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diff --git a/36401.txt b/36401.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d0508ad --- /dev/null +++ b/36401.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7292 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Turn of the Tide, by Eleanor H. Porter, +Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Turn of the Tide + The Story of How Margaret Solved Her Problem + + +Author: Eleanor H. Porter + + + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [eBook #36401] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TURN OF THE TIDE*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 36401-h.htm or 36401-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36401/36401-h/36401-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36401/36401-h.zip) + + + + + +[Illustration: "MRS. KENDALL PLACED IN HER HANDS A GREAT RED ROSE."] + + +THE TURN OF THE TIDE + +The Story of How Margaret Solved Her Problem + +by + +ELEANOR H. PORTER + +Author of +"Pollyanna: The Glad Book," +Trade Mark Trade Mark +"Cross Currents," "The Story of Marco," Etc. + +With Four Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill + + + + + + + +A. L. Burt Company +Publishers New York + +Published by Arrangements with The Page Company + + + + + To my husband + whose cordial interest in my work + is always a + source of inspiration + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + "Mrs. Kendall placed in her hands a great red rose" _Frontispiece_ 13 + + "For a time Margaret regarded him with troubled eyes" 66 + + "A mob of small boys had found an object upon which to vent their + wildest mischief" 158 + + "Margaret crossed the room and touched the man's shoulder" 244 + + + + +THE TURN OF THE TIDE + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Margaret had been home two hours--two hours of breathless questions, +answers, tears, and laughter--two hours of delighted wandering about the +house and grounds. + +In the nursery she had seen the little woolly dog that lay on the floor +just as she had left it five years before; and out on the veranda steps +she had seen the great stone lions that had never quite faded from her +memory. And always at her side had walked the sweet-faced lady of her +dreams, only now the lady was very real, with eyes that smiled on one so +lovingly, and lips and hands that kissed and caressed one so tenderly. + +"And this is home--my home?" Margaret asked in unbelieving wonder. + +"Yes, dear," answered Mrs. Kendall. + +"And you are my mother, and I am Margaret Kendall, your little girl?" + +"Yes." + +"And the little dog on the floor--that was mine, and--and it's been there +ever since?" + +"Yes, ever since you left it there long ago. I--I could not bear to have +any one move it, or touch it." + +"And I was lost then--right then?" + +"No, dear. We traveled about for almost a year. You were five when I +lost you." Mrs. Kendall's voice shook. Unconsciously she drew Margaret +into a closer embrace. Even now she was scarcely sure that it was +Margaret--this little maid who had stepped so suddenly out of the great +silence that had closed about her four long years before. + +Margaret laughed softly, and nestled in the encircling arms. + +"I like it--this," she confided shyly. "You see, I--I hain't had it +before. Even the dream-lady didn't do--this." + +"The dream-lady?" + +Margaret hesitated. Her grave eyes were on her mother's face. + +"I suppose she was--you," she said then slowly. "I saw her nights, +mostly; but she never stayed, and when I tried to catch her, she--she was +just air--and wasn't there at all. And I did want her so bad!" + +"Of course you did, sweetheart," choked Mrs. Kendall, tremulously. "And +didn't she ever stay? When was it you saw her--first?" + +Margaret frowned. + +"I--don't--seem--to know," she answered. She was thinking of what Dr. +Spencer had told her, and of what she herself remembered of those four +years of her life. "You see first I was lost, and Bobby McGinnis found +me. Anyhow, Dr. Spencer says he did, but I don't seem to remember. +Things was all mixed up. There didn't seem to be anybody that wanted me, +but there wouldn't anybody let me go. And they made me sew all the time +on things that was big and homely, and then another man took me and made +me paste up bags. Say, did you ever paste bags?" + +"No, dear." Mrs. Kendall shivered. + +"Well, you don't want to," volunteered Margaret; and to her thin little +face came the look that her mother had already seen on it once or twice +that afternoon--the look of a child who knows what it means to fight for +life itself in the slums of a great city. "They ain't a mite nice--bags +ain't; and the paste sticks horrid, and smells." + +"Margaret, dearest!--how could you bear it?" shuddered Mrs. Kendall, her +eyes brimming with tears. + +Margaret saw the tears, and understood--this tender, new-found mother of +hers was grieved; she must be comforted. To the best of her ability, +therefore, Margaret promptly proceeded to administer that comfort. + +"Pooh! 