the boy.</p> +<p>“Perhaps she thought she couldn’t,” +hesitated Laura, “and go over there.”</p> +<p>A moment of silence held the room. +Henry broke it. “Well, we’re not going. +Let’s hear ’em.”</p> +<p>Elliott took a step toward the door.</p> +<p>“Needn’t run away unless you want to,” +he called after her. “We always read +Bob’s letters aloud.”</p> +<p>So Elliott stayed. Laura’s pleasant +voice, a bit strained at first, grew steadier +as the reading proceeded. Henry sat +whittling a stick into the coal-hod, his lips +pursed as though for a whistle, but without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +sound, and still with that odd sober +look on his face. Priscilla, all the jumpiness +gone out of her, stood very still in the +middle of the kitchen floor, a kind of hurt +bewilderment in the big dark eyes fixed on +Laura’s face. Nobody laughed, nobody +even chuckled, and yet it was a jolly letter +that they read first, full of spirit and +life and fun. High-hearted adventure +rollicked through it, and the humor that +makes light of hardship, and the latest +slang of the front adorned its pages with +grotesquely picturesque phrases. The +Cameron boys were obviously getting a +good time out of the war. Bob had got +something else, too. The letter had been +delayed in transmission and near the end +was a sentence, “Brought down my first +Hun to-day—great fight! I’ll tell you +about it next time if after due deliberation +I decide the censor will let me.”</p> +<p>“Some letter!” commented Henry. +“Say, those aviators are living like princes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +aren’t they! Mess hall in a big grove +with all the fixings. And eats! More +than we get at home. Gee, I wish I was +older!”</p> +<p>“So you could come in for the eats?” +smiled his sister.</p> +<p>“So I could come in for things generally.”</p> +<p>“You couldn’t work any harder if you +were a man grown,” she told him.</p> +<p>“Huh!” said Henry, “a lot I hurt myself!” +But he liked the smile and the +praise, wary though he might pretend to +be of it. Sis was a good sort. “You’re +some worker, yourself. Let’s get on to +the next one.”</p> +<p>The second letter—and it too bore a date +disquietingly far from the present—told +of the fight. It thrilled the four in the +pleasant New England kitchen. The +peaceful walls opened wide, and they were +out in far spaces, patrolling the windy sky, +mounting, diving, dodging through wisps +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +of cloud, kings of the air, hunting for +combat. Their eyes shone and their +breathing quickened, and for a minute +they forgot the boy who was dead.</p> +<p>“Why the Hun didn’t bag me, instead +of my getting him,” wrote Bob, “is a mystery. +Just the luck of beginners, I guess. +I did most of the things I shouldn’t have +done, and, by chance, one or two of the +things I should—fired when I was too far +off, went into a spinning nose-dive under +the mistaken notion it would make me a +poor target, etc., etc., etc. Oh, I was +green, all right! He knew how to manœuver, +that Hun did. That’s what feazes +me. How did I manage to top him at last? +Well, I did. And my gun didn’t jam. +Nuff said.”</p> +<p>“Gee!” said Henry between his teeth. +“And Ted Gordon had to go and miss all +that! Gee!”</p> +<p>“If he had only got to the front!” sighed +Laura.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></div> +<p>“Anything from Pete?” asked the boy.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Sid?”</p> +<p>She shook her head. “We had a letter +from Sid day before yesterday, you know.”</p> +<p>“Sid lays ’em down pretty thick sometimes. +Well, I must be getting on. This +isn’t weeding cabbages.”</p> +<p>The three girls, left alone, reacted each +in her own way to the touch of the dark +wings that had so suddenly brushed the +rim of their blithe young lives. Priscilla +frankly didn’t understand, but her sensitive +spirit felt the chill of the event, and +her big eyes gazed with a tinge of wonder +at the blue sky and sunshine of the world +outside.</p> +<p>“Seems sort of queer it’s so bright,” she +remarked.</p> +<p>Laura was busy, as were thousands of +sisters at that very minute and every minute +all over the land, scotching the fears +that are always lying in wait, ready to lift +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +their ugly heads. Queer the letters had +come through so tardily! Where was +Bob, her darling big brother, this minute? +Where was Pete Fearing, hardly less dear +than Bob? Pictures clicked through her +brain, pictures built on newspaper prints +that she had seen. But one died twice +that way, she reflected, and it did no good. +So she put the letters on the shelf beside +the clock and brought out the potatoes for +dinner.</p> +<p>“Ted Gordon was in the Yale Battery +last summer,” she remarked. “He came +up from camp to get his degree this year. +Mrs. Gordon and Harriet went down. He +was Scroll and Key.”</p> +<p>In Elliott’s brain Laura’s words made a +swift connection. Before that, Ted Gordon +had meant nothing to her, the name of +a boy whom she had never seen, a country +lad, whose death, while sudden and sad, +could not touch her. Now, suddenly, he +clicked into place in her own familiar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +world. A Scroll-and-Key man? Why, +those were the men she knew—Bones, +Scroll and Key, Hasty Pudding—he was +one of them!</p> +<p>She felt a swift recoil. So that was +what war came to. Not just natty figures +in khaki that girls cried over in saying +good-by to, or smiled at and told how perfectly +splendid they were to go; not just +high adventure and martial music and the +rhythm of swinging brown shoulders; not +just surgical dressings and socks and +sweaters; not even just homes broken up +for a time and fathers sailing overseas. +Of course one understood with one’s +brain, that made part of the thrill of their +going, but one didn’t realize with the feeling +part of one—how could a girl?—when +they went away or when one made dressings. +Yet didn’t dressings more than +anything else point to it? And Laura +had said we didn’t feel the war over +here!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></div> +<p>A sense of something intolerable, not +to be borne, overwhelmed Elliott. She +pushed at it with both hands, as though by +the physical gesture she could shove away +the sudden darkness that had blotted with +alien shadow the face of her familiar sun. +Death! There was an unbearable unpleasantness +about death. She had always +felt ill at ease in its presence, in the +very mention of its name; she had avoided +every sign and symbol of it as she +would a plague. And now, she foresaw +for an instant of blinding clarity, perhaps +it could not be avoided any longer. +Was this young aviator’s accident +just a symbol of the way death was going +to invade all the happy sheltered +places? The thought turned the girl +sick for a minute. How could Laura +go on with her work so unfeelingly? +And there was Priscilla getting out +raspberries.</p> +<p>“I don’t see,” said Elliott, and her voice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +choked, “I don’t see how you can <i>bear</i> to +peel those potatoes!”</p> +<p>“Some one has to peel them,” said +Laura. “The family must have dinner, +you know. We couldn’t work without +eating. Besides, I think it helps to work.”</p> +<p>Elliott brushed the last sentence aside. +It fell outside her experience, and she +didn’t understand it. The only thing she +did understand was the reiteration of +work, work, and the pall of blackness that +overshadowed her hitherto bright world. +She wished again with all her heart that +she had never come to Vermont. She +didn’t belong here; why couldn’t she have +stayed where she did belong, where people +understood her, and she them?</p> +<p>A great wave of homesickness swept +over the girl, homesickness for the world +as she had always known it, her world as +it had been before the war warped and +twisted and spoiled things. And yet, +oddly enough, there was no sense in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +Cameron house of anything being spoiled. +They talked of Ted Gordon in the same +unbated tone of voice in which they spoke +of her cousin Bob or of his friend Pete +Fearing, and they actually laughed when +they told stories about him. Laura baked +and brewed, and the results disappeared +down the road in the direction Mother Jess +had taken. Aunt Jessica herself returned, +a trifle pale and tired-looking, but smiling +as usual.</p> +<p>“Lucinda and Harriet are just as brave +as you would expect them to be,” Elliott +heard her tell Father Bob. “No one knows +yet how it happened. They hope to learn +more from Ted’s friends. Two of the +aviators are coming up. Harriet told me +they rather look for them to-morrow +night.”</p> +<p>Hastily Elliott betook herself out of +hearing. She wanted to get beyond sight +and sound of any reference to what had +happened. It was the only way known to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +her to escape the disagreeable—to turn her +back on it and run away. What she +didn’t see and think about, so far as she +was concerned, wasn’t there. Hitherto +the method had worked very well. What +disquieted her now was a dull, persistent +fear that it wasn’t going to work much +longer.</p> +<p>So when Bruce remarked the next day, +“I’m going to take part of the afternoon +off and go for ferns; want to come?” she +answered promptly, “Yes, indeed,” though +privately she thought him crazy. Ferns, +on a perfectly good working-day? But +when they were fairly started, she found +she hadn’t escaped, after all. Instead, she +had run right into the thing, so to speak.</p> +<p>“We want to make the church look +pretty,” Bruce said, as they tramped +along. “And I happen to know where +some beauties grow, maidenhair and the +rarer sorts. It isn’t everybody I’d dare +to take along.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>“Is that so?” queried the girl. She +wondered why.</p> +<p>“Things have a way of disappearing in +the woods, unless they’re treated right. +Took a fellow with me once when I went +for pink-and-white lady’s-slippers, the big +ones—they’re beauties. He was crazy to +go, and he promised to keep the place to +himself. You could have picked bushels +there then. Now they’re all cleaned out.”</p> +<p>“But why? Did people dig them up?”</p> +<p>“Picked’em too close. Some things +won’t stand being cleaned up the way most +people clean up flowers in the woods. +They’re free, and nobody’s responsible.”</p> +<p>In spite of her thoughts Elliott dimpled. +“I think it is quite safe to take me.”</p> +<p>He grinned. “Maybe that’s why I do +it.”</p> +<p>It was very pleasant, tramping along +with Bruce in the bright day; pleasant, too, +leaving the sunshine for the spicy coolness +of the woods, and climbing up, up, among +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +great tree-trunks and mossy rocks and +trickling mountain brooks. Or it would +have been pleasant, if one could only have +forgotten the reason that underlay their +journey. But when they had reached +Bruce’s secret spot and were cutting the +wiry brown stems, and packing together +carefully the spreading, many-fingered +fronds so as not to break the delicate +ferns, that undercurrent of numb consternation +reasserted itself. Like Priscilla, +Elliott felt a little shocked at the brightness +of the sunshine, the blueness of the sky, +and the beauty of the fern-filled glade.</p> +<p>“It was dreadful for him to be killed +before he had done anything!” At last +the words so long burning in her heart +reached the tip of her tongue.</p> +<p>“Yes.” Bruce’s voice was sober. “It +sure was hard.”</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/p0142a-insert.jpg' alt='' title='' width='558' height='354' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +Cutting the wiry brown stems in the fern-filled glade.<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></div> +<p>“I should think his people would feel as +though they couldn’t <i>stand</i> it!” Elliott +declared. “If he had got to France—but +now it is just a hideous, hideous waste!”</p> +<p>Bruce hesitated. “I suppose that is one +way of looking at it.”</p> +<p>“Why, what other way could there be?” +She stared at him in surprise. “He was +just learning to fly. He hadn’t done anything, +had he?”</p> +<p>“No, he hadn’t done anything. But +what he died for is just the same as though +he had got across, isn’t it, and had downed +forty Huns?”</p> +<p>She continued to stare fixedly at the boy +for a full minute. “Why, yes,” she said +at last, very slowly; “yes, I suppose it is.” +Curiously enough, the whole thing looked +better from that angle.</p> +<p>For a long time she was silent, cutting +and tying up ferns.</p> +<p>“How did you happen to think of that?”</p> +<p>“To think of what?” Bruce was tying +his own ferns.</p> +<p>“What you said about—about <i>what</i> this +Ted Gordon died for.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></div> +<p>It was Bruce’s turn to look surprised. +“I didn’t think of anything. It’s just a +fact, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>Then he began to load himself with +ferns. Elliott wouldn’t have supposed +any one could carry as many as Bruce +shouldered; he had great bunches in his +hands, too.</p> +<p>“You look like a walking fernery,” she +said.</p> +<p>“Birnam Wood,” he quoted and for a +minute she couldn’t think what he meant. +“Better let me take some of those on the +ground,” he said.</p> +<p>“No, indeed! I am going to do my +share.”</p> +<p>Quietly he possessed himself of two of +her bunches. “That’s your share. It +will be heavy enough before we get home.”</p> +<p>It was heavy, though not for worlds +would Elliott have mentioned the fact. +She helped Bruce put the ferns in water, +and she went out at night and sprinkled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +them to keep them fresh; but she had an +excuse ready when Laura asked if she +would like to go over to the little white-spired +church on the hill and help arrange +them.</p> +<p>Nothing would have induced her to attend +the services, either, though afterward +she wished that she had. There seemed to +have been something so high and fine and—yes—so +cheerful about them, so martial +and exalted, that she wished she had seen +for herself what they were like. In Elliott’s +mind gloom had always been inseparably +linked with a funeral, gloom and +black clothes. Whereas Laura and her +mother and Gertrude and Priscilla wore +white. A good many things at the Cameron +farm were very odd.</p> +<p>It was after every one had gone to bed +and the lights were out that Elliott lay +awake in her little slant-ceilinged room and +worried and worried about Father, three +thousand miles away. He wasn’t an aviator, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +it was true, but in France wasn’t the +land almost as unsafe as the air? She +had imagined so many things that might +perfectly easily happen to him that she was +on the point of having a little weep all by +herself when Aunt Jessica came in. Did +she know that Elliott was homesick? +Aunt Jessica sat down on the bed, as she +had sat that first night, and talked about +comforting, commonplace things—about +the new kittens, and how soon the corn +might be ripe, and what she used to do +when she was a girl in Washington. Elliott +got hold of her hand and wound her +own fingers in and out among Aunt Jessica’s +fingers, but in the end she spoke out +the thing that was uppermost in her mind.</p> +<p>“Mother Jess,” she said, using unconsciously +the Cameron term; “Mother Jess, +I don’t like death.”</p> +<p>She said it in a small, wabbly voice, because +she felt very strongly and she wasn’t +used to talking about such things. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +she had to say it. Though if the room +hadn’t been dark, I doubt if she could have +got it out at all.</p> +<p>“No, dear,” said Aunt Jessica, quietly. +“Most of us don’t like death. I wonder if +your feeling isn’t due to the fact that you +think of it as an end?”</p> +<p>“What is it,” asked Elliott, “but an +end?” She was so astonished that her +words sounded almost brusque.</p> +<p>“I like to think of it as a coming alive,” +said Aunt Jessica, “a coming alive more +vigorously than ever. The world is beginning +to think of it so, too.”</p> +<p>Elliott lay still after Aunt Jessica had +gone out of the room and tried to think +about what she had said. It was quite the +oddest thing that anybody had said yet. +But all she really succeeded in thinking +about was the quiet certainty in Aunt Jessica’s +voice, the comforting clasp of Aunt +Jessica’s arms, and the kiss still warm on +her lips.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_PICNICKING' id='CHAPTER_VII_PICNICKING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>PICNICKING</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>“I feel like a picnic,” said Mother Jess, +“a genuine all-day-in-the-woods picnic.”