'twa'n't nothin'," she asserted stoutly; "besides, I runned away, +and then I had a tiptop place--a whole corner of Mis' Whalen's kitchen, +and jest me and Patty and the twins to stay in it. We divvied up +everythin', and some days we had heaps to eat--truly we did--heaps! And I +went to Mont-Lawn two times, and of course there I had everythin', even +beds with sheets, you know; and----" + +"Margaret, Margaret, don't, dear!" interrupted her mother. "I can't bear +even to think of it." + +Margaret's eyes grew puzzled. + +"But that was bang-up--all of it," she protested earnestly. "Why, I +didn't paste bags nor sew buttons, and nobody didn't strike me for not +doin' 'em, neither; and Mis' Whalen was good and showed me how to make +flowers--for pay, too! And----" + +"Yes, dear, I know," interposed Mrs. Kendall again; "but suppose we +don't think any more of all that, sweetheart. You are home now, darling, +right here with mother. Come, we will go out into the garden." To Mrs. +Kendall it seemed at the moment that only God's blessed out-of-doors was +wide enough and beautiful enough to clear from her eyes the pictures +Margaret's words had painted. + +Out in the garden Margaret drew a long breath. + +"Oh!" she cooed softly, caressing with her cheek a great red rose. "I +knew flowers smelled good, but I didn't find it out for sure till I went +to Mont-Lawn that first time. You see the kind we made was cloth and +stiff, and they didn't smell good a mite--oh, you've picked it!" she +broke off, half-rapturously, half-regretfully, as Mrs. Kendall placed in +her hands the great red rose. + +"Yes, pick all you like, dear," smiled Mrs. Kendall, reaching for +another flower. + +"But they'll die," stammered Margaret, "and then the others won't see +them." + +"The--'others'? What others, dear?" + +"Why, the other folks that live here, you know, and walk out here, too." + +Mrs. Kendall laughed merrily. + +"But there aren't any others, dear. The flowers are all ours. No one +else lives here." + +Margaret stopped short in the garden path and faced her mother. + +"What, not any one? in all that big house?" + +"Why, no, dear, of course not. There is no one except old Mr. and Mrs. +Barrett who keep the house and grounds in order. We have it all to +ourselves." + +Margaret was silent. She turned and walked slowly along the path at her +mother's side. On her face was a puzzled questioning. To her eyes was +gradually coming a frightened doubt. + +Alone?--just they two, with the little old man and the little old woman +in the kitchen who did not take up any room at all? Why, back in the +Alley there were Patty, the twins, and all the Whalens--and they had only +one room! It was like that, too, everywhere, all through the Alley--so +many, many people, so little room for them. Yet here--here was this great +house all windows and doors and soft carpets and pretty pictures, and +only two, three, four people to enjoy it all. Why had not her mother +asked---- + +Even to herself Margaret could not say the words. She shut her lips +tight and threw a hurried look into the face of the woman at her side. +This dear dream-lady, this beautiful new mother--as if there could be any +question of her goodness and kindness! Very likely, anyway, there were +not any poor---- + +Margaret's eyes cleared suddenly. She turned a radiant face on her +mother. + +"Oh, I know," she cried in triumph. "There ain't any poor folks here, +and so you couldn't do it!" + +Mrs. Kendall looked puzzled. + +"'Poor folks'? 'Couldn't do it'?" she questioned. + +"Yes; poor folks like Patty and the Whalens, and so you couldn't ask 'em +to live with you." + +Mrs. Kendall sat down abruptly. Near her was a garden settee. She felt +particularly glad of its support just then. + +"And of course you didn't know about the Whalens and Patty," went on +Margaret, eagerly, "and so you couldn't ask them, neither. But you do +now, and they'd just love to come, I know!" + +"Love to--to come?" stammered Mrs. Kendall, gazing blankly into the +glowing young face before her. + +"Of course they would!" nodded Margaret, dancing up and down and +clapping her hands. "Wouldn't you if you didn't have nothin' but a room +right down under the sidewalk, and there was such a heap of folks in it? +Why, here there's everythin'--_everythin'_ for 'em, and oh, I'm so glad, +'cause they _was_ good to me--so good! First Mis' Whalen took in Patty +and the twins when the rent man dumped 'em out on the sidewalk, and she +gave 'em a whole corner of her kitchen. And then when I runned away from +the bag-pasting, Patty and the twins took me in. And now I can pay 'em +back for it all--I can pay 'em back. I'm so glad!" + +Mrs. Kendall fell back limply against the garden seat. Twice she opened +her lips--and closed them again. Her face flushed, then paled, and her +hands grew cold in her lap. + +This dancing little maid with the sunlit hair and the astounding +proposition to adopt into their home two whole families from the slums +of New York, was Margaret, her own little Margaret, lost so long ago, +and now so miraculously restored to her. As if she could refuse any +request, however wild, from Margaret! But this--! + +"But, sweetheart, perhaps they--they wouldn't want to go away forever and +leave their home," she remonstrated at last, feebly. + +The child frowned, her finger to her lips. + +"Well, anyhow, we can ask them," she declared, after a minute, her face +clearing. + +"Suppose we--we make it a visit, first," suggested Mrs. Kendall, +feverishly. "By and by, after I've had you all to myself for a little +while, you shall ask them to--to visit you." + +"O bully!" agreed Margaret in swift delight. "That will be nicest; won't +it? Then they can see how they like it--but there! they'll like it all +right. They couldn't help it." + +"And how--how many are there?" questioned Mrs. Kendall, moistening her +dry lips, and feeling profoundly thankful for even this respite from the +proposed wholesale adoption. + +"Why, let's see." Margaret held up her fingers and checked off her +prospective guests. "There's Patty, she's the oldest, and Arabella and +Clarabella--they're the twins an' they're my age, you know--that's the +Murphys. And then there's all the Whalens: Tom, Peter, Mary, Jamie, +and--oh, I dunno, six or eight, maybe, with Mis' Whalen and her husband. +But, after all, it don't make so very much diff'rence just how many +there are; does it?" she added, with a happy little skip and jump, +"'cause there's heaps of room here for any 'mount of 'em. And I never +can remember just how many there are without forgettin' some of 'em. +You--you don't mind if I don't name 'em all--now?" And she gazed earnestly +into her mother's face. + +"No, dear, no," assured Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. "You--you have named +quite enough. And now we'll go down to the brook. We haven't seen half +of Five Oaks yet." And once more she tried to make the joyous present +drive from her daughter's thoughts the grievous past. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +It was not long before all Houghtonsville knew the story, and there was +not a man, woman, or child in the town that did not take the liveliest +interest in the little maid at Five Oaks who had passed through so +amazing an experience. To be lost at five years of age in a great city, +to be snatched from wealth, happiness, and a loving mother's arms, only +to be thrust instantly into poverty, misery, and loneliness; and then to +be, after four long years, suddenly returned--no wonder Houghtonsville +held its breath and questioned if it all indeed were true. + +Bit by bit the little girl's history was related in every house in town; +and many a woman--and some men--wept over the tale of how the little +fingers had sewed on buttons in the attic sweat shop, and pasted bags in +the ill-smelling cellar. The story of the cooperative housekeeping +establishment in one corner of the basement kitchen, where she, together +with Patty and the twins, "divvied up" the day's "haul,"--that, too, came +in for its share of exclamatory adjectives, as did the account of how +she was finally discovered through her finding her own name over the +little cot-bed at Mont-Lawn--the little bed that Mrs. Kendall had endowed +in the name of her lost daughter, in the children's vacation home for +the poor little waifs from the city. + +"An' ter think of her findin' her own baby jest by givin' some other +woman's baby a bit of joy!" cried Mrs. Merton of the old red farmhouse, +when the story was told to her. "But, there! ain't that what she's +always doin' for folks--somethin' ter make 'em happy? Didn't she bring my +own child, Sadie, an' the boy, Bobby, back from the city, and ain't +Sadie gettin' well an' strong on the farm here? And it's a comfort ter +me, too, when I remember 'twas Bobby who first found the little Margaret +cryin' in the streets there in New York, an' took her home ter my Sadie. +'Twa'n't much Sadie could do for the poor little lamb, but she did what +she could till old Sullivan got his claws on her and kept her shut up +out o' sight. But there! what's past is past, and there ain't no use +frettin' over it. She's home now, in her own mother's arms, and I'm +thinkin' it's the whole town that's rejoicin'!" + +And the whole town did rejoice--and many and various were the ways the +townspeople took to show it. The Houghtonsville brass band marched in +full uniform to Five Oaks one evening and gave a serenade with red fire +and rockets, much to Mrs. Kendall's embarrassment and Margaret's +delight. The Ladies' Aid Society gave a tea with Mrs. Kendall and +Margaret as a kind of pivot around which the entire affair revolved--this +time to the embarrassment of both Mrs. Kendall and her daughter. The +minister of the Methodist church appointed a day of prayer and +thanksgiving in commemoration of the homecoming of the wanderer; and the +town poet published in the _Houghtonsville Banner_ a forty-eight-line +poem on "The Lost and Found." + +Nor was this all. To Mrs. Kendall it seemed that almost every man, +woman, and child in the place came to her door with inquiries and +congratulations, together with all sorts of offerings, from flowers and +frosted cakes to tidies and worked bedspreads. She was not ungrateful, +certainly, but she was overwhelmed. + +Not only the cakes and the tidies, however, gave Mrs. Kendall food for +thought during those first few days after Margaret's return. From the +very nature of the case it was, of necessity, a period of adjustment; +and to Mrs. Kendall's consternation there was every indication of +friction, if not disaster. + +For four years now her young daughter had been away from her tender care +and influence; and for only one of those four years--the last--had she +come under the influence of any sort of refinement or culture, and then +under only such as a city missionary and an overworked schoolteacher +could afford, supplemented by the two trips to Mont-Lawn. To be sure, +behind it all had been Margaret's careful training for the first five +years of her life, and it was because of this training that she had so +quickly yielded to what good influences she had known in the last year. +The Alley, however, was not Five Oaks; and the standards of one did not +measure to those of the other. It was not easy for "Mag of the Alley" to +become at once Margaret Kendall, the dainty little daughter of a +well-bred, fastidious mother. + +To the doctor--the doctor who had gone to New York and