</p> +<p>It was rather queer for a grown-up to +say such a thing right out like a girl, Elliott +thought, but she liked it. And Aunt +Jessica was sitting back on her heels, just +like a girl too, looking up from the border +where she was working. Elliott had +caught sight of her blue chambray skirt +under a haze of blue larkspurs and had +come over to see what she was doing. It +proved to be weeding with a clawlike thing +that, wielded by Aunt Jessica’s right hand, +grubbed out weeds as fast as she could toss +them into a basket with her left. Elliott +was surprised. Weeding a flower-bed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +when, as she happened to know, the garden +beets weren’t finished did not square with +her notions of what was what on the Cameron +farm. She was so surprised that she +answered absently, “That sounds fine. I +think I feel so, too,” and kept on wondering +about Aunt Jessica.</p> +<p>“We usually have a picnic at this time of +year when the haying is done,” said that +lady, and fell again to her weeding. “It +is astonishing how fast a weed can grow. +Look at that!” and she held up a spreading +mat of green chickweed. “I have had to +neglect the borders shamefully this summer.”</p> +<p>Elliott squatted down beside her and +twined her fingers in a tuft of grass. +“May I help?” She gave a little tug to +the grass.</p> +<p>“Delighted to have you. Look out! +That’s a Johnny-jump-up.”</p> +<p>“Is it? Goodness! I thought it was a +weed!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></div> +<p>“Here is one in blossom. Spare +Johnny. He is a faithful friend till the +winter snows.”</p> +<p>“Johnny-jump-up.” Elliott’s laughter +gurgled over the name. “But he does +rather jump up, doesn’t he? Funny little +pansy thing! Funny name, too.”</p> +<p>“Not so odd as a few others I know. +Kiss-me-in-the-buttery, for instance.”</p> +<p>“Not really!”</p> +<p>“Honest Injun, as Priscilla says.”</p> +<p>“These borders are sweet.” The girl +let her gaze wander up and down the curving +lines of color splashed across the gentle +slope of the hill. “But flowers don’t stand +much chance in a war year, do they? I +know people at home who have plowed +theirs up and planted potatoes.”</p> +<p>“A mistake,” said Aunt Jessica, shaking +the dirt vigorously from a fistful of sorrel. +“A mistake, unless it is a question of life +and death. We have too much land in this +country to plow up our flowers, yet a while. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +And a war year is just the time when we +need them most. No, I never feel I am +wasting my time when I work among +flowers.”</p> +<p>“But they’re not <i>necessary</i>, are they?” +questioned Elliott. “Of course, they’re +beautiful; but I thought luxuries had to go, +just now.”</p> +<p>“Flowers a luxury? Oh, my dear little +girl, put that notion out of your head +quickly! American-beauty roses may be a +luxury, and white lilacs in the dead of winter, +but garden flowers, never! Wait till +you see the daffodils dancing under those +apple trees next spring!” And she nodded +up the grassy slope at the apple trees +as though she and they shared a delightful +secret that Elliott did not yet know.</p> +<p>Privately the girl held a different opinion +about next spring, but she wondered +why Aunt Jessica should talk of daffodils. +They seemed rather lugged into a conversation +in July.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div> +<p>Mother Jess reached with her clawlike +weeder far into the border. Her voice +came back over her shoulder in little gusts +of words as she worked. “Did you ever +hear that saying of the Prophet?—‘He +that hath two loaves let him sell one and +buy a flower of the narcissus; for bread is +food for the body, but narcissus is food +for the soul.’ That’s the way I feel about +flowers. They are the least expensive +way of getting beauty and we can’t live +without beauty, now less than ever, since +they have destroyed so much of it in +France. There! now I must stop for to-day. +Don’t you want to take this culling-basket +and pick it full of the prettiest +things you can find for Mrs. Gordon? +Perhaps you would like to take it over to +her, too. It isn’t a very long walk.”</p> +<p>“But I’ve never met her.”</p> +<p>“That won’t matter. Just tell her who +you are and that you belong to us. Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +Gordon loves flowers, though she hasn’t +much time to tend them.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t think any one could have +less time than you.”</p> +<p>Aunt Jessica laughed. “Oh, I make +time!”</p> +<p>Elliott picked up the flat green basket, +lifted the shears she found lying in it, and +went hesitatingly up and down the borders. +“What shall I pick?”</p> +<p>“Anything. Suit yourself. Make the +basket as pretty as you can. If you pick +here and there, the borders won’t show +where you cut from them.”</p> +<p>Mother Jess gathered up gloves and +tools, and went away, tugging her basket +of weeds. Elliott, left behind, surveyed +the borders critically. To cut without letting +it appear that she had cut was evidently +what Aunt Jessica wanted. She +reached in and snipped off a spire of larkspur +from the very back of the border, +then stood back to see what had happened. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +No, if one hadn’t known the stalk had been +there, one wouldn’t now know it was gone. +The thing could be done, then. Cautiously +she selected a head of white phlox. +The result of that operation also was satisfactory.</p> +<p>Up and down the flowery path she went, +snipping busily. On the stalks of larkspur +and phlox she laid a mass of pink snapdragons +and white candytuft, tucking in +here and there sprays of just-opening +baby’s-breath to give a misty look to the +basket. A bunch of English daisies came +next; they blossomed so fast one didn’t +have to pick and choose among them; one +could just cut and cut. And oughtn’t +there to be pansies? “Pansies—that’s for +thoughts.” Those wonderful purple ones +with a sprinkling of the yellow—no, yellow +would spoil the color scheme of the basket. +These white beauties were just the thing. +How lovely it all looked, blue and white +and pink and purple!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div> +<p>But there wasn’t much fragrance. +Eye and nose searched hopefully. Heliotrope!—just +a spray or two. There, now +it was perfect. Anybody would be glad to +see a basket like that coming. Only, she +did wish some one else were to carry it, or +else that she knew the people. It might +not be so bad if she knew the people. +Why shouldn’t Laura or Trudy take it? +Elliott walked very slowly up to the house, +debating the question. A week ago she +wouldn’t have debated; she would have +said, “Oh, I can’t possibly.” Or so she +thought.</p> +<p>“How beautiful!” said Aunt Jessica’s +voice from the kitchen window. “You +have made an exquisite thing, dear.”</p> +<p>Elliott rested the basket on the window +ledge and surveyed it proudly. “Isn’t it +lovely? And I don’t think cutting this has +hurt the borders a bit.”</p> +<p>“I am sure not.” Aunt Jessica’s busy +hands went back to her yellow mixing-bowl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +“You know where the Gordons +live, don’t you?—in the big brick house at +the cross-roads.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Elliott, and her feet carried +her out of the yard, stopping only long +enough to let her get her pink parasol from +the hall, and down the hill toward the +cross-roads. It was odd about Elliott’s +feet, when she hadn’t quite made up her +mind whether or not she would go. Her +feet seemed to have no doubt of it.</p> +<p>The pink parasol threw a becoming light +on her face, as she knew it would, and the +odor of heliotrope rose pleasantly in her +nostrils as she walked along. But the basket +grew heavy, astonishingly heavy. She +wouldn’t have believed a culling-basket +with a few flowers in it could weigh so +much. The farther Elliott walked, the +heavier it grew. And she hadn’t gone a +quarter of the way, either.</p> +<p>A horse’s feet coming up rapidly behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +her turned the girl’s steps to the side of +the road. The horse drew abreast and +stopped, prancing. “Want a lift?” asked +the man in the wagon. He was a big grizzled +farmer, a friend of her uncle’s.</p> +<p>Elliott nodded, smiling. “Oh, thank +you!”</p> +<p>“Purty flowers you’ve got there.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t they lovely! Aunt Jessica is +sending them to Mrs. Gordon.”</p> +<p>“That’s right! That’s right! Say, +just look at them pansies, now! Flowers, +they don’t do nothin’ but grow for that +aunt of yours. She don’t have to much +more ’n look at ’em.”</p> +<p>Elliott laughed. “She weeds them, I +happen to know. I helped her this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Did you, now! But there’s a difference +in folks. Take my wife: she plants +’em and plants ’em, but she can’t keep none. +They up and die on her, sure thing.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></div> +<p>Elliott selected a purple pansy. “This +looks to me as though it would like to get +into your buttonhole, Mr. Blair.”</p> +<p>“Sho, now!” He flushed with pleasure, +driving slowly as the girl fitted the pansy +in place, a bit of heliotrope nestling beside +it. “Smells good, don’t it? Mother always +had heliotrope in her garden. Takes +me back to when I was a little shaver.”</p> +<p>Elliott’s deft fingers were busy with the +English daisies.</p> +<p>“Now don’t you go and spoil your basket.”</p> +<p>“No, indeed! see what a lot there are +left. Here is a little nosegay for your +wife. And thank you so much for the +lift.”</p> +<p>He cranked the wheel and she jumped +out, waving her hand as he drove on. +Queer a man like that should love flowers!</p> +<p>It was only when she was walking up +the graveled path to the door of the brick +house that she remembered to compose her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +face into a proper gravity. She felt nervous +and ill at ease. But she needn’t go +in, she reminded herself, just leave the +flowers at the door. If only there were a +maid, which there probably wasn’t! One +couldn’t count for certain on getting right +away from these places where the people +themselves met one at the door.</p> +<p>“How do you do?” said a voice, advancing +from the right. “What a lovely basket!”</p> +<p>Elliott jumped. She was ready to jump +at anything and she had been looking +straight ahead without a single glance +aside from a non-committal brick front. +Now she saw a hammock swung between +two trees, a hammock still swaying from +the impact of the girl who had just left it.</p> +<p>She was the biggest girl Elliott had ever +seen, tall and fat and shapeless and very +plain. She was all in white, which made +her look bigger, and her skirt was at least +three years old. There was a faint trickle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +of brown spots down the front of it, too, +of which the girl seemed utterly unaware.</p> +<p>“You don’t have to tell me where those +flowers come from,” she said. “You are +Laura Cameron’s cousin, aren’t you? +Glad to know you.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Elliott, “I am Elliott Cameron. +Aunt Jessica sent these to your +mother.”</p> +<p>The girl’s fingers felt cool and firm as +they touched Elliott’s, the only pleasant impression +she had yet gathered.</p> +<p>“They look just like Mrs. Cameron. +Sit down while I call Mother. Oh, she’s +not doing anything special. Mother!”</p> +<p>Elliott, conducted through the house to +a wide veranda, sank into a chair, conscious +in every nerve of her own slender +waistline. What must it feel like to be so +big? A minute later she seemed to herself +to be engulfed between two mountains +of flesh. A woman—more unwieldy, +more shapeless, more oppressive even than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +the girl—waddled across the veranda +floor. What she said Elliott really didn’t +know; afterward phrases of pleasure came +back to her vaguely. She distinctly remembered +the creaking of the rocking-chair +when the woman sat down and her +own frightened feeling lest some vital part +should give way under the strain.</p> +<p>After a time, to her consciousness, mild +blue eyes emerged from the mass of human +bulk that fronted her; gray hair +crinkled away from a broad white forehead. +Then she perceived that Mrs. Gordon +was not a very tall woman, not so +tall as was her daughter. If anything, +that made it worse, thought Elliott. Why, +if she fell down, no one could tell which +side up she ought to go—except, of course, +head side on top. The idea gave her a +hysterical desire to giggle. The fact that +it would be so dreadful to laugh in this +house made the desire almost uncontrollable.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></div> +<p>And then the big girl did laugh about +something or other, laughed simply and +naturally and really pleasantly. Elliott +almost jumped again, she was so startled. +To her, there was something repulsive in +the sight of so much human flesh. At the +same time it discouraged her. In the presence +of these two she felt insignificant, +even while she pitied them. She wished to +get away, but instinctive breeding held her +in her chair, chatting. She hoped what +she said wasn’t too inane; she didn’t know +quite what she did say.</p> +<p>Just then suddenly Harriet Gordon +asked a question: “Has your aunt said +anything yet about a picnic this summer?”</p> +<p>“I heard her say this afternoon that she +felt just like one,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>Mother and daughter looked at each +other triumphantly. “What did I tell +you!” said one. “I thought it was about +time,” said the other.</p> +<p>“Jessica Cameron always feels like a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +picnic in midsummer,” Mrs. Gordon explained. +“After the haying ’s done. You +tell her my little niece will want to go. +Alma has been here three weeks and we +haven’t been able to do much for her. +Do you think you will go, too, Harriet?”</p> +<p>“I’d rather not this time, Mother.”</p> +<p>“The Bliss girls will probably go, and +Alma knows them pretty well. She won’t +be lonesome.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” said Elliott, “we will see that +she isn’t lonely.”</p> +<p>“Must you go? Tell Mrs. Cameron we +will send our limousine whenever she says +the word.” On the way back through the +house Harriet Gordon paused before the +picture of a young man in aviator’s uniform. +“My brother,” she said simply, +and there was infinite pride in her voice.</p> +<p>Elliott stumbled down the path to the +road. She quite forgot to put up the pink +parasol. She carried it closed all the way +home. Were they limousine people? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +You would never have guessed it to look +at them. Why, she knew about picnics +of that kind!—motor-car, luncheon-kit +picnics! But what a shame to be so big! +Couldn’t they <i>do</i> something about it? +Good as gold, of course, and in such terrible +sorrow! They weren’t unfeeling. +The girl’s voice when she said, “My +brother,” proved that. It seemed as +though knowing about them ought to make +them attractive, but somehow it didn’t. +If they only understood how to dress, it +would help matters. Queer, how nice +boys could have such frumpy people! +And Ted Gordon had been a perfectly nice +boy. The picture proved that. But Aunt +Jessica had been right about the flowers. +The big woman and the farmer proved +<i>that</i>. Altogether Elliott’s mind was a +queer jumble.</p> +<p>“She said she’d send back the basket +to-morrow, Aunt Jessica,” she reported. +“Said she wanted to sit and look at it for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +while just as it was. And Miss Gordon +asked me to tell you that whenever you +were ready for the picnic you must let her +know and she would send around their +limousine.”</p> +<p>“If that isn’t just like Harriet Gordon!” +laughed Laura. “She is the wittiest girl! +Didn’t you like her, Elliott?”</p> +<p>Elliott’s eyes opened wide. “What is +there witty in saying she would send their +limousine?”</p> +<p>Tom snorted. “Wait till you see it!”</p> +<p>“Why, she meant their hay-wagon! +We always use the Gordon hay-wagon for +this midsummer picnic. That’s a custom, +too.”</p> +<p>Everybody laughed at the expression on +Elliott’s face.</p> +<p>“Not up on the vernacular, Lot?” gibed +Stannard.</p> +<p>“When is the picnic to be, Mother?” +asked Laura.</p> +<p>“How about to-morrow?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></div> +<p>“Better make it the day after,” Father +Bob suggested, and they all fell to discussing +whom to ask.</p> +<p>So far as Elliott could see they asked +everybody except townspeople. The telephone +was kept busy that night and the +next morning in the intervals of Mother +Jess’s and the girls’ baking. Elliott +helped pack up dozens of turnovers and +cookies and sandwiches and bottled quarts +of lemonade.</p> +<p>“The lemonade is for the children,” said +Laura. “The rest of us have coffee. +Don’t you love the taste of coffee that you +make over a fire that you build yourself in +the woods?”</p> +<p>“On picnics I have always had my +coffee out of a thermos bottle,” said +Elliott.</p> +<p>“Oh, you poor <i>thing</i>! Why, you +haven’t had any good times at all, have +you?”</p> +<p>Laura looked so shocked that for a minute +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +Elliott actually wondered whether she +ever really had had any good times. Privately +she wasn’t at all sure that she was +going to have a good time now, but she +kept still about that doubt.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you afraid it may rain to-morrow?