brought Margaret +home, and who knew her as she was--Mrs. Kendall went for advice. + +"What shall I do?" she asked anxiously. "A hundred times a day the dear +child's speech, movements, and actions are not what I like them to be. +And yet--if I correct each one, 'twill be a continual 'don't' all day. +Why, doctor, the child will--hate me!" + +"As if any one could do that!" smiled the doctor; and at the look in his +eyes Mrs. Kendall dropped her own--the happiness that had come to her +with this man's love was very new; she had scarcely yet looked it +squarely in the face. + +"The child is so good and loving," she went on a little hurriedly, "that +it makes it all the harder--but I must do something. Only this morning +she told the minister that she thought Houghtonsville was a 'bully +place,' and that the people were 'tiptop.' Her table manners--poor child! +I ran away from the table and cried like a baby the first time I saw her +eat; and yet--perhaps the very next thing she does will be so dainty and +sweet that I could declare the other was all a dream. Doctor, what shall +I do?" + +"I know, I know," nodded the man. "I have seen it myself. But, dear, +she'll learn--she'll learn wonderfully fast. You'll see. It's in her--the +gentleness and the refinement. She'll have to be corrected, some, of +course; it's out of the question that she shouldn't be. But she'll come +out straight. Her heart is all right." + +Mrs. Kendall laughed softly. + +"Her heart, doctor!" she exclaimed. "Just there lies the greatest +problem of all. The one creed of her life is to 'divvy up,' and how I'm +going to teach her ordinary ideas of living without shattering all her +faith in me I don't know. Why, Harry,"--Mrs. Kendall's voice was +tragic--"she gazes at me with round eyes of horror because I have two +coats and two hats, and two loaves of bread, and haven't yet 'divvied +up' with some one who has none. So far her horror is tempered by the +fact that she is sure I didn't know before that there were any people +who did not have all these things. Now that she has told me of them, she +confidently looks to me to do my obvious duty at once." + +The doctor laughed. + +"As if you weren't always doing things for people," he said fondly. Then +he grew suddenly grave. "The dear child! I'm afraid that along with her +education and civilization her altruism _will_ get a few hard knocks. +But--she'll get over that, too. You'll see. At heart she's so gentle +and--why, what"--he broke off with an unspoken question, his eyes widely +opened at the change that had come to her face. + +"Oh, nothing," returned Mrs. Kendall, almost despairingly, "only if +you'd seen Joe Bagley yesterday morning I'm afraid you'd have changed +your opinion of her gentleness. She--she fought him!" Mrs. Kendall +stumbled over the words, and flushed a painful red as she spoke them. + +"Fought him--Joe Bagley!" gasped the doctor. "Why, he's almost twice her +size." + +"Yes, I know, but that didn't seem to occur to Margaret," returned Mrs. +Kendall. "She saw only the kitten he was tormenting, and--well, she +rescued the kitten, and then administered what she deemed to be fit +punishment there and then. When I arrived on the scene they were the +center of an admiring crowd of children,"--Mrs. Kendall shivered +visibly--"and Margaret was just delivering herself of a final blow that +sent the great bully off blubbering." + +"Good for her!"--it was an involuntary tribute, straight from the heart. + +"Harry!" gasped Mrs. Kendall. "'Good'--a delicate girl!" + +"No, no, of course not," murmured the doctor, hastily, though his eyes +still glowed. "It won't do, of course; but you must remember her life, +her struggle for very existence all those years. She _had_ to train her +fists to fight her way." + +"I--I suppose so," admitted Mrs. Kendall, faintly; but she shivered +again, as if with a sudden chill. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Scarcely had Houghtonsville recovered from its first shock of glad +surprise at Margaret's safe return, when it was shaken again to its very +center by the news of Mrs. Kendall's engagement to Dr. Spencer. + +The old Kendall estate had been for more than a generation the "show +place" of the town. Even during the years immediately following the loss +of little Margaret, when the great stone lions on each side of the steps +had kept guard over closed doors and shuttered windows, even then the +place was pointed out to strangers for its beauty, as well as for the +tragedy that had so recently made it a living tomb to its mistress. +Sometimes, though not often, a glimpse might be caught of a slender, +black-robed woman, and always there could be seen the one unshuttered +window on the second floor. Every one knew the story of that window, and +of the sunlit room beyond where lay the little woolly dog just as the +baby hands had dropped it there years before; and every one knew that +the black-robed woman, widow of Frank Kendall and mother of the lost +little girl, was grieving her heart out in the great lonely house. + +Not until the last two years of Margaret's absence had there come a +change, and then it was so gradual that the townspeople scarcely noticed +it. Little by little, however, the air of gloom left the house. One by +one the blinds were thrown open to the sunlight, and more and more +frequently Mrs. Kendall was seen walking in the garden, or even upon the +street. Not until the news of the engagement had come, however, did +Houghtonsville people realize the doctor's part in all this. Then they +understood. It was he who had administered to her diseased body, and +still more diseased mind; he who had roused her from her apathy of +despair; and he who had taught her that the world was full of other +griefs even as bitter as her own. + +Not twenty-four hours after the news of the engagement became public +property, old Nathan--town gossip, and driver-in-chief to a generation of +physicians, Dr. Spencer included--observed triumphantly: + +"And I ain't a mite surprised, neither. It's a good thing, too. They're +jest suited ter each other. Ain't they been traipsin' all over town +tergether, an' ridin' whar 'twas too fur ter foot it?... Ter be sure, +they allers went ter some one's that was sick, an' allers took jellies +an' things ter eat an' read, but I had eyes, an' I ain't a fool. She +done good, though--heaps of it; an' 'tain't no wonder the doctor fell +head over heels in love with her.... An' thar was the little gal, too. +Didn't he go twice ter New York a-huntin' fur her, an' wa'n't it through +him that they finally got her? 'Course 'twas. 'Twas him that told Mis' +Kendall 'bout that 'ere Mont-Lawn whar they sends them poor little city +kids ter get a breath o' fresh air; an' 'twas him that sent on the +twenty-one dollars for her, so's she could name a bed fur little +Margaret; an' 'twas him that at last went ter New York an' fetched her +home. Gorry, 'twas allers him. Thar wa'n't no way out of it, I say. They +jest had ter get engaged!" + +It was not long before the most of Houghtonsville--in sentiment, if not +in words--came to old Nathan's opinion: this prospective marriage was an +ideal arrangement, after all, and not in the least surprising. There +remained now only the pleasant task of making the wedding a joyful +affair befitting the traditions of the town and of the honored name of +Kendall. + +In all Houghtonsville, perhaps, there was only one heart that did not +beat in sympathy, and that one, strangely enough, belonged to Mrs. +Kendall's own daughter, Margaret. + +"You mean you are goin' to marry him, and that he'll be your husband +for--for keeps?" Margaret demanded with some agitation, when her mother +told her of the engagement. + +Mrs. Kendall smiled. The red mounted to her cheek. + +"Yes, dear," she said. + +"And he'll live here--with us?" Margaret's voice was growing in horror. + +"Why, yes, dear," murmured Mrs. Kendall; then, quizzically: "Why, +sweetheart, what's the matter? Don't you like Dr. Spencer? It was only +last week that you were begging me to ask some one here to live with +us." + +Margaret frowned anxiously. + +"But, mother, dear, that was poor folks," she explained, her eyes +troubled. "Dr. Spencer ain't that kind, you know. You--you said he'd be a +husband." + +"Yes?" + +"And--and husbands--mother!" broke off the little girl, her voice sharp +with anguished love and terror. "He sha'n't come here to beat you and +bang you 'round--he just sha'n't!" + +"Beat me!" gasped Mrs. Kendall. "Margaret, what in the world are you +thinking of to say such a thing as that?" + +Margaret was almost crying now. The old hunted look had come back to her +eyes, and her face looked suddenly pinched and old. She came close to +her mother's side and caught the soft folds of her mother's dress in +cold, shaking fingers. + +"But they do do it--all of 'em," she warned frenziedly. "Tim Sullivan, +an' Mr. Whalen, an' Patty's father--they was all husbands, every one of +'em; and there wasn't one of 'em but what beat their wives and banged +'em 'round. You don't know. You hain't seen 'em, maybe; but they do do +it, mother--they do do it!" + +For a moment Mrs. Kendall stared speechlessly into the young-old face +before her; then she caught the little girl in her arms. + +"You poor little dear!" she choked. "You poor forlorn little bunch of +misguided pessimism! Come, let me tell you how really good and kind and +gentle the doctor is. Beat me, indeed! Oh, Margaret, Margaret!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In spite of Mrs. Kendall's earnest efforts Margaret was not easily +convinced that marriage might be desirable, and that all husbands were +not patterned after Tim Sullivan and Mike Whalen. Nor was this coming +marriage the only thing that troubled Margaret. Life at the Alley was +still too vividly before her eyes to allow her to understand any scheme +of living that did not recognize the supremacy of the sharpest tongue +and the heaviest fist; and this period of adjustment to the new order of +things was not without its trials for herself as well as for her mother. + +The beauty, love, and watchful care that surrounded her filled her with +ecstatic rapture; but the niceties of speech and manner daily demanded +of her, terrified and dismayed her. Why "bully" and "bang-up" should be +frowned upon when, after all, they but expressed her pleasure in +something provided for her happiness, she could not understand; and why +the handling of the absurdly large number of knives, forks, and spoons +about her plate at dinner should be a matter of so great moment, she +could not see. As for the big white square of folded cloth that her +mother thought so necessary at every meal--its dainty purity filled +Margaret with dismay lest she soil or wrinkle it; and for her part she +would have much preferred to let it quite alone. + +There were the callers, too--beautiful ladies in trailing gowns who +insisted upon seeing her, though why, Margaret could not understand; for +they invariably cried and said, "Poor little