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“No, indeed! It never rains on things +Mother plans.”</p> +<p>And it didn’t. The morning of the picnic +dawned clear and dewy and sparkling, +as perfect a summer day as though it had +been made to the Camerons’ order. By +nine o’clock the big hay-wagon had appeared, +driven by Mr. Gordon himself, +who said he was going to turn over the +reins to Mr. Cameron when they reached +the Gordon farm. Two more horses were +hitched on and all the Camerons piled in, +with enough boxes and baskets and bags +of potatoes, one would think, to feed a +small town, and away the hay-wagon went +down the hill, stopping at house after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +house to take in smiling people, with more +boxes and baskets and bags.</p> +<p>It was all very care-free and gay, and +Elliott smiled and chattered away with +the rest; but in her heart of hearts she +knew that there wasn’t one of these boys +and girls who squeezed into the capacious +hay-wagon to whom she would have given +a second glance, before coming up here +to Vermont. Now she wondered whether +they were all as negligible as they looked. +And pretty soon she forgot that she had +ever thought they looked negligible. It +was the jolliest crowd she had ever been +in. One or two were a bit quiet when +they arrived, but soon even the shyest were +talking, or at least laughing, in the midst +of the happy hubbub. It seemed as +though one couldn’t have anything but a +good time when the Camerons set out to +be jolly. Alma Gordon and the little +Bliss girls were the last to squeeze in and +they rode away waving their hands violently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +to a short, fat woman and a tall, fat +girl, who waved briskly from the brick +house’s front door.</p> +<p>Then Mr. Cameron turned the horses +into a mountain road and they began to +climb. Up and up the wagon went with +its merry load, through towering woods +and open pastures and along hillsides +where the woods had been cut and a tangle +of underbrush was beginning to spring up +among the stumps. And the higher the +horses climbed the higher rose the jollity +of the hay-wagon’s company. The sun +was hot overhead when they stopped. +There were gray rocks and a tumbling +mountain brook and a brown-carpeted pine +wood. Everybody jumped out helter-skelter +and began unloading the wagon or +gathering fire-wood or dipping up water, +or simply scampering around for joy of +stretching cramped legs.</p> +<p>It was surprising how soon a fire was +burning on the gray stones and coffee bubbling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +in the big pail Mother Jess had +brought; surprising, too, how good bacon +tasted when you broiled it yourself on a +forked stick and potatoes that you +smooched your face on by eating them in +their skins, black from the hot ashes that +the boys poked them out of with green +poles. Elliott knew now that she had +never really picnicked before in her life +and that she liked it. She liked it so much +that she ate and ate and ate until she +couldn’t eat another mouthful.</p> +<p>Perhaps she ate too much, but I doubt +it. It is much more likely to have been +the climb that she took in the hot sunshine +directly after that dinner, and the climb +wouldn’t have hurt her, if she had ended +the dinner without that last potato and the +extra turnover and two cookies; or if she +had rested a little before the climb. But +perhaps, it wasn’t either the dinner or +the climb; it may have been the pink ice-cream +of the evening before; or that time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +in the celery patch, the previous morning, +when she had forgotten her hat and +wouldn’t go back to the house for it because +Henry hadn’t a hat on, and why +should a girl need a hat more than a boy? +Or it may have been all those things put together. +She certainly had had a slight +headache when she went to bed.</p> +<p>Whatever caused it, the fact was that on +the ride home Elliott began to feel very +sick. The longer she rode the sicker she +felt and the more appalled and ashamed +and frightened she grew. What could be +going to happen to her? And what awful +exhibition was she about to make of herself +before all these people to whom she +had felt so superior?</p> +<p>Before long people noticed how white +she was and by the time the wagon reached +the brick house at the cross-roads poor +Elliott hardly cared if they did see it. Her +pride was crushed by her misery. Mrs. +Gordon and Harriet came out to welcome +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +Alma home and they hesitated not a minute.</p> +<p>“Have them bring her right in here, +Jessica. No, no, not a mite of trouble! +We’ll keep her all night. You go right +along home, you and Laura. Mercy me, +if we can’t do a little thing like this for you +folks! She’ll be all right in the morning.”</p> +<p>The words meant nothing to Elliott. +She was quite beyond caring where she +went, so that it was to a bed, flat and still +and unmoving. But even in her distress +she was conscious that, whatever came of +it, she had had a good time.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_A_BEE_STING' id='CHAPTER_VIII_A_BEE_STING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>A BEE STING</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Elliott was wretchedly, miserably +ill. She despised herself for it +and then she lost even the sensation of +self contempt in utter misery. She didn’t +care about anything—who helped her undress +or where the undressing was done +or what happened to her. Mercifully nobody +talked; it would have killed her, she +thought, to have to try to talk. They +didn’t even ask her how she felt. They +only moved about quietly and did things. +They put her to bed and gave her something +to drink, after which for a time she +didn’t care if she did die; in fact, she +rather hoped she would; and then the disgusting +things happened and she felt worse +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +and worse and then—oh wonder!—she began +to feel better. Actually, it was sheer +bliss just to lie quiet and feel how comfortable +she was.</p> +<p>“I am so sorry!” she murmured apologetically +to a presence beside the bed. “I +have made you a horrid lot of trouble.”</p> +<p>“Not a bit,” said the presence, quietly. +“So don’t you begin worrying about that.”</p> +<p>And she didn’t worry. It seemed impossible +to worry about anything just +then.</p> +<p>“I feel lots better,” she remarked, after +a while.</p> +<p>“That’s right. I thought you would. +Now I’m going to telephone your Aunt +Jessica that you feel better, and you just +lie quiet and go to sleep. Then you will +feel better still. I’ll put the bell right here +beside the bed. If you want anything, +tap it.”</p> +<p>The presence waddled away—the girl +could feel its going in the tremor of the bed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +beneath her—and Elliott out of half-shut +eyes looked into the room. The shades +were partially drawn and the light was +dim. A little breeze fluttered the white +scrim curtain. The girl’s lazy gaze traveled +slowly over what she could see without +moving her head. To move her head +would have been too much trouble. What +she saw was spotless and clean and countrified, +the kind of room she would have +scorned this morning; now she thought it +the most peaceful place in the world. But +she didn’t intend to go to sleep in it. She +meant merely to lie wrapped in that delicious +mantle of well-being and continue +to feel how utterly content she was. It +seemed a pity to go to sleep and lose consciousness +of a thing like that.</p> +<p>But the first thing she knew she was +waking up and the room was quite dark +and she felt comfortable, but just the least +bit queer. It couldn’t be that she was +hungry!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div> +<p>She lay and debated the point drowsily +until a streak of light fell across the bed. +The light came from a kerosene lamp in +the hands of an immense woman whose +mild blue eyes beamed on Elliott.</p> +<p>“There, you’ve waked up, haven’t you? +I guess you’ll like a glass of milk now. +You can bring it right up, Harriet. She’s +awake.”</p> +<p>The woman set down her lamp on a little +table and lumbered about the room, +adjusting the shades at the windows, while +the lamp threw grotesque exaggerations on +the wall. Elliott watched the shadows, a +warm little smile at her heart. They +were funny, but she found herself tender +toward them. When the woman padded +back to the bed the girl smiled, her cheek +pillowed on her hand. She liked her +there beside the bed, her big shapeless +form totally obscuring the straight-backed +chair. She didn’t think of waist lines or +clothes at all, only of how comfortable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +and cushiony and pleasant the large face +looked. Mothery—might not that be the +word for it? Somehow like Aunt Jessica, +yet without the slightest resemblance except +in expression, a kind of radiating +lovingness that warmed one through and +through, and made everything right, no +matter how wrong it might have seemed.</p> +<p>“I telephoned your Aunt Jessica,” said +the big woman. “She was just going to +call us, and they all sent their love to you. +Here’s Harriet with the milk. Do you +feel a mite hungry?”</p> +<p>“I think that must be what was the matter +with me. I was trying to decide when +you came in.”</p> +<p>The fat form shook all over with silent +laughter. It was fascinating to watch +laughter that produced such a cataclysm +but made no sound. Elliott forgot to +drink in her absorption.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Harriet Gordon, “Elliott +thinks you’re a three-ringed circus. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +You mustn’t be so exciting till she has finished +her milk.”</p> +<p>Elliott protested, startled. “I think you +are the kindest people in the world, both +of you!”</p> +<p>“Mercy, child, anybody would have done +the same! Don’t you go to setting us up +on pedestals for a little thing like that.”</p> +<p>The fat girl was smiling. “Make it +singular, mother. I have no quarrel with +a pedestal for you, though it might be a +little awkward to move about on.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gordon shook again with that +fascinating laughter. “Mercy me! I’d +tip off first thing and then where would we +all be?”</p> +<p>Elliott’s eyes sought Harriet Gordon’s. +If she had observed closely she would +have seen spots on the white dress, but +to-night she was not looking at clothes. +She only thought what a kind face the big +girl had and how extraordinarily pleasant +her voice was and what good friends she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +and her mother were, just like Laura and +Aunt Jessica, only different.</p> +<p>“There!” said Mrs. Gordon. “You +drank up every drop, didn’t you? You +must have been hungry. Now you go +right to sleep again and I’ll miss my guess +if you don’t feel real good in the morning.”</p> +<p>“Good night,” said Harriet from the +door. “Did you give Blink her good-night +mouthful, Mother?”</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t. How I do forget that +cat!” said Mrs. Gordon. She turned +down the sheet under Elliott’s chin, patted +it a little, and asked, “Don’t you want your +pillow turned over?” Then quite naturally +she stooped down and kissed the +girl. “I guess you’re all right now. +Good night.” And Elliott put both arms +around her neck and hugged her, big as +she was. “Good night,” she said softly.</p> +<p>The next time Elliott woke up it was +broad daylight. Her eyes opened on a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +framed motto, “God is Love,” and she had +to lie still and think a full minute before +she could remember where she was and +why she was there at all. Then she smiled +at the motto—it wasn’t the kind of thing +she liked on walls, but to see it there did +not make her feel in the least superior this +morning—and jumped out of bed. As +Mrs. Gordon had prophesied, she felt well, +only the least bit wabbly. Probably that +was because it was before breakfast—her +breakfast. She had a disconcerting fear +that it might be long long after other people’s +breakfasts and for the first time in +her life she was distressed at making trouble. +Hitherto it had seemed right and +normal for people to put themselves out +for her.</p> +<p>She dressed as quickly as she could and +went down-stairs. Harriet was shelling +peas on the big veranda that looked off +across the valley to the mountains. There +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +must have been rain in the night, for the +world was bathed clean and shining.</p> +<p>“Mother said to let you sleep as long as +you would.” Harriet stopped the current +of apology on Elliott’s lips. “Did you +have a good night?”</p> +<p>“Splendid! I didn’t know a thing from +the time your mother went out of the room +until half an hour ago.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t know anything about the thunder-shower?”</p> +<p>“Was there a thunder-shower?”</p> +<p>“A big one. It put our telephone out of +commission.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t hear it,” said Elliott.</p> +<p>“It almost pays to be sick, to find out +how good it feels to be well, doesn’t it? +Here’s a glass of milk. Drink that while +I get your breakfast.”</p> +<p>“Can’t I do it? I hate to make you +more trouble.”</p> +<p>“Trouble? Forget that word! We +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +like to have you here. It is good for +Mother. Gives her something to think +about. Can’t you spend the day?”</p> +<p>Now, Elliott wanted to get home at +once; she had been longing ever since she +woke up to see Mother Jess and Laura and +Father Bob and Henry and Bruce and +everybody else on the Cameron farm, not +omitting Prince and the chickens and the +“black and whitey” calf; but she thought +rapidly: if it really made things any easier +for the Gordons to have her here—</p> +<p>“Why, yes, I can stay if you want me +to.” It cost her something to say those +words, but she said them with a smile.</p> +<p>“Good! I’ll telephone Mrs. Cameron +that we will bring you home this afternoon. +I’ll go over to the Blisses’ to do it, though +maybe their telephone’s knocked out, too. +The one at our hired man’s house isn’t +working. Here comes Mother with an +egg the hen has just laid for your breakfast.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +“Just a-purpose,” said Mrs. Gordon. +“It’s warm yet and marked ‘Elliott Cameron’ +plain as daylight. Is my hair full of +straw, Harriet?”</p> +<p>“It is, straw and cobwebs. Where have +you been, Mother? You know you +haven’t any business in the haymow or +crawling under the old carryall. Why +don’t you let Alma bring in the eggs? +She’s little and spry.”</p> +<p>“Pooh!” said Mrs. Gordon, with one of +her silent laughs. “Pooh, pooh! Alma +isn’t any match for old Whitefoot yet. +You’d think that hen laid awake nights +thinking up outlandish places to lay her +eggs in. Wait till you get to be sixty, +Harriet. Then you’ll know you can’t let +folks wait on you. Before that it’s all +right, but after sixty you’ve got to do for +yourself, if you don’t want to grow old.—Two, +dearie? I’m going to make you a +drop-egg on toast for your breakfast.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, one!” cried Elliott. “I never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +eat two. And can’t I help? I hate to +have you get my breakfast.”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, you can dish up your oatmeal,” +calmly cracking a second egg. +“’T won’t do a mite of harm to have two. +Maybe you’re hungrier than you think. +Now Harriet, the water, and we’re all +ready. I’ll help you finish those peas +while she eats.”</p> +<p>The woman and the girl shelled peas, +their fat fingers fairly flying through the +pods, while Elliott devoured both eggs and +a bowl of oatmeal and a pitcher of cream +and a dish of blueberries and wondered +how they could make their fingers move so +fast.</p> +<p>“Practice,” said Mrs. Gordon in answer +to the girl’s query. “You do a thing over +and over enough times and you get so +you can’t help doing it fast, if you’ve got +any gumption at all. The quarts of peas +I’ve shelled in my life time would feed an +army, I guess.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></div> +<p>“Don’t you ever get tired?”</p> +<p>“Tired of shelling peas? Land no, I +like it! I can sit in here and look at you, +or out on the back piazza and watch the +mountains, or on the front step and see +folks drive by, and I’ve always got my +thoughts.” A shadow crossed the placid +face. “My thoughts work better when +my fingers are busy. I’d hate to just sit +and hold my hands. Ted dared me once +to try it for an hour. That was the longest +hour I ever spent.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gordon had risen to peer through +the window after a rapidly receding +wagon.</p> +<p>“There!” she said. “There goes that +woman from Bayfield I want to sell some +of my bees to. She’s going down to +Blisses’ and I’d better walk right over +and talk to her, as the telephone won’t +work. I ’most think one hive is going to +swarm this morning, but I guess I’ll have +time to get back before they come out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +Hello, Johnny, how do you do to-day?”