lamb!" when they did see +her, in spite of her efforts to convince them that she was perfectly +happy. And there were the children--they, too, were disconcerting. They +came, sometimes alone, and sometimes with their parents, but always they +stared and seemed afraid of her. There were others, to be sure, who were +not afraid of her. But they never "called." They "slipped in" through +the back gate at the foot of the garden, and they were really very nice. +They were Nat and Tom and Roxy Trotter, and they lived in a little house +down by the river. They never wore shoes nor stockings, and their +clothes were not at all like those of the other children. Margaret +suspected that the Trotters were poor, and she took pains that her +mother should see Nat and Tom and Roxy. Her mother, however, did not +appear to know them, which did not seem so very strange to Margaret, +after all; for of course her mother had not known there were any poor +people so near, otherwise she would have shared her home with them long +ago. At first, it was Margaret's plan to rectify this little mistake +immediately; but the more she thought of it, the more thoroughly was she +convinced that the first chance belonged by right to Patty's family and +the Whalens in New York, inasmuch as they had been so good to her. She +determined, therefore, to wait awhile before suggesting the removal of +the Trotter family from their tiny, inconvenient house to the more +spacious and desirable Five Oaks. + +Delightful as were the Trotters, however, even they did not quite come +up to Bobby McGinnis for real comradeship. Bobby lived with his mother +and grandmother in the little red farmhouse farther up the hill. It was +he who had found Margaret crying in the streets on that first dreadful +day long ago when she was lost in New York. For a week she had lived in +his attic home, then she had become frightened at his father's drunken +rage, one day, and had fled to the streets, never to return. All this +Margaret knew, though she had but a faint recollection of it. It made a +bond of sympathy between them, nevertheless, and caused them to become +fast friends at once. + +It was to Bobby that she went for advice when the standards of +Houghtonsville and the Alley clashed; and it was to Bobby that she went +for sympathy when grievous mismanagement of the knives and forks or of +the folded square of cloth brought disaster to herself and tears to her +mother's eyes. She earnestly desired to--as she expressed it to +Bobby--"come up to the scratch and walk straight"; and it was to Bobby +that she looked for aid and counsel. + +"You see, you can tell just what 'tis ails me," she argued earnestly, as +the two sat in their favorite perch in the apple tree. "You don't know +Patty and the Whalens, 'course, but you do know folks just like 'em; and +mother--don't you see?--she knows only the kind that lives here, and +she--she don't understand. But you know both kinds, and you can tell +where 'tis that I ain't like 'em here. And I want to be like 'em, Bobby, +I do, truly. They're just bang-up--I mean, _beautiful_ folks," she +corrected hastily. "And mother's so good to me! She's just----" + +Margaret stopped suddenly. A new thought seemed to have come to her. + +"Bobby," she cried with sharp abruptness, "did you ever know any +husbands that was--good?" + +"'Husbands'? 'Good'? What do ye mean?" + +"Did you ever know any that was good, I mean that didn't beat their +wives and bang 'em 'round? Did you, Bobby?" + +Bobby laughed. He lifted his chin quizzically, and gazed down from the +lofty superiority of his fourteen years. + +"Sure, an' ain't ye beginnin' sort o' early ter worry about husbands?" +he teased. "But, mebbe you've already--er--picked him out! eh?" + +Margaret did not seem to hear. She was looking straight through a little +open space in the boughs of the apple tree to the blue sky far beyond. + +"Bobby," she began in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "if that man +should be bad to my mother I think I'd--kill him." + +Bobby roused himself. He suddenly remembered Joe Bagley and the kitten. + +"What man?" he asked. + +"Dr. Spencer." + +"Dr. Spencer!" gasped Bobby. "Why, Dr. Spencer wouldn't hurt a fly. He's +just bully!" + +Margaret stirred restlessly. She turned a grave face on her companion. + +"Bobby," she reproved gently, "I don't think I'd oughter hear them words +if I ain't 'lowed to use 'em myself." + +Bobby uptilted his chin. + +"I've heard your ma say 'ain't' wa'n't proper," he observed virtuously. +"I shouldn't have mentioned it, only--well, seein' as how you're gettin' +so awful particular----!" For the more telling effect he left the sentence +unfinished. + +Again Margaret did not seem to hear. Again her eyes had sought the patch +of blue showing through the green leaves. + +"Dr. Spencer may be nice now, but he ain't a husband yet," she said, +thoughtfully. "There was Tim Sullivan and Patty's father and Mike +Whalen," she enumerated aloud. "And they was all---- Bobby, was your +father a good husband?" she demanded with a sudden turn that brought her +eyes squarely round to his. + +The boy was silent. + +"Bobby, was he?" + +Slowly the boy's eyes fell. + +"Well, of course, sometimes dad would"--he began; but Margaret +interrupted him. + +"I knew it--I just knew it--I just knew there wasn't any," she moaned; +"but I can't make mother see it--I just can't!" + +This was but the first of many talks between Margaret and Bobby upon the +same subject, and always Margaret was seeking