</p> +<p>“All right,” lisped the small solemn-eyed +urchin who had strayed in from the +kitchen and now stood in the door hitching +at a diminutive pair of trousers and +eying Elliott absorbedly. “Gone!” he announced +suddenly; coming out of his scrutiny.</p> +<p>“What, your button?” Harriet pulled +him up to her. “I’ll sew it on in a jiffy. +Don’t worry about the bees, Mother. I +can manage them, if they decide to swarm +before you get back, and while you’re at +the Blisses’ just telephone central our +phone’s out of order—and oh, please tell +Mrs. Cameron we’re keeping Elliott till +afternoon.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Gordon departed and Harriet +sewed on the button. “There, Johnny, now +you’re all right. You can run out and +play.”</p> +<p>But Johnny became suddenly galvanized +into action. He dived into a small pocket +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +and produced a note, crumpled and soiled, +but still legible.</p> +<p>“If that isn’t provoking!” said Harriet, +when she had read it. “Why didn’t you +give me this the first thing, Johnny? Then +Mother could have done this telephoning, +too, at the Blisses’.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Elliott.</p> +<p>“A message Johnny’s mother wants +sent. She’s our hired man’s wife and I +must say at times she shows about as much +brains as a chicken. You’d think she’d +know our ’phone wouldn’t be likely to +work, if hers didn’t. Now I shall have to +go over to the Blisses’ myself, I suppose. +The message seems fairly important. +Where has your mother gone, Johnny?”</p> +<p>But Johnny didn’t know; beyond a +vague “she wided away” he was non-committal.</p> +<p>“She might have stopped somewhere +and telephoned for herself, I should +think,” grumbled Harriet. “I’ll be back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +in a few minutes. Or will you come, too? +If I can’t ’phone from the Blisses’ I may +have to go farther.”</p> +<p>“I’ll stay here, I think, and wash up +my dishes. And after that I’ll finish the +peas.”</p> +<p>“Mercy me, I shan’t be gone that long! +We’re shelling these to put up, you know. +Don’t bother about washing your dishes, +either. They’ll keep.”</p> +<p>“Who’s saying bother, now?” Elliott’s +dimples twinkled mischievously.</p> +<p>Harriet laughed. “You and Johnny +can mind the place. The men and Alma +are all off at the lower farm and here goes +the last woman. Good-by.”</p> +<p>Elliott went briskly about her program. +She found soap and a pan and rinsed her +dishes under the hot-water faucet. Then +she sat down to the peas. Johnny, who +had followed her about for a while, deserted +her for pressing affairs of his own +out-of-doors. Elliott pinched the pods as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +scientifically as she knew how and wondered +whether, if she should shell peas all +her life, her slender fingers would ever +acquire the lightning nimbleness of the +Gordons’ fat ones. How long Harriet +was gone!</p> +<p>She was thinking about this when she +heard something that made her first stop +her work to listen and then jump up hurriedly, +spilling the peas out of her lap. +The wailing of a terrified child was coming +nearer and nearer. Elliott set down +the peas that were left and ran out on the +veranda. There was Johnny stumbling +up the path, crying at the top of his lungs.</p> +<p>“Why, Johnny!” She ran toward him. +“Why, Johnny, what is the matter?”</p> +<p>Johnny precipitated himself into her +arms in a torrent of tears. Not a word +was distinguishable, but his wails pierced +the girl’s ear-drums.</p> +<p>“Johnny! Johnny, <i>stop it</i>! Tell me +where you’re hurt.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></div> +<p>But Johnny only sobbed the harder. +He couldn’t be in danger of death—could +he?—when he screamed so. That +showed his lungs were all right, and his +legs worked, too, and his arms. They +were digging into her now, with a force +that almost upset her equilibrium. Could +something be wrong inside of him?</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Johnny? Stop +crying and tell me.”</p> +<p>Johnny’s yells slackened for want of +breath. He held up one brown little hand. +She inspected it. Dirty, of course, unspeakably, +but otherwise—Oh, there was a +bunch on one knuckle, a bunch that was +swelling. “Is that where it hurts you, +Johnny?”</p> +<p>Johnny nodded, gulping.</p> +<p>“Did something sting you?”</p> +<p>“Bee stung Johnny. <i>Naughty</i> bee!”</p> +<p>The girl stared at the small grimy hand +in consternation. A bee sting! What +did you do for a bee sting or any kind of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +a sting for that matter? Mosquitoes—hamamelis. +And where did the Gordons +keep their hamamelis bottle?</p> +<p>Johnny’s screams, abated in expectation +of relief, began to rise once more. He +was angry. Why didn’t she <i>do</i> something? +This delay was unendurable. +His voice mounted in a long, piercing wail.</p> +<p>“Don’t cry,” the girl said nervously. +“Don’t cry. Let’s go into the house and +find something.”</p> +<p>Up-stairs and down she trailed the +shrieking child. At the Cameron farm +there were two hamamelis bottles, one in +the bath-room, the other on a shelf in the +kitchen. But nothing rewarded her +search here. If only some one were at +home! If only the telephone weren’t out +of order! Desperately she took down the +receiver, to be greeted by a faint, continuous +buzzing. There was nothing for it; +she must leave Johnny and run to a neighbor’s. +But Johnny refused to be left. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +clung to her and kicked and screamed for +pain and the terror of finding his secure +baby world falling to pieces about his +ears.</p> +<p>“It’s a shame, Johnny. I ought to +know what to do, but I don’t. You come +too, then.”</p> +<p>But Johnny refused to budge. He +threw himself on his back on the veranda +and beat the floor with his heels and wailed +long heart-piercing wails that trembled +into sobbing silence, only to begin all over +with fresh vigor. Elliott was at her wits’ +end. She didn’t dare go away and leave +him; she was afraid he might kill himself +crying. But mightn’t he do so if she +stayed? He pushed her away when she +tried to comfort him. There was only one +thing that he wanted; he would have none +of her, if she didn’t give it to him.</p> +<p>Never in her life had Elliott Cameron +felt so insignificant, so helpless and futile, +as she did at that minute. “Oh, you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +poor baby!” she cried, and hated herself +for her ignorance. Laura would have +known what to do; Harriet Gordon would +have known. Would nobody ever come?</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with him?” The +question barked out, brusque and sharp, +but never had a voice sounded more welcome +in Elliott Cameron’s ears. She +turned around in joyful relief to encounter +a pair of gimlet-like black eyes in the face +of an old woman. She was an ugly little +old woman in a battered straw hat and a +shabby old jacket, though the day was +warm, and a faded print skirt that was +draggled with mud at the hem. Her hair +strayed untidily about her face and unfathomable +scorn looked out of her snapping +black eyes.</p> +<p>“It’s a—a bee sting,” stammered the +girl, shrinking under the scorn.</p> +<p>“Hee-hee-hee!” The old woman’s +laughter was cracked and high. “What +kind of a lummux are you? Don’t know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +what to do for a bee sting! Hee-hee! +Mud, you gawk you, mud!”</p> +<p>She bent down and slapped up a handful +of wet soil from the edge of the fern +bed below the veranda. “Put that on +him,” she said and went away giggling a +girl’s shrill giggle and muttering between +her giggles: “Don’t know what to do for +a bee sting. Hee-hee!”</p> +<p>For a whole minute after the queer old +woman had gone Elliott stood there, staring +down at the spatter of mud on the +steps, dismay and wrath in her heart. +Then, because she didn’t know anything +else to do and because Johnny’s screams +had redoubled, she stooped, and with +gingerly care picked up the lump of black +mud and went over to the boy. Mud +couldn’t hurt him, she thought, put on outside; +it certainly couldn’t hurt him, but +could it help?</p> +<p>She sat down on the floor and lifted +the little swollen fist and held the cool mud +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +on it, neither noticing nor caring that some +trickled down on her own skirt. She sat +there a long time, or so it seemed, while +Johnny’s yells sank to long-drawn sobs +and then ceased altogether as he snuggled +forgivingly against her arm. And in her +heart was a great shame and an aching +feeling of inadequacy and failure. Elliott +Cameron had never known so bitter a five +minutes. All her pride and self-sufficiency +were gone. What was she good for +in a practical emergency? Just nothing +at all. She didn’t know even the commonest +things, not the commonest.</p> +<p>“It must have been Witless Sue,” said +Aunt Jessica, late that afternoon, when Elliott +told her the story. “She is a half-witted +old soul who wanders about digging +herbs in summer and lives on the +town farm in winter. There’s no harm in +her.”</p> +<p>“Half-witted!” said Elliott. “She knew +more than I did.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></div> +<p>“You have not had the opportunity to +learn.”</p> +<p>“That didn’t make it any better for +Johnny. Laura knows all those things, +doesn’t she? And Trudy, too?”</p> +<p>“I think they know what to do in the +simpler emergencies of life.”</p> +<p>“I wish I did. I took a first-aid course, +but it didn’t have stings in it, not as far as +we’d gone when I came away. We were +taught bandaging and using splints and +things like that.”</p> +<p>“Very useful knowledge.”</p> +<p>“But Johnny got stung,” said Elliott, as +though nothing mattered beyond that +fact. “Do you think you could teach me +things, now and then, Aunt Jessica? the +things Laura and Trudy know?”</p> +<p>“Surely,” said Aunt Jessica, “and very +gladly. There are things that you could +teach Laura and Trudy, too. Don’t forget +that entirely.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div> +<p>“Could I? Useful things?” She asked +the question with humility.</p> +<p>“Very useful things in certain kinds of +emergency. What did Mrs. Gordon do +for Johnny when she got home?”</p> +<p>“Oh, she washed his hand and soaked +it in strong soda and water, baking-soda, +and then she bound some soda right on, for +good measure, she said.”</p> +<p>“There!” said Aunt Jessica. “Now +you know two things to do for a bee sting.”</p> +<p>Elliott opened her eyes wide. “Why, so +I do, don’t I? I truly do.”</p> +<p>“That’s the way people learn,” said +Mother Jess, “by emergencies. It is the +only way they are sure to remember. +Laura is helping Henry milk. Suppose +you make us some biscuit for supper, Elliott.”</p> +<p>Elliott started to say, “I’ve never made +biscuit,” but shut her lips tight before the +words slipped out.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></div> +<p>“I will tell you the rule. You’d better +double it for our family. Everything is +plainly marked in the pantry. Perhaps +the fire needs another stick before you begin.”</p> +<p>Carefully the girl selected a stick from +the wood-box. “Just let me get my apron, +Aunt Jessica,” she said.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_ELLIOTT_ACTS_ON_AN_IDEA' id='CHAPTER_IX_ELLIOTT_ACTS_ON_AN_IDEA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>ELLIOTT ACTS ON AN IDEA</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Six weeks later a girl was busy in the +sunny white kitchen of the Cameron +farm. The girl wore a big blue apron +that covered her gown completely from +neck to hem, and she hummed a little song +as she moved from sink to range and +range to table. There was about her a +delicate air of importance, almost of elation. +You know as well as I where Elliott +Cameron ought to have been by this +time. Six weeks plus how many other +weeks was it since she left home? The +quarantine must have been lifted from her +Uncle James’s house for at least a month. +But the girl in the kitchen looked surprisingly +like Elliott Cameron. If it wasn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +she, it must have been her twin, and I +have never heard that Elliott had a twin.</p> +<p>Though she was all alone in the kitchen—washing +potatoes, too—she didn’t appear +in the least unhappy. She went over +to the stove, lifted a lid, glanced in, and +added two or three sticks of wood to the +fire. Then she brought out a pan of +apples and went down cellar after a roll +of pie crust. Some one else may have +made that pie crust. Elliott took it into +the pantry, turned the board on the +flour barrel, shook flour evenly over +it from the sifter, and, cutting off +one end of the pie crust, began to roll +it out thin on the board. She arranged +the lower crust on three pie-plates, and, +going into the kitchen again, began to peel +the apples and cut them up into the pies. +Perhaps she wasn’t so quick about it as +Laura might have been, but she did very +well. The skin fell from her knife in +long, thin, curly strips. After that she +finished the pies off in the pantry and +tucked all three into the oven. Squatting +on her feet in front of the door, she studied +the dial intently for a moment and hesitatingly +pushed the draft just a crack +open. If it hadn’t been for that momentary +indecision, you might have +thought that she had been baking pies all +her life. Then she began to peel the +potatoes.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +<img src='images/p0200a-insert.jpg' alt='' title='' width='360' height='510' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“I’m getting dinner all by myself”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>So it was that Stannard found her. +“Hello!” he said, with a grin. “Busy?”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I am! I’m getting dinner all +by myself.”</p> +<p>He went through a pantomime of dodging +a blow. “Whew-ee! Guess I’ll take +to the woods.”</p> +<p>“Better not. If you do, you will miss a +good dinner. Mother Jess said I might +try it. Boiled potatoes and baked fish—she +showed me how to fix that—and corn +and things. There’s one other dish +on my menu that I’m not going to tell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +you.” And all her dimples came into +play.</p> +<p>“H’m!” said Stannard, “we feel pretty +smart, don’t we? Well, maybe I’ll stay +and see how it pans out. A fellow can +always tighten his belt, you know.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t you horrid!” She made up a +face at him, a captivating little grimace +that wrinkled her nose and set imps of +mischief dancing in her eyes.</p> +<p>Stannard watched her as with firm motions +she stripped the husks from the +corn, picking off the clinging strands of +silk daintily.</p> +<p>“Gee, Elliott!” he exclaimed. “Do you +know, you’re prettier than ever!”</p> +<p>She dropped him a courtesy. “I must +be, with a smooch of flour on my nose and +my hair every which way.”</p> +<p>He grinned. “That’s a story. Your +hair looks as though Madame What-’s-her-name, +that you and Mater and the +girls go to so much, had just got through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +with you. I’ve never seen you when you +didn’t look as though you had come out +of a bandbox.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t you? Think again, Stan, +think again! What about your Cousin +Elliott in a corn-field?”</p> +<p>Stannard slapped his thigh. “That’s +so, too! I forgot that. But your hair’s +all to the good, even then.”</p> +<p>“Stan,” warned Elliott, “you’d better +be careful. You will get in too deep to +wade out, if you don’t watch your step. +What are you getting at, anyway? Why +all these compliments?”</p> +<p>“Compliments! A fellow doesn’t have +to praise up his cousin, does he? It just +struck me, all of a sudden, that you look +pretty fit.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. I’m feeling as fit as I look. +Out with it, Stan; what do you want?”</p> +<p>“Why, nothing,” said Stannard, “nothing +at all. Shall I take out those husks, +Lot?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div> +<p>“Delighted. The pigs eat ’em.” Her +eyes held a quizzical light. “If you’re +trying to rattle me so I shall forget something +and spoil my dinner, you can’t do +it.”</p> +<p>“What do you take me for?” He departed +with the husks, deeply indignant.</p> +<p>In five minutes he was back. “When +are you going home?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Not just yet. Your +mother has too many house parties.”</p> +<p>“That won’t make any difference.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, it does! Her house is full all +the time.”</p> +<p>“Shucks! Have you asked her if +there’s a room ready for you?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I haven’t! I wouldn’t think +of imposing on a busy hostess.”</p> +<p>“I might say something about it,” he +suggested slyly.</p> +<p>“You will do nothing of the kind.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know! I’m going home +myself day after to-morrow.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>Hastily Elliott set down the kettle she +had lifted. “Are you? That’s nice. I +mean, we shall miss you, but of course you +have to go some time, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“It won’t be any trouble at all to speak +to Mother.”</p> +<p>“Stannard,” and the color burned in her +cheeks, “will you <i>please</i> stop fiddling +around this kitchen? It makes me nervous +to see you. I nearly burned myself +in the steam of that kettle and I’m liable +to drop something on you any time.”</p> +<p>“Oh, all right! I’ll get out. Fiddling +is a new verb with you, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I picked it up. Very expressive, +I think.”</p> +<p>“Sounds like the natives.”</p> +<p>“Sounds pretty well, then. Did I +hear you say you had an errand somewhere?”</p> +<p>“No, you didn’t. You merely heard +me say that finding myself <i>de trop</i> in my +fair cousin’s company, I’d get out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +range of her big guns. Never expected +to rattle you, Lot.”</p> +<p>“I’m not rattled.”</p> +<p>“No? Pretty good imitation, then. +Oh, I’m going! Mother’s ready for you +all right, though; says so in this letter. +Here, I’ll stick it in your apron pocket. +Better come along with me, day after to-morrow. +What say?”</p> +<p>“I’ll see,” said Elliott, briefly.</p> +<p>He grinned teasingly, “Ta-ta,” and +went off, leaving turmoil behind him.</p> +<p>The minute Stannard was out of the +door Elliott did a strange thing. Reaching +with wet pink thumb and forefinger +into the depths of the blue apron pocket, +she extracted the letter and hurled it +across the kitchen into a corner.</p> +<p>“There!” she cried disdainfully, “you +go over there and <i>stay</i> a while, horrid old +letter! I’m not going to let you spoil my +perfectly good time getting dinner.”</p> +<p>But it was spoiled: no mere words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +could alter the fact. Try as she would to +put the letter out of her mind and think +only of how to do a dozen things at once +one quarter as quickly and skilfully as +Laura and Aunt Jessica did them, which +is what the apparently simple process of +dishing up a dinner means, the fine thrill +of the enterprise was gone. Laura came +in to help her and Elliott’s tongue tripped +briskly through a deal of chatter, but all +the while underneath there was a little +undercurrent of uneasiness and anxiety. +Wouldn’t you have thought it would +delight her to have the opportunity of +doing what she had so much wished to +do?</p> +<p>“What’s this?” Laura asked, spying +the white envelop on the floor; “a letter?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Elliott, “one I dropped,” +and she tucked it into the pocket of the +white skirt that had been all the time +under the blue apron, giving it a vindictive +little slap as she did so. Which, of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +course, was quite uncalled for, as if any +one was responsible for what was in the +letter, that person was Elliott Cameron. +The fact that she knew this very well only +added a little extra vigor to the slap.</p> +<p>And all through dinner she sat and +laughed and chattered away, exactly as +though she weren’t conscious in every +nerve of the letter in her pocket, despite +the fact that she didn’t know a word it +said. But she didn’t eat much: the taste +of food seemed to choke her. Her gaze +wandered from Mother Jess to Father +Bob and back, around the circle of eager, +happy, alert faces. And she felt—poor +Elliott!—as though her first discontent +were a boomerang now returned to stab +her.</p> +<p>“This is Elliott’s dinner, I would have +you all know,” announced Laura when the +pie was served. “She did it all herself.”</p> +<p>“Not every bit,” said Elliott, honestly; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +but her disclaimer was lost in the chorus +of praise.</p> +<p>Father Bob laid down his fork, looking +pleased. “Did you, indeed? Now, this +is what I call a well-cooked dinner.”</p> +<p>“I’ll give you a recommend for a cook,” +drawled Stannard, “and eat my words +about tightening my belt, too.”</p> +<p>“Some dinner!” Bruce commented.</p> +<p>“Please, I’d like another piece,” said +Priscilla.</p> +<p>“Me, too,” chimed in Tom. “It’s corking.”</p> +<p>Laura clapped her hands. “Listen, +Elliott, listen! Could praise go further?”</p> +<p>But Mother Jess, when they rose from +the table, slipped an arm through Elliott’s +and drew her toward the veranda. “Did +the cook lose her appetite getting dinner, +little girl?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, indeed, Aunt Jessica! Getting +dinner didn’t tire me a bit. I just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +loved it. I—I didn’t seem to feel hungry +this noon, that was all.”</p> +<p>Mother Jess patted her arm. “Well, +run away now, dear. You are not to give +a thought to the dishes. We will see to +them.”</p> +<p>At that minute Elliott almost told her +about the letter in her pocket, that lay like +a lump of lead on her heart. But Henry +appeared just then in the doorway and the +moment passed.</p> +<p>“Run away, dear,” repeated Aunt +Jessica, and gave the girl a little push and +another little pat. “Run away and get +rested.”</p> +<p>Slowly Elliott went down the steps and +along the path that led to the flower borders +and the apple trees. She wasn’t +really conscious of the way she was going; +her feet took charge of her and carried +her body along while her mind was busy. +When she came out among a few big trees +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +with a welter of piled-up crests on every +side, she was really astonished.</p> +<p>“Why!” she cried; “why, here I am on +the top of the hill!”</p> +<p>A low, flat rock invited her and she sat +down. It was queer how different everything +seemed up here. What looked large +from below had dwindled amazingly. It +took, she decided, a pretty big thing to +look big on a hilltop.</p> +<p>She drew Aunt Margaret’s letter out of +her pocket and read it. It was very nice, +but somehow had no tug to it. Phrases +from a similar letter of Aunt Jessica’s returned +to the girl’s mind. How stupid +she had been not to appreciate that letter!—stupid +and incredibly silly.</p> +<p>But hadn’t she felt something else in +her pocket just now? Conscience pricked +when she saw Elizabeth Royce’s handwriting. +The seal had not been broken, +though the letter had come yesterday. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +She remembered now. They were putting +up corn and she had tucked it into +her pocket for later reading and then had +forgotten it completely. Luckily, Bess +need never know that. But what would +Bess have said to see her friend Elliott, +corn to the right of her, corn to the left +of her, cobs piled high in the summer +kitchen?</p> +<p>Bess’s staccato sentences furnished a +sufficiently emphatic clue. “You poor, +abused dear! Whenever are you coming +home? If I had an aëroplane I’d fly up +and carry you off. You must be nearly +<i>crazy</i>! Those letters you wrote were the +most <span class='smcaplc'>TRAGIC</span> things! I shouldn’t have +been a bit surprised any time to hear you +were sick. <i>Are</i> you sick? Perhaps +that’s why you don’t write or come home. +Wire me <i>the minute you get this</i>. Oh, +Elliott darling, when I think of you +marooned in that awful place—”</p> +<p>There was more of it. As Elliott read, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +she did a strange thing. She began to +laugh. But even while she laughed she +blushed, too. <i>Had</i> she sounded as desperate +as all that? How far away such +tragedies seemed now! Suppose she +should write, “Dear Bess, I like it up here +and I am going to stay my year out.” +Bess would think her crazy; so would all +the girls, and Aunt Margaret, too.</p> +<p>And then suddenly an arresting idea +came into her head. What difference +would it make if they did think her crazy? +Elliott Cameron had never had such an +idea before; all her life she had in a perfectly +nice way thought a great deal about +what people thought of her. This idea +was so strange it set her gasping. “But +how they would <i>talk</i> about me!” she said. +And then her brain clicked back, exactly +like another person speaking, “What if +they did? That wouldn’t really make +you crazy, would it?” “Why, no, I suppose +it wouldn’t,” she thought. “And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +most likely they’d be all talked out by the +time I got back, too. But even if they +weren’t, any one would be crazy to think +it was crazy to want to stay up here at +Uncle Bob’s and Aunt Jessica’s. Even +Stannard has stayed weeks longer than he +needed to!”</p> +<p>When she thought of that she opened +her eyes wide for a minute. “Oho!” she +said to herself; “I guess Stan did get a +rise out of me! You were easy game that +time, Elliott Cameron.”</p> +<p>She sat on her mossy stone a long time. +There wasn’t anything in the world, was +there, to stand in the way of her staying +her year out, the year she had been invited +for, except her own silly pride? What a +little goose she had been! She sat and +smiled at the mountains and felt very +happy and fresh and clean-minded, as +though her brain had finished a kind of +house-cleaning and were now put to rights +again, airy and sweet and ready for use.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div> +<p>The postman’s wagon flashed by on the +road below. She could see the faded gray +of the man’s coat. He had been to the +house and was townward bound now. +How late he was! Nothing to hurry +down for. There would be a letter, perhaps, +but not one from Father. His had +come yesterday. She rose after a while +and drifted down through the still September +warmth, as quiet and lazy and contented +as a leaf.</p> +<p>Priscilla’s small excited face met her at +the door.</p> +<p>“Sidney’s sick; we just got the letter. +Mother’s going to camp to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Sidney sick! Who wrote? What’s +the matter?”</p> +<p>“He did. He’s not much sick, but he +doesn’t feel just right. He’s in the hospital. +I guess he can’t be much sick, if he +wrote, himself. Mother wasn’t to come, +he said, but she’s going.”</p> +<p>“Of course.” Nervous fear clutched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +Elliott’s throat, like an icy hand. Oh, +poor Aunt Jessica! Poor Laura!</p> +<p>“Where are they?” she asked.</p> +<p>“In Mumsie’s room,” said Priscilla. +“We’re all helping.”</p> +<p>Elliott mounted the stairs. She had to +force her feet along, for they wished, +more than anything else, to run away. +What should she say? She tried to think +of words. As it turned out, she didn’t +have to say anything.</p> +<p>Laura was the only person in Aunt +Jessica’s room when they reached it. She +sat in a low chair by a window, mending a +gray blouse.</p> +<p>“Elliott’s come to help, too,” announced +Priscilla.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” said Laura. “You can +put a fresh collar and cuffs in this gray +waist of Mother’s, Elliott—I’ll have it +done in a minute—while I go set the +crab-apple jelly to drip. And perhaps +you can mend this little tear in her skirt. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +Then I’ll press the suit. There isn’t +anything very tremendous to do.”</p> +<p>It was all so matter-of-fact and quiet +and natural that Elliott didn’t know what +to make of it. She managed to gasp, “I +hope Sidney isn’t very sick.”</p> +<p>“He thinks not,” said Laura, “but of +course Mother wants to see for herself. +She is telephoning Mrs. Blair now about +the Ladies’ Aid. They were to have met +here this week. Mother thinks perhaps +she can arrange an exchange of dates, +though I tell her if Sid’s as he says he is, +they might just as well come.”</p> +<p>Elliott, who had been all ready to put +her arms around Laura’s neck and kiss +and comfort her, felt the least little bit +taken aback. It seemed that no comfort +was needed. But it was a relief, too. +Laura <i>couldn’t</i> sit there, so cool and calm +and natural-looking, sewing and talking +about crab-apple juice and Ladies’ Aid, if +there were anything radically wrong.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div> +<p>Then Aunt Jessica came into the room +and said that Mrs. Blair would like the +Ladies’ Aid, herself, that week; she had +been wishing she could have them; and +didn’t Elliott feel the need of something +to eat to supplement her scanty dinner?</p> +<p>That put to rout the girl’s last fears. +She smiled quite naturally and said without +any stricture in her throat: “Honestly, +I’m not hungry. And I am going to put +a clean collar in your blouse.”</p> +<p>“What should I do without my girls!” +smiled Mother Jess.</p> +<p>It was after supper that the telegram +came, but even then there was no panic. +These Camerons didn’t do any of the +things Elliott had once or twice seen +people do in her Aunt Margaret’s household. +No one ran around futilely, doing +nothing; no one had hysterics; no one even +cried.</p> +<p>Mother Jess’s face went very white +when Father Bob came back from the telephone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +and said, “Sidney isn’t so well.”</p> +<p>“Have they sent for us?”</p> +<p>He nodded. “You’d better take the +sleeper. The eighty-thirty from Upton +will make it.”</p> +<p>“Can you—?”</p> +<p>“Not with things the way they are +here.”</p> +<p>Then they all scattered, to do the things +that had to be done. Elliott was helping +Laura pack the suit-case when she had +her idea. It really was a wonderful idea +for a girl who had never in her life put +herself out for any one else. Like a flash +the first part of it came to her, without +thought of a sequel; and the words were +out of her mouth almost before she was +aware she had thought them.</p> +<p>“You ought to go, Laura!” she cried. +“Sidney is your twin.”</p> +<p>“I’d like to go.” Something in the +guarded tone, something deep and intense +and controlled, struck Elliott to consternation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +If Laura felt that way about it!</p> +<p>“Why don’t you, Laura? Can’t you +possibly?”</p> +<p>The other shook her head. “Mother is +the one to go. If we both went, who +would keep house here?”</p> +<p>For a fraction of a second Elliott hesitated. +“<i>I</i> would.”</p> +<p>The words once spoken, fairly swept +her out of herself. All her little prudences +and selfishnesses and self-distrusts +went overboard together. Her cheeks +flamed. She dropped the brush and comb +she was packing and dashed out of the +room.</p> +<p>A group of people stood in the kitchen. +Without stopping to think, Elliott ran up +to them.</p> +<p>“Can’t Laura go?” she cried eagerly. +“It will be so much more comfortable to +be two than one. And she is Sidney’s +twin. I don’t know a great deal, but +people will help me, and I got dinner this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +noon. Oh, she must go! Don’t you see +that she must go?”</p> +<p>Father Bob looked at the girl for a +minute in silence. Then he spoke: +“Well, I guess you’re right. I will look +after the chickens.”</p> +<p>“I’ll mix their feed,” said Gertrude; “I +know just how Laura does it—and I’ll do +the dishes.”</p> +<p>“I’ll get breakfasts,” said Bruce.</p> +<p>“I’ll make the butter,” said Tom. +“I’ve watched Mother times enough. And +helped her, too.”</p> +<p>“I’ll see to Prince and the kitty,” +chimed in Priscilla, “and do, oh, lots of +things!”</p> +<p>“I’ll be responsible for the milk,” said +Henry.</p> +<p>“I’ll keep house,” said Elliott, “if you +leave me anything to do.”</p> +<p>“And I’ll help you,” said Harriet +Gordon.</p> +<p>It was really settled in that minute, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +though Father Bob and Mother Jess talked +it over again by themselves.</p> +<p>“Are you sure, dear, you want to do +this?” Mother Jess asked Elliott.</p> +<p>“Perfectly sure,” the girl answered. +She felt excited and confident, as though +she could do anything.</p> +<p>“It won’t be easy.”</p> +<p>“I know that. But please let me try.”</p> +<p>“And there are the Gordons,” said +Mother Jess, half to herself.</p> +<p>“Yes,” echoed Elliott, “there are the +Gordons.”</p> +<p>When the little car ran up to the door +to take the two over to Upton and Mother +Jess and Laura were saying good-by, +Laura strained Elliott tight. “I’ll love +you forever for this,” she whispered.</p> +<p>Then they were off and with them +seemed to have gone something indispensable +to the well-being of the people who +lived in the white house at the end of the +road. Elliott, watching the car vanish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +around a turn in the road, hugged Laura’s +words tight to her heart. It was the only +way to keep her knees from wabbling at +the thought of what was before her.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_WHATS_IN_A_DRESS' id='CHAPTER_X_WHATS_IN_A_DRESS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>WHAT’S IN A DRESS?</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Of course Elliott never could have +done it without the Gordons. +Elliott and Harriet made the crab-apple +juice into jelly, Mrs. Gordon sent in bread +and cookies, and both mother and daughter +stood behind the girl with their skill and +experience, ready to be called on at a +moment’s notice.</p> +<p>“Just send for us any time you get into +trouble or want help about something,” +said Mrs. Gordon over the telephone. +“One of us will come right up. Most +likely it will be Harriet. I’m so cumbersome, +I can’t get about as I’d like to. +Large bodies move slowly, you know.”</p> +<p>Other people besides the Gordons sent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +in things to eat. Elliott thought she had +never known such a stream of generosity +as set toward the white house at the end +of the road—intelligent generosity, too. +There seemed a definite plan and some +consultation behind it. Mr. Blair brought +a roast of beef already cooked, from Mrs. +Blair, and hoped for both of them that +there would soon be good news of the boy. +The Blisses sent in pies enough for two +days and asked Elliott to let them know +when she was ready for more. People +she knew and people she didn’t know +brought rolls and cookies and doughnuts +and gelatines and even roast chickens, and +asked, with real anxiety in their voices, for +the latest news from Camp Devens.</p> +<p>They didn’t bring their offerings all at +once; they brought them continuously and +steadily and with truly remarkable appropriateness. +Just when Elliott was thinking +that she must begin to cook, something +was sure to rattle up to the door in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +wagon, or roll up in an automobile, or +travel on foot in a basket. It was the extreme +timeliness of the gifts that proved +the guiding intelligence behind them.</p> +<p>“They couldn’t all happen so,” was +Henry’s conclusion. “Now, could they? +Gee! and I’ve thought some of those folks +were pokes!”</p> +<p>“So have I,” said Elliott, feeling very +much ashamed of her hasty judgments.</p> +<p>“You never know till you get into +trouble how good people are,” was Father +Bob’s verdict.</p> +<p>Gertrude fingered a doughnut ruefully. +“I want it, but I’m almost ashamed to eat +it. I’ve thought such horrid things of that +old Mrs. Gadsby that made ’em.”</p> +<p>“They’re good,” said Tom. “Mrs. +Gadsby knows how to make doughnuts, if +she <i>has</i> got a tongue in her head! Say, +but I’d as soon have thought old Allen +would send us doughnuts as the Gadsby.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Allen brought us a tongue this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +morning,” Elliott remarked; “said his +housekeeper boiled it; hoped it wasn’t too +tough to eat. You couldn’t ‘git nothin’ +good, these days!’”</p> +<p>“<i>Enoch</i> Allen?” demanded Henry; +“the old fellow that lives at the foot of the +hill? Go tell that to the marines!”</p> +<p>“I don’t know where he lives,” said +Elliott, “but he certainly said his name +was Enoch Allen.”</p> +<p>Bruce chuckled. “Mother Jess’s chickens +have come home to roost, all right.”</p> +<p>“What did she ever do for Enoch +Allen?” asked Tom.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t you remember,” cried Gertrude, +“the time his old dog died? +Mother found the dog one day, dying in +the woods. I was along and she sent me +to call Mr. Allen, while she stayed with +the dog. I was just a little girl and kind +of scared, but Mother said Mr. Allen +wasn’t anybody to be afraid of; he was +just a lonely old man. I heard him tell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +her it wasn’t every woman would have +stayed with his dog. It was dead when +he got there.”</p> +<p>But even with competent advisers +within call and all the aids that came in +the shape of “Mother Jess’s chickens,” +and with the best family in the world all +eagerness to be helpful and to “carry on” +during Laura and Mother Jess’s absence, +Elliott found that housekeeping wasn’t +half so simple as it looked.</p> +<p>Life still had its moments and she was +in the midst of one of the worst of them +now. If you have ever stood in a kitchen +where little gray kittens of dust rollicked +under the chairs and all the dinner kettles +and pans were piled on the table, unscraped +and unwashed, and you saw ahead of you +more things that you had planned to do +than you could possibly get through before +supper, and one girl was crying in the attic +and another was crying in the china-closet, +and your own heart was in your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +boots, you know how Elliott Cameron felt +at this minute. Everything had gone +wrong, since the time she got up half an +hour late in the morning; but the most +wrong thing of all was the letter from +Laura.</p> +<p>It had come just as they were finishing +dinner, for the postman was late. Father +Bob had cut it open, while every one looked +eager and hopeful. Mother Jess had +written the day before that the doctors +thought Sidney was better; there had been +a telegram to that effect, too. Father +Bob read Laura’s letter quite through before +he opened his lips. It wasn’t a long +letter. Then he said: “The boy’s not so +well, to-day.—Bruce, we must finish the +ensilage. Come out as soon as you’re +through, boys. Tom, I want you to get +in the tomatoes before night. We’re due +for a freeze, unless signs fail.” Not another +word about Sidney. And he went +right out of the room.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></div> +<p>“What does she say?” whispered Gertrude, +dropping her fork so that it rattled +against her plate. Gertrude was always +dropping things, but this time she didn’t +flush, as she usually did, at her own +awkwardness.</p> +<p>Elliott picked up the letter Father Bob +had left beside her plate. She dreaded to +unfold the single sheet, but what else could +she do, with all those pairs of anxious eyes +fixed on her? She steadied her voice and +read slowly and without a trace of expression:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“Sidney had a bad time in the night, but is +resting more easily this morning. Mother never +leaves him. Every one is so good to us here. +His officers seem to think a lot of Sid. So do +the men of his company, as far as we have seen +them. I don’t know what to write you, Father. +The doctor says, ‘While there’s life there’s +hope, and that our coming is the only thing that +has saved Sid so far. He says that he has seen +the sickest of boys pull through with their +mothers here. We will telegraph when there is +any change. Love to all of you, dear ones, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +tell Elliott I shall never forget what she has done +for me.</p> +<p class='ralign'>“<span class='smcap'>Laura</span>”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The room was very still for a minute. +Elliott kept her eyes on the letter, to hide +the tears that filled them. Sidney was going +to die; she knew it.</p> +<p>Slowly, silently, one after another, they +all got up from the table. The boys filed +out into the kitchen, washed their hands +at the sink, and still without a word went +about their work. Gertrude and Priscilla +began mechanically to clear the table. A +plate crashed to the floor from Gertrude’s +hands and shattered to fragments. She +stared at the pieces stupidly, as though +wondering how they had come there, took +a step in the direction of the dust-pan, and, +suddenly bursting into tears, turned and +ran out of the room. Elliott could hear +her feet pounding up-stairs, on, on, till +they reached the attic. A door slammed +and all was quiet.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div> +<p>Down in the kitchen Elliott and Priscilla +faced each other. Great round drops +were running down Priscilla’s cheeks, but +she looked up at Elliott trustfully. And +then Elliott failed her. She knew herself +that she was failing. But it seemed as +though she just couldn’t keep from crying. +“Oh, dear!” she sighed. “Oh, dear, isn’t +everything just <i>awful</i>!” Then she did +cry.</p> +<p>And over Priscilla’s sober little face—Elliott +wasn’t so blinded by her tears that +she failed to see it—came the queerest expression +of stupefaction and woe and utter +forlornness. It was after that that +Elliott heard Priscilla sobbing in the china-closet.</p> +<p>Her first impulse was to go to the closet +and pull the child out. Her second was +to let her stay. “She may as well have +her cry out,” thought the girl, unhappily. +“<i>I</i> couldn’t do anything to comfort her!”—which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +shows how very, very, very +miserable Elliott was, herself.</p> +<p>The world was topsyturvy and would +never get right again.</p> +<p>Instead of going for Priscilla she went +for a dust-pan and brush and collected the +fragments of broken china. Then she +began to pile up the dishes, but, after a +few futile movements, sat down in a chair +and cried again. It didn’t seem worth +while to do anything else. So now there +were three girls crying all at once in that +house and every one of them in a different +place. When at last Elliott did look in +the closet Priscilla wasn’t there.</p> +<p>The appearance of that usually spotless +kitchen had a queer effect on Elliott. She +saw so many things needing to be done at +once that she didn’t do any of them. She +simply stood and stared hopelessly at the +wreck of comfort and cleanliness and good +cheer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>“Hello!” said Bruce at the door. +“Want an extra hand for an hour?”</p> +<p>“I thought you were cutting ensilage,” +said Elliott. It was good to see Bruce; +the courage in his voice lifted her spirits +in spite of her.</p> +<p>“I’ve left a substitute.” The boy +glanced into the stove and started for the +wood-box.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! I forgot that fire. Has it +gone out?”</p> +<p>“Not quite. I’ll have it going again +in a jiff.”</p> +<p>He came back with a broom in his +hands.</p> +<p>“Let me do that,” said the girl.</p> +<p>“Oh, all right.” He relinquished the +broom and brought out the dish-pan. +“Hi-yi, Stan, lend a hand here!”</p> +<p>The boy in the doorway gave one glance +at Elliott’s tear-stained face and came +quietly into the room. “Sure,” he said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +picking up a dish-cloth and gingerly +reaching for a tumbler. “Which end do +you take ’em by, top or bottom?”</p> +<p>Stannard wiping dishes, and with +Bruce Fearing! The sight was so strange +that Elliott’s broom stopped moving. +The two boys at the dish-pan chaffed each +other good-naturedly; their jokes might +have seemed a little forced, had you +examined them carefully, but the effect +was normal and cheering. Now and then +they threw a word to the girl and the pile +of clean dishes grew under their hands.</p> +<p>Elliott’s broom began to move again. +Something warm stirred at her heart. +She felt sober and humble and ashamed +and—yes, happy—all at once. How nice +boys were when they were nice!</p> +<p>Then she remembered something.</p> +<p>“Oh, Stan, wasn’t it to-day you were +going home?”</p> +<p>“Nix,” Stannard replied. “Guess I’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +stay on a bit. School hasn’t begun. I +want to go nutting before I hit the trail +for home.”</p> +<p>It was a different-looking kitchen the +boys left half an hour later and a different-looking +girl.</p> +<p>Bruce lingered a minute behind Stannard. +“We haven’t had any telegram,” +he said. “Remember that. And as for +things in here, I wouldn’t let ’em bother +me, if I were you! You can’t do everything, +you know. Keep cool, feed us the +stuff folks send in, and let some things +slide.”</p> +<p>“Mother Jess doesn’t let things slide.”</p> +<p>“Mother Jess has been at it a good many +years, but I’ll bet she would now and then +if things got too thick and she couldn’t +keep both ends up. There’s more to +Mother Jess’s job than what they call +housekeeping.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” sighed Elliott, “I know that. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +But just what do you mean, Bruce, that I +could do?”</p> +<p>He hesitated a minute. “Well, call it +morale. That suggests the thing.”</p> +<p>Elliott thought hard for a minute after +the door closed on Bruce. Perhaps, after +all, seeing that the family had three meals +a day and lived in a decently clean house +and slept warm at night, necessary as such +oversight was, wasn’t the most imperative +business in hand. Somehow or other +those things weren’t at all what came into +her mind when she thought of Aunt +Jessica—no, indeed, though Aunt Jessica +made such perfectly delicious things to +eat. What came into her mind was far +different—like the way Aunt Jessica had +sat on Elliott’s bed and kissed her, that +homesick first night; Aunt Jessica’s face +at meal-time, with Uncle Bob across the +table and all her boys and girls filling the +space between; Aunt Jessica comforting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +Priscilla when the child had met with some +mishap. Priscilla seldom cried when she +hurt herself; “Mother kisses the place +and makes it well.” The words linked +themselves with Bruce’s in Elliott’s +thought. Was that what he had meant +by morale? She couldn’t have put into +words what she understood just then. +For a minute a door in her brain seemed +to swing open and she saw straight into +the heart of things. Then it clicked together +and left her saying, “I guess I fell +down on that part of my job, Mother +Jess.”</p> +<p>Elliott hung up her apron and mounted +the stairs. She didn’t stop with the +second floor and her own little room, but +kept right on to the attic. There was a +door at the head of the attic stairs. +Elliott pushed it open. On a broken-backed +horsehair sofa Gertrude lay, face +down, her nose buried in a faded pillow. +In a wabbly rocker, at imminent risk of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +breakdown, Priscilla jerked back and +forth. Gertrude’s hair was tousled and +Priscilla’s face was tear-stained and +swollen.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think,” Elliott suggested, +“it is time we girls washed our faces and +made ourselves pretty?”</p> +<p>“I left you all the dishes to do.” Gertrude’s +voice was muffled by the pillow. +“I—I just couldn’t help it.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right. They’re done now. +I didn’t do them, either. Let’s go down-stairs +and wash up.”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to be pretty,” Priscilla +objected, continuing to rock. Gertrude +neither moved nor spoke again.</p> +<p>What should Elliott do? She remembered +Bruce.</p> +<p>“We haven’t had any telegram, you +know,” she said. Nobody spoke. “Well, +then, we were three little geese, weren’t +we? Not having had a telegram means a +lot just now.” Priscilla stopped rocking.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></div> +<p>“I’m going to believe Sidney will get +well,” Elliott continued. It was hard +work to talk to such unresponsive ears, but +she kept right on. “And now I am going +down-stairs to put on one of my prettiest +dresses, so as to look cheerful for supper. +You may try whether you can get into that +blue dress of mine you like so much, +Trudy. I’m going to let Priscilla wear +my coral beads.”</p> +<p>“The pink ones?” asked Priscilla.</p> +<p>“The pink ones. They will be just a +match for your pink dress.”</p> +<p>“I don’t feel like dressing up,” said +Gertrude.</p> +<p>Elliott felt like clapping her hands. +She had roused Trudy to speech.</p> +<p>“Then wear something of your own,” +she said stanchly. “It doesn’t matter +what we wear, so long as we look nice.”</p> +<p>Mercurial Priscilla was already feeling +the new note in the air. Elliott wouldn’t +talk so, would she, if Sidney really were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +not going to get well? And yet there was +Gertrude, who didn’t seem to feel cheered +up a bit. Pris’s little heart was torn.</p> +<p>Elliott tried one last argument. “I +think Mother Jess would like to have us do +it for Father Bob and the boys’ sake—to +help keep up their courage.”</p> +<p>Priscilla bounced out of the rocker. +“Will it help keep up their courage for us +to wear our pretty clothes?”</p> +<p>“I had a notion it might.”</p> +<p>“Let’s do it, Trudy. I—I think I feel +better already.”</p> +<p>Gertrude sat up on the horsehair sofa. +“Maybe Mother would like us to.”</p> +<p>“I’m sure she’d like us to keep on +hoping,” said Elliott earnestly. “And it +doesn’t matter what we do, so long as we +do something to show that’s the way +we’ve made up our minds to feel. If you +can think of any better way to show it than +by dressing up, Trudy—”</p> +<p>“No,” said Gertrude. “But I think I’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +wear my own clothes to-day, Elliott. +Thank you, just the same. Some day, if +Sid—I mean some day I’ll love to try on +your blue dress, if you will let me.”</p> +<p>Three girls, as pretty and chic and trim +as nature and the contents of their closets +could make them, sat down to supper that +night. It was not a jolly meal, but the +girls set the pace, and every one did his +best to be cheerful and brave.</p> +<p>Half-way through supper Stannard laid +down his fork to ask a question. +“What’s happened to your hair, Trudy?”</p> +<p>“Elliott did it for me. Do you like it?”</p> +<p>Stannard nodded. “Good work!”</p> +<p>Father Bob, his attention aroused, inspected +the three with new interest in his +sober eyes. He said nothing then, but +after supper his hand fell on Elliott’s +shoulder approvingly.</p> +<p>“Well done, little girl! That’s the +right way. Face the music with your +chin up.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div> +<p>Elliott felt exactly as though some one +had stiffened her spine. The least little +doubt had been creeping into her mind lest +what she had done had been heartless. +Father Bob’s words put that qualm at rest. +And, of course, good news would come +from Sidney in the morning.</p> +<p>But courage has a way of ebbing in +spite of one. It was dark and very cold +when a forlorn little figure appeared beside +Elliott’s bed.</p> +<p>“I can’t go to sleep. Trudy’s asleep. +I can hear her. I think I am going to +cry again.”</p> +<p>Elliott sat up. What should she do? +What would Aunt Jessica do?</p> +<p>“Come in here and cry on me.”</p> +<p>Priscilla climbed in between the sheets +and Elliott put both arms around the little +girl. Priscilla snuggled close.</p> +<p>“I tried to think—the way you said, but +I can’t. <i>Is</i> Sidney—” sniffle—“going to +die—” sniffle—“like Ted Gordon?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></div> +<p>“No,” said Elliott, who a minute ago +had been afraid of the very same thing. +“No, I am perfectly positive he is going to +get well.”</p> +<p>Just saying the words seemed to help, +somehow.</p> +<p>Priscilla snuggled closer. “You’re +awful comforting. A person gets scared +at night.”</p> +<p>“A person does, indeed.”</p> +<p>“Not so much when you’ve got company,” +said Priscilla.</p> +<p>The warmth of the little body in her +arms struck through to Elliott’s own +shivering heart. “Not half so much +when you’ve got company,” she acknowledged.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_MISSING' id='CHAPTER_XI_MISSING'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>MISSING</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Sure enough, in the morning came +better news. Father Bob’s face, +when he turned around from the telephone, +told that, even before he opened his +lips.</p> +<p>“Sidney is holding his own,” he said.</p> +<p>You may think that wasn’t much better +news, but it meant a great deal to the +Camerons. “Sidney is holding his own,” +they told every one who inquired, and their +faces were hopeful. If Father Bob had +any fears, he kept them to himself. The +rest of the Camerons were young and it +didn’t seem possible to them that Sidney +could do anything but get well. Last +night had been a bad dream, that was all.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></div> +<p>The next morning’s message had the +word “better” in it. “Little” stood before +“better,” but nobody, not even Father +Bob, paid much attention to “little.” +Sidney was better. It was a week before +Mother Jess wrote that the doctors pronounced +him out of danger and that she +and Laura would soon be home. Meanwhile, +many things had happened.</p> +<p>You might have thought that Sidney’s +illness was enough trouble to come to the +Camerons at one time, but as Bruce quoted +with a twist in his smile, “It never rains +but it pours.” This time Bruce himself +got the message which came from the War +Department and read:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>You are informed that Lieutenant Peter Fearing +has been reported missing since September +fifteenth. Letter follows.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Camerons felt as badly as though +Peter Fearing had been their own brother.</p> +<p>“The telegram doesn’t say that he’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +dead,” Trudy declared, over and over +again.</p> +<p>“Maybe he’s a prisoner,” Tom suggested.</p> +<p>“Perhaps he had to come down in a +wood somewhere,” Henry speculated, +“and will get back to our lines.”</p> +<p>“The government makes mistakes +sometimes,” Stannard said. “There was +a woman in Upton—” He went on with +a long story about a woman whose son +was reported killed in France on the very +day the boy had been in his mother’s house +on furlough from a cantonment. There +were a great many interesting and ingenious +details to the story, but nobody +paid much attention to them. “So you +never can tell,” Stannard wound up.</p> +<p>“No, you never can tell,” Bruce agreed, +but he didn’t look convinced. Something, +he was quite sure, was wrong with +Pete.</p> +<p>“Don’t anybody write Mother Jess,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +said. “She and Laura have enough to +worry about with Sid.”</p> +<p>“What if they see it in the papers?” +Elliott asked.</p> +<p>“They’re busy. Ten to one they won’t +see it, since it isn’t head-lined on the front +page. Wait till we get the letter.”</p> +<p>“How soon do you suppose the letter +will come?” Gertrude wished to know.</p> +<p>“‘Letter follows,’” Henry read from +the yellow slip which the postman delivered +from the telegraph office. “That +means right away, I should say.”</p> +<p>“Maybe it does and maybe it doesn’t,” +said Tom and then <i>he</i> had a story to tell. +It didn’t take Tom long, for he was a +boy of fewer words than Stannard.</p> +<p>Morning, noon, and night the Camerons +speculated about that telegram. They +combed its words with a fine-toothed comb, +but they couldn’t make anything out of +them except the bald fact that Pete was +missing.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></div> +<p>If you think they let it go at that, you +are very much mistaken. Where the fact +stopped the Cameron imaginations began, +and imaginations never know where to +stop. The less actual information an +imagination has to work on, the busier it +is. The Camerons hadn’t any more +imagination than most people, but what +they had grew very busy. It fairly +amazed them with its activity. If you +think that this was silly and that they +ought to have chained up their imaginations +until the promised letter arrived, it +only shows that you have never received +any such telegram.</p> +<p>After all, the letter, when it came, +didn’t tell them much. The letter said +that Lieutenant Peter Fearing had gone +out with his squadron on a bombing-expedition +well within the enemy lines. +The formation had successfully accomplished +its raid and was returning when +it was taken by surprise and surrounded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +by a greatly superior force of enemy +planes, which gave the Americans a running +fight of thirty-nine minutes to their +lines. Lieutenant Fearing’s was one of +two planes which failed to return to the +aërodrome. When last seen, his machine +was in combat with four Hun planes over +enemy territory.</p> +<p>“What did I tell you?” interrupted Tom. +“He’s a prisoner.”</p> +<p>An airplane had been reported as falling +in flames near this spot, but whether +it was Lieutenant Fearing’s machine or +another, no data was as yet at hand to +prove. The writer begged to remain, etc.</p> +<p>No, that letter only opened up fresh +fields for Cameron imaginations to torment +Cameron hearts. Nobody had happened +to think before of Pete’s machine +catching fire.</p> +<p>“Gee!” said Henry, “if that plane was +his—”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></div> +<p>“There’s no certainty that it was,” said +Bruce, quickly.</p> +<p>All the Camerons, you see, knew perfectly +well what happens to an aviator +whose machine catches fire.</p> +<p>“If that machine was Pete’s,” Father +Bob mused, “Hun aviators may drop word +of him within our lines. They have done +that kind of thing before.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t Bob cable, if he knew anything +more than this letter says?” Gertrude +questioned.</p> +<p>“I expect Bob’s waiting to find out +something certain before he cables,” said +Father Bob. “Doubtless he has written. +We shall just have to wait for his letter.”</p> +<p>“Wait! Gee!” whispered Henry.</p> +<p>“Both the boys’ letters were so awfully +late, in the summer!” sighed Gertrude. +“However can we wait for a letter from +Bob?”</p> +<p>Elliott said nothing at all. Her heart +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +was aching with sympathy for Bruce. +When a person could do something, she +thought, it helped tremendously. Mother +Jess and Laura had gone to Sidney and she +had had a chance to make Laura’s going +possible, but there didn’t seem to be anything +she could do for Bruce. And she +wished to do something for Bruce; she +found that she wished to tremendously. +Thinking about Mother Jess and Laura +reminded her to look up and ask, “What +<i>are</i> we going to write them at Camp +Devens?”</p> +<p>Then she discovered that she and Bruce +were alone in the room. He was sitting +at Mother Jess’s desk, in as deep a brown +study as she had been. The girl’s voice +roused him.</p> +<p>“The kind of thing we’ve been writing—home +news. Time enough to tell +them about Pete when they get here. +By that time, perhaps, there will be something +definite to tell.” He hesitated a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +minute. “Laura is going to feel pretty +well cut up over this.”</p> +<p>Elliott looked up quickly. “Especially +cut up?”</p> +<p>“I think so. Oh, there wasn’t anything +definite between her and Pete—nothing, +at least, that they told the rest +of us. But a fellow who had eyes—” He +left the sentence unfinished and walked +over to Elliott’s chair. “You know, I told +you,” he said, “that I shouldn’t go into +this war unless I was called. Of course +I’m registered now, but whether or not +they call me—if Pete is out of it—and I +can possibly manage it, I’m going in.”</p> +<p>A queer little pain contracted Elliott’s +heart. And then that odd heart of hers +began to swell and swell until she thought +it would burst. She looked at the boy, +with proud eyes. It didn’t occur to her +to wonder what she was proud of. Bruce +Fearing was no kin of hers, you know.</p> +<p>“I knew you would.” Somehow it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +seemed to the girl that she could always +tell what Bruce Fearing was going to do, +and that there was nothing strange in such +knowledge. How strong he was! how +splendid and understanding and fine! +“Oh,” she cried, “I wish, <i>how</i> I wish I +could help you!”</p> +<p>“You do help me,” he said.</p> +<p>“I?” Her eyes lifted in real surprise. +“How can I?”</p> +<p>“By being you.”</p> +<p>His hand had only to move an inch to +touch hers, but it lay motionless. His +eyes, gray and steady and clear, held the +girl’s. She gave him back look for look.</p> +<p>“I am glad,” she said softly and her +face was like a flower.</p> +<p>Bruce was out of the house before +Elliott thought of the thing she could do +for him.</p> +<p>“Mercy me!” she cried. “You’re the +slowest person I’ve ever seen in my life, +Elliott Cameron!” She ran to the kitchen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +door, but the boy was nowhere in sight. +“He must be out at the barn,” she said +and took a step in that direction, only to +take it back. “No, I won’t. I’ll just go +by myself <i>and do it</i>.”</p> +<p>Whatever it was, it put her in a great +hurry. As fast as she had dashed to the +kitchen she now ran to the front hall, but +the third step of the stairs halted her.</p> +<p>“Elliott Cameron,” she declared earnestly, +“I do believe you have lost your +mind! Haven’t you any sense <i>at all</i>? +And you a responsible housekeeper!”</p> +<p>Perhaps it wasn’t the first time a whirlwind +had ever struck the Cameron farmhouse. +Elliott hadn’t a notion that she +could work so fast. Her feet fairly flew. +Bed-covers whisked into place; dusting-cloths +raced over furniture; even milk-pans +moved with unwonted celerity. But +she left them clean, clean and shining.</p> +<p>“There!” said the girl, “now we shall +do well enough till dinner-time. I’m going +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +into the village. Anybody want to +come?”</p> +<p>Priscilla jumped up. “I do, unless +Trudy wants to more.”</p> +<p>Gertrude shook her head. “I’m going +to put up tomatoes,” she said, “the rest +of the ripe ones.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you want help?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit. Tomatoes are no work, at +all.”</p> +<p>Elliott dashed up-stairs. In a whirl of +excitement she pinned on her hat and +counted her money. No matter how +much it cost, she meant to say all that she +wanted to.</p> +<p>Her cheeks were pink and her dimples +hard at work playing hide-and-seek with +their own shadows, when she cranked the +little car. Everything would come right +now; it couldn’t fail to come right. +Priscilla hopped into the seat beside her +and they sped away.</p> +<p>“I have cabled Father,” Elliott announced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +at dinner, with the prettiest +imaginable little air of importance and +confidence, “I have cabled Father to find +out all he can about Pete and to let us +know <i>at once</i>. Perhaps we shall hear +something to-morrow.”</p> +<p>But the next day passed, and the next, +and the day after that, and still no cable +from Father.</p> +<p>It was very bewildering. At first +Elliott jumped every time the telephone +rang, and took down the receiver with +quickened pulses. No matter what her +brain said, her heart told her Father would +send good news. She couldn’t associate +him with thoughts of ill news. Of course, +her brain said there was no logic in that +kind of argument, and that facts were +facts; and in a case like Pete’s, fathers +couldn’t make or mar them. Her heart +kept right on expecting good tidings.</p> +<p>But when long days and longer nights +dragged themselves by and no word at all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +came from overseas, the girl found out +what a big empty place the world may become, +even while it is chuck-full of people, +and what three thousand miles of water +really means. She thought she had +known before, but she hadn’t. So long +as letters traveled back and forth, irregularly +timed it might be, but continuously, +she still kept the familiar sense of Father—out +of sight, but there, as he had always +been, most dependably <i>there</i>. Now, for +the first time in her life, she had called +to him and he had not answered. There +might be—there probably were, she reminded +herself—reasons why he hadn’t +answered; good, reassuring reasons, if +one only knew them. He might be temporarily +in a region out of touch with +cables; the service might have dropped a +link somewhere. One could imagine possible +explanations. But it was easier to +imagine other things. And the fact remained +that, since he didn’t answer, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +couldn’t get away from a horrible, +paralyzing sense that he wasn’t there.</p> +<p>It didn’t do any good to try to run from +that sensation; there was nowhere to run. +It blocked every avenue of thought, a +sinister shape of dread. The only help +was in keeping very, very busy. And +even then one couldn’t stop one’s thoughts +traveling, traveling, traveling along those +fearful paths.</p> +<p>At last Elliott knew how the others felt +about Pete. She had thought she understood +that and felt it, too, but now she +found that she hadn’t. It makes all the +difference in the world, she discovered, +whether one stands inside or outside a +trouble. The heart that had ached so sympathetically +for Bruce knew its first stab +of loss and recoiled. The others recognized +the difference; or was it only that +Elliott herself had eyes to see what she +had been blind to before? No one said +anything. In little unconscious, lovable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +ways they made it quite clear that now +she was one with them.</p> +<p>“Perhaps we would better send for +them to come home from Camp Devens,” +Father Bob suggested one day. He threw +out his remark at the supper-table, which +would seem to address it to the family at +large, but he looked straight at Elliott.</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” she cried, “don’t <i>send</i> for +them!” But she couldn’t keep a flash of +joy out of her eyes.</p> +<p>“Sure you’re not getting tired?”</p> +<p>“Certain sure!”</p> +<p>It disappointed her the least little bit +that Uncle Bob let the suggestion drop so +readily. And she was disappointed at +her own disappointment. “Can’t you +‘carry on’ <i>at all</i>?” she demanded of herself, +scornfully. “It was all your own doing, +you know.” But how she did long +at times for Aunt Jessica!</p> +<p>Of course, Elliott couldn’t cry, however +much she might wish to, with the family +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +all taking their cues from her mood. She +said so fiercely to every lump that rose in +her throat. She couldn’t indulge herself +at all adequately in the luxury of being +miserable; she couldn’t even let herself +feel half as scared as she wished to, because, +if she did, just once, she couldn’t +keep control of herself, and if she lost control +of herself there was no telling where +she might end—certainly in no state that +would be of any use to the family. No, +for their sake, she must sit tight on the +lid of her grief and fear and anxiety.</p> +<p>But there were hours when the cover +lifted a little. No girl, not the bravest, +could avoid such altogether. Elliott +didn’t think herself brave, not a bit. She +knew merely that the thing she had to do +couldn’t be done if there were many such +hours.</p> +<p>One day Bruce heard somebody sobbing +up in the hay-loft. The sound didn’t +carry far; it was controlled, suppressed; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +but Bruce had gone up the ladder for +something or other, I forget just what, +and, thinking Priscilla was in trouble, he +kept on. The girl crying, face down in +the hay, wasn’t Priscilla. Very softly +Bruce started to tiptoe away, but the +rustling of the hay under his feet betrayed +him.</p> +<p>“I didn’t mean—any one to—find me.”</p> +<p>“Shall I go away?”</p> +<p>She shook her head. “I can’t stand it!” +she wailed. “I simply can’t <i>stand it</i>!” +And she sobbed as though her heart would +break.</p> +<p>Bruce sat down beside the girl on the +hay and patted the hand nearest him. He +didn’t know anything else to do. Her +fingers closed on his convulsively.</p> +<p>“I’m an awful old cry-baby,” she +choked at last. “I’ll behave myself, in a +minute.”</p> +<p>“No, cry away,” said Bruce. “A girl +has to cry sometimes.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div> +<p>After a while the racking sobs spent +themselves. “There!” she said, sitting +up. “I never thought I’d let a boy see +me cry. Now I must go in and help +Trudy get supper.”</p> +<p>She dabbed at her eyes with a wet little +wad of linen. Bruce plucked a clean +handkerchief from his pocket and tucked +it into her fingers.</p> +<p>“Yours doesn’t seem quite big enough +for the job,” he said.</p> +<p>She took it gratefully. She had never +thought of a boy as a very comforting person, +but Bruce was. “Oh, Bruce, you +<i>know</i>!”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know.”</p> +<p>“It’s so—so lonely. Dad’s all I’ve +got, of my really own, in the world.”</p> +<p>He nodded. “You’re gritty, all right.”</p> +<p>“Why, Bruce Fearing! how can you say +that after the way I’ve acted?”</p> +<p>“That’s why I say it.”</p> +<p>“But I’m scared all the time. If I did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +what I wanted to, I’d be a perpetual +fountain.”</p> +<p>“And you’re not.”</p> +<p>She stared at him. “Is being scared +and trying to cover it up what you call +grit?”</p> +<p>“The grittiest kind of grit.”</p> +<p>For a sophisticated girl she was +singularly naïve, at times. He watched +her digest the idea, sitting up on the hay, +her chin cupped in her two hands, straws +in her hair. Her eyes were swollen and +her nose red, and his handkerchief was +now almost as wet as her own. “I +thought I was an awful coward,” she said.</p> +<p>A smile curved his firm lips, but the +steady gray eyes were tender. “I +shouldn’t call you a coward.”</p> +<p>She shook herself and stood up. +“Bruce, you’re a darling. Now, will you +please go and see if the coast is clear, so I +can slide up-stairs without being seen? I +must wash up before supper.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></div> +<p>“I’d get supper,” he said, “if I didn’t +have to milk to-night. Promised Henry.”</p> +<p>She shook her head positively. “I’ll let +you do lots of things, Bruce, but I won’t +let you get supper for me—not with all +the other things you have to do.”</p> +<p>“Oh, all right! I dare you to jump off +the hay.”</p> +<p>“Down there? Take you!” she cried, +and with the word sprang into the air.</p> +<p>Beside her the boy leaped, too. They +landed lightly on the fragrant mass in the +bay of the barn.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she cried, “it’s like flying, isn’t +it! Why wasn’t I brought up on a +farm?”</p> +<p>There was a little choke still left in her +voice, and her smile was a trifle unsteady, +but her words were ready enough. In the +doorway she turned and waved to the boy +and then went on, her head held high, +slender and straight and gallant, into the +house.</p></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_HOMELOVING_HEARTS' id='CHAPTER_XII_HOMELOVING_HEARTS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>HOME-LOVING HEARTS</span></h2> +</div> +<div class='text'><p class='ni'>Mother Jess and Laura were +coming home. Perhaps Father +Bob had dropped a hint that their presence +was needed in the white house at the end +of the road; perhaps, on the other hand, +they were just ready to come. Elliott +never knew for certain.</p> +<p>Father Bob met the train, while all the +Cameron boys and girls flew around, making +ready at home. The plan had developed +on the tacit understanding that +since they all wished to, it was fairer for +none of them to go to the station.</p> +<p>Priscilla and Prince were out watching. +“They’re coming!” she squealed, skipping +back into the house. “Trudy, Elliott, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +everybody, they’re coming!” And she +was out again, darting in long swallow-like +swoops down the hill. From every +direction came Camerons, running; from +house, barn, garden, young heads moved +swiftly toward the little car chug-chugging +up the hill.</p> +<p>They swarmed over it, not giving it +time to stop, jumping on the running-board, +riding on the hood, almost embracing +the car itself in the joy of their +welcome. Elliott hung back. The others +had the first right. After their turns—</p> +<p>Without a word Aunt Jessica took the +girl into her arms and held her tight. In +that strong, tender clasp all the stinging +ache went out of Elliott’s hurt. She +wasn’t frightened any longer or bewildered +or bitter; she didn’t know why she +wasn’t, but she wasn’t. She felt just as +if, somehow or other, things were going +to be right.</p> +<p>She had this feeling so strongly that she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +forgot all about dreading to meet Laura—for +she had dreaded to meet Laura, she +was so sorry for her—and kissed her quite +naturally. Laura kissed Elliott in return +and said, “Wait till I get you up-stairs,” +as though she meant business, and smiled +just as usual. Her face was a trifle pale, +but her eyes were bright, and the clear, +steady glow in them reminded Elliott for +the first time of the light in Aunt Jessica’s +eyes. She hadn’t remembered ever seeing +Laura’s eyes look just like that. How +much did Laura know, Elliott wondered? +She wouldn’t look so, would she, if she +had heard about Pete? But, strangely +enough, Elliott didn’t fear her finding out +or feel nervous lest she might have to tell +her.</p> +<p>And after all, as soon as they got up-stairs, +it came out that Laura did know +about Pete, for she said: “I’m glad, oh, +so glad, that wherever Pete is now, he got +across and had a chance really to do something +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +in this fight. If you had seen what +I have seen this last week, Elliott—”</p> +<p>The shining look in Laura’s face fascinated +Elliott.</p> +<p>All at once she felt her own words come +as simply and easily as Laura’s. “But +will that be enough, Laura—always?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Laura, “not always. But I +shall always be proud and glad, even if I +do have to miss him all my life. And, of +course, I can’t help feeling that we may +hear good news yet. Now—oh, you +blessed, blessed girl!”</p> +<p>And the two clung together in a long +close embrace that said many things to +both of them, but not a word aloud.</p> +<p>How good it seemed to have Mother +Jess and Laura in the house! Every one +went about with a hopeful face, though, +after all, not an inch had the veil of silence +lifted that hung between the Cameron +farm and the world overseas. Every one, +Elliott suspected, shared the feeling she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +had known, the certainty that all would be +well now Mother Jess was home. It +wasn’t anything in particular that Mother +Jess said or did that contributed to this +impression. Just to see her face in a +room, to touch her hand now and then, to +hear her voice, merely to know she was in +the house, seemed enough to give it.</p> +<p>They all had so much to say to one another. +The returned travelers must tell +of Sidney, and the Camerons who had +stayed at home had tales of how they had +“carried on” in the others’ absence. +Tongues were very busy, but no one forgot +those who weren’t there—not for a +minute. The sense of them lived underneath +all the confidences. There were +confidences <i>en masse</i>, so to speak, and confidences +<i>à deux</i>. Priscilla chattered away +into her mother’s ear without once stopping +to catch breath, and Bruce had his +own quiet report to make. Perhaps Bruce +and Priscilla and the rest said more than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +Elliott heard, for when Aunt Jessica bade +her good-night she rested a hand lightly +on the girl’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“You dear, brave little woman!” she +said. “All the soldiers aren’t in camp or +over the seas.”</p> +<p>Elliott put the words away in her +memory. They made her feel like a man +who has just been decorated by his general.</p> +<p>She felt so comforted and quiet, so free +from nervousness, that not even the telephone +bell could make her jump. It +tinkled pretty continuously, too. That +was because all the next day the neighbors +who didn’t come in person were calling up +to inquire for the returned travelers. +Elliott quite lost the expectation that +every time the telephone buzzed it meant +a possible message for her.</p> +<p>She had lost it so completely that when, +as they were on the point of sitting down +at supper, Laura said, “There’s the telephone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +again, and my hands are full,” +Elliott remarked, “I’ll see who it is,” and +took down the receiver without a thought +of a cable.</p> +<p>“This is Elliott Cameron speaking.... +Yes—yes. Elliott Cameron. All ready.” +A tremor crept into the girl’s voice. “I +didn’t get that.... Just received my +message? Yes, go on.... Repeat, +please.... Wait a minute till I call +some one.”</p> +<p>She wheeled from the instrument, her +face alight. “Where’s Bruce? Please, +somebody, call—oh, here you are!” She +thrust the receiver into his hands. “Make +them repeat the message to you. It’s +from Father. Pete was a prisoner. +He’s escaped and got back to our lines.”</p> +<p>Then she slipped into Aunt Jessica’s +waiting arms.</p> +<p>Supper? Who cared about supper? +The Camerons forgot it. When they remembered, +the steaming-hot creamed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +potato was cold and the salad was wilted, +but that made no difference. They were +too excited to know what they were eating.</p> +<p>To make assurance trebly sure there +were more messages. Bob cabled of +Pete’s escape through the Hun lines and +the government wired from Washington. +The Camerons’ happiness spilled over into +blithe exuberance. They laughed and +danced and sang for very joy. Priscilla +jigged all over the house like an excited +brown leaf in a breeze. None of them, +except Father Bob, Mother Jess, and +Laura, could keep still. Laura went about +like a person in a trance, with a strange, +happy quietness in her ordinarily energetic +movements and a brightness in her face +that dazzled. There was no boisterousness +in any one’s rejoicing, only a gentleness +of gaiety that was very wonderful +to see and feel.</p> +<p>As for Elliott, she felt as though she +had come out from underneath a great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +dark cloud, into a place where she could +never again be anything but good and +happy. She had been coming out ever +since Aunt Jessica reached home, but she +hadn’t come out the same as she went in. +The Elliott Aunt Jessica and Laura had +left in charge when they went to Camp +Devens seemed very, very far away from +the Elliott whose joy was like wings that +fairly lifted her feet off the ground. +Smiles chased one another among her +dimples in ceaseless procession across her +face. She didn’t try to discover why she +felt so different. She didn’t care. The +dimples, of course, were the very same +dimples she had always had, and at the +moment the girl was entirely unconscious +of their existence, though as a matter of +fact those dimples had never been busier +and more bewitching in all Elliott +Cameron’s life.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” Mother Jess said at last, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +“we shall have to go to bed, if we are to +get Stannard off in the morning.”</p> +<p>Going to bed isn’t a very exciting thing +to do when you are so happy you feel as +though you might burst with joy, but by +that time the Camerons had managed to +work out of the most dangerous stage, and +inasmuch as Stannard’s was an early +train, going to bed was the only sensible +thing to do. So they did it.</p> +<p>What was more remarkable, the last +sleepy Cameron straggled down to the +breakfast-table before the little car ran up +to the door to take Stannard away. They +were really sorry to see him go and he +acted as though he were just as sorry to +go, which would seem to indicate that +Stannard, too, had changed in the course +of the summer. He looked much like the +long, lazy Stannard who had rebelled +against a vacation on a farm, but his carriage +was better and his figure sturdier, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +and his hands weren’t half so white and +gentlemanlike. Underneath his lazy ease +was a hint of something to depend on in an +emergency. Perhaps even his laziness +wasn’t so ingrained as it used to be.</p> +<p>They all went out on the veranda to say +good-by and waved as long as the car was +in sight.</p> +<p>“Sorry you’re not going, too?” Bruce +asked Elliott.</p> +<p>“Oh, no! I wouldn’t go for anything.”</p> +<p>“For a girl who didn’t want to come up +here at all,” he said softly, “you’re doing +pretty well. Decided to make the best of +us, didn’t you?”</p> +<p>She looked at him indignantly. “Indeed, +I didn’t! I wouldn’t do such a +thing. Why, I just <i>love</i> it here!” Then +she saw the twinkle in his eye. “You +tease!”</p> +<p>“I’m going away, myself, next week, +S. A. T. C. I can’t get any nearer France +than that, it seems, just yet. Father Bob +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +says he can manage all right this winter +and he has a notion of something new that +may turn up next spring. He says, ‘Go,’ +and so does Mother Jess. So—I’m going.”</p> +<p>Elliott stole a quick glance at the firm, +clear-cut face, chiseled already in lines of +purpose and power.</p> +<p>“I’m glad,” she said, “but we shall—miss +you.”</p> +<p>“Shall <i>you</i> miss me?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I’d hate to think that you wouldn’t.”</p> +<p>Elliott always remembered the morning, +three days later, when Bruce went away. +How blue the sky was, how clear the sunshine, +how glorious the autumn pageant of +the hills! Beside the gate a young maple +burned like a shaft of flame. True, Bruce +was only going to school now, but there +was France in the background, a beckoning +possibility with all that it meant of +triumph and heroism and pain. That idea +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +of France, and the fiery splendor of the +hills, seemed to invest Bruce’s strong +young figure with a kind of glory that +tightened the girl’s throat as she waved +good-by from the veranda. She was glad +Bruce was going, even if her throat did +ache. Aches like that seemed far less important +than they used to. She waved +with a thrill coursing up her spine and a +shy, eager sense of how big and wonderful +and happy a thing it was to be a girl.</p> +<p>With a last wave to Bruce turning the +curve of the road Mother Jess stepped +back into the house.</p> +<p>“Come, girls,” she said. “I feel like +getting very busy, don’t you?”</p> +<p>Elliott followed her contentedly. Others +might go, but she didn’t wish to, not +while Father was on the other side of the +ocean. It made her laugh to think that +she had ever wished to. That laugh of +pure mirth and happiness proved the completeness +of Elliott Cameron’s evacuation.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div> +<p>“What is the joke?” Laura asked, smiling +at the radiant charm of the dainty figure +enveloping itself in a blue apron.</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Elliott lightly, “I was thinking +that I used to be a queer girl.”</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;'>THE END</p></div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.20 with eppg.rb version 0.01 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sun Nov 15 05:48:36 -0700 2009 --> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30479 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30479-h/images/cover.jpg b/30479-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..36b269f --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/30479-h/images/f0001-image.jpg b/30479-h/images/f0001-image.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb26694 --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/images/f0001-image.jpg diff --git a/30479-h/images/illus-emb.png b/30479-h/images/illus-emb.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3fb30ac --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/images/illus-emb.png diff --git a/30479-h/images/p0028a-insert.jpg b/30479-h/images/p0028a-insert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4138a6d --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/images/p0028a-insert.jpg diff --git a/30479-h/images/p0142a-insert.jpg b/30479-h/images/p0142a-insert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8e70be --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/images/p0142a-insert.jpg diff --git a/30479-h/images/p0200a-insert.jpg b/30479-h/images/p0200a-insert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..86ae7be --- /dev/null +++ b/30479-h/images/p0200a-insert.jpg |