for a possible averting of +the catastrophe. To convince her mother of the awfulness of the fate +awaiting her, and so to persuade her to abandon the idea of marriage, +was out of the question, Margaret soon found. It was then, perhaps, that +the idea of speaking to the doctor himself first came to her. + +"If I could only get him to promise things!" she said to Bobby. "If I +could only get him to promise!" + +"Promise?" + +"Yes; to be good and kind, you know," nodded Margaret, "and not like a +husband." + +Bobby laughed; then he frowned and was silent. Suddenly his face +changed. + +"I say, you might make him sign a contract," he hazarded. + +"Contract?" + +"Sure! One of them things that makes folks toe the mark whether they +wants to or not. I'll draw it up for you--that's what they call it," he +explained airily; and as Margaret bubbled over with delight and thanks +he added: "Not at all. 'Tain't nothin'. Glad ter do it, I'm sure!" + +For a month now Bobby had swept the floor and dusted the books in the +law office of Burt & Burt, to say nothing of running errands and tending +door. In days gone by, the law, as represented by the policeman on the +corner, was something to be avoided; but to-day, as represented by a +frock coat, a tall hat, and a vocabulary bristling with big words, it +was something that was most alluring--so alluring, in fact, that Bobby +had determined to adopt it as his own. He himself would be a lawyer--tall +hat, frock coat, big words and all. Hence his readiness to undertake +this little matter of drawing up a contract for Margaret, his first +client. + +It was some days, nevertheless, before the work was ready for the +doctor's signature. The young lawyer, unfortunately, could not give all +of his time to his own affairs; there were still the trivial duties of +his office to perform. He found, too, that the big words which fell so +glibly from the lips of the great Burt & Burt were anything but easily +managed when he tried to put them upon paper himself. Bobby was +ambitious and persistent, however, and where knowledge failed, +imagination stepped boldly to the front. In the end it was with no +little pride that he displayed the result of his labor to his client, +then, with her gleeful words of approval still ringing in his ears, he +slipped it into its envelope, sealed, stamped, and posted it. Thus it +happened that the next day a very much amazed physician received this in +his mail: + + _"To whom it may concern_: + + "Whereas, I, the Undersigned, being in my sane Mind do intend to + commit Matremony, I, the said Undersigned do hereby solumly declare + and agree, to wit, not to Beat my aforesaid Wife. Not to Bang her + round. Not to Falsely, Wickedly and Maliciously treat her. Not once. + Moreover, I, the said Undersigned do solumly Swear all this to + Margaret Kendall, the dorter and Lawfull Protectur of the said Wife, + to wit, Mrs. Kendall. And whereas, if I, the aforesaid Undersigned do + break and violate this my solum Oath concerning the said Wife, I do + hereby Swear that she, to wit, Margaret Kendall, may bestow upon me + such Punishmunt as seems eminuntly proper to her at such time as she + sees fit. Whereas and whereunto I have this day set my Hand and Seal." + +Here followed a space for the signature, and a somewhat thumbed, +irregular daub of red sealing-wax. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +It was a particularly warm July evening, but a faint breeze from the +west stirred the leaves of the Crimson Rambler that climbed over the +front veranda at Five Oaks, and brought the first relief from the +scorching heat. The great stone lions loomed out of the shadows and +caught the moonlight full on their shaggy heads. To the doctor, sitting +alone on the veranda steps, they seemed almost alive, and he smiled at +the thought that came to him. + +"So you think you, too, are guarding her," he chuckled quietly. "Pray, +and are you also her 'Lawfull Protectur'?" + +A light step sounded on the floor behind him, and he sprang to his feet. + +"She's asleep," said Mrs. Kendall softly. "She dropped asleep almost as +soon as she touched the pillow. Dear child!" + +"Yes, children are apt---- Amy, dearest!" broke off the doctor, sharply, +"you are crying!" + +"No, no, it is nothing," assured Mrs. Kendall, as the doctor led her to +a chair. "It is always this way, only to-night it was a--a little more +heart-breaking than usual." + +"'Always this way'! 'Heart-breaking'! Why, Amy!" + +Mrs. Kendall smiled, then raised her hand to brush away a tear. + +"You don't understand," she murmured. "It's the bedtime +prayer--Margaret's;" then, at the doctor's amazed frown, she added: "The +dear child goes over her whole day, bit by bit, and asks forgiveness for +countless misdemeanors, and it nearly breaks my heart, for it shows how +many times I have said 'don't' to the poor little thing since morning. +And as if that were not piteous enough, she must needs ask the dear +Father to tell her how to handle her fork, and how to sit, walk, and +talk so's to please mother. Harry, what _shall_ I do?" + +"But you are doing," returned the doctor. "You are loving her, and you +are surrounding her with everything good and beautiful." + +"But I want to do right myself--just right." + +"And you are doing just right, dear." + +"But the results--they are so irregular and uneven," sighed the mother, +despairingly. "One minute she is the gentle, loving little girl I held +in my arms five years ago; and the next she is--well, she isn't Margaret +at all." + +"No," smiled the doctor. "She isn't Margaret at all. She is Mag of the +Alley, dependent on her wits and her fists for life itself. Don't worry, +sweetheart. It will all come right in time; it can't help it!--but it +will take the time." + +"She tries so hard--the little precious!--and she does love me." + +A curious smile curved the doctor's lips. + +"She does," he said dryly. + +"Why, Harry, what----" Mrs. Kendall's eyes were questioning. + +The doctor hesitated. Then very slowly he drew from his pocket a large, +somewhat legal-looking document. + +"I hardly know whether to share this with you or not," he began; "still, +it _is_ too good to keep to myself, and it concerns you intimately; +moreover, you may be able to assist me with some advice in the matter, +or at least with some possible explanation." And he held out the paper. + +Mrs. Kendall turned in her chair so that the light from the open +hall-door would fall upon the round, cramped handwriting. + +"'To whom it may concern,'" she read aloud. "'Whereas, I, the +Undersigned, being in my sane Mind do intend to commit Matremony.' Why, +Harry, what in the world is this?" she demanded. + +"Go on,--read," returned the doctor, with a nonchalant wave of his hand; +and Mrs. Kendall dropped her eyes again to the paper. + +"Harry, what in the world does this mean?" she gasped a minute later as +she finished reading, half laughing, half crying, and wholly amazed. + +"But that is exactly what I was going to ask you," parried the doctor. + +"You don't mean that Margaret wrote--but she couldn't; besides, it isn't +her writing." + +"No, Margaret didn't write it. For that part I think I detect the +earmarks of young McGinnis. At all events, it came from him." + +"Bobby?" + +"Yes." + +"But who----" Mrs. Kendall stopped abruptly. A dawning comprehension came +into her eyes. "You mean--Harry, she _was_ at the bottom of it! I +remember now. It was only a week or two ago that she used those same +words to me. She insisted that you would beat me and--and bang me 'round. +Oh, Margaret, Margaret, my poor little girl!" + +The doctor smiled; then he shook his head gravely. + +"Poor child! She hasn't seen much of conjugal felicity; has she?" he +murmured; then, softly: "It is left for us, sweetheart, to teach +her--that." + +The color deepened in Mrs. Kendall's cheeks. Her eyes softened, then +danced merrily. + +"But you haven't signed--this, sir, yet!" she challenged laughingly, as +she held out the paper. + +He caught both paper and hands in a warm clasp. + +"But I will," he declared. "Wait and see!" + +Not twenty hours later Bobby McGinnis halted at the great gate of the +driveway at Five Oaks and gave a peculiar whistle. Almost instantly +Margaret flew across the lawn to meet him. + +"Oh, it's jest a little matter of business," greeted Bobby, with +careless ease. "I've got that 'ere document here all signed. I reckoned +the doctor wouldn't lose no time makin' sure ter do his part." + +"Bobby, not the contract--so soon!" exulted Margaret. + +"Sure! Why not? I told him ter please sign to once an' return. An' he +did, 'course. I reckoned he meant business in this little matter, an' he +reckoned I did, too. There wa'n't nothin' for him ter do but sign, +'course." + +Margaret drew her brows together in a thoughtful frown. + +"But he might have--refused," she suggested. + +Bobby gave her a scornful glance. + +"Refused--an' lost the chance of marryin' at all? Not much!" he asserted +with emphasis. + +"Well, anyhow, I'm glad he didn't," sighed Margaret, as she clutched the +precious paper close to her heart. "I should 'a' hated to have refused +outright to let him marry her when mother--Bobby, mother actually seems +to _want_ to have him!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Margaret had been at home four weeks when the invitation for Patty, +Arabella, Clarabella, and three of the Whalens to visit her, finally +left her mother's hands. There had not been a day of all those four +weeks that Margaret had not talked of the coming visit. At first, to be +sure, she had not called it a visit; she had referred to it as the time +when "Patty and the Whalens come here to live." Gradually, however, her +mother had persuaded her to let them "try it and see how they liked it"; +and to this compromise Margaret finally gave a somewhat reluctant +consent. + +Mrs. Kendall herself was distinctly uneasy over the whole affair; and on +one pretext and another had put off sending for the proposed guests +until Margaret's importunities left her no choice in the matter. Not but +that she was grateful to the two families that had been so good to +Margaret in her hour of need, but she would have preferred to show that +gratitude in some way not quite so intimate as taking them into her +house and home for an indefinite period. Margaret, however, was still +intent on "divvying up," and Mrs. Kendall could not look into her +daughter's clear blue eyes, and explain why Patty, Arabella, Clarabella, +and the Whalens might not be the most desirable guests in the world. + +It had been Margaret's intention to invite all of the Whalen family. She +had hesitated a little, it is true, over Mike Whalen, the father. + +"You see he drinks, and when he ain't asleep he's cross, mostly," she +explained to her mother; "but we can't leave just him behind, so we'll +have to ask him, 'course. Besides, if he's goin' to live here, why, he +might as well come right now at the first." + +"No, certainly we couldn't leave Mr. Whalen behind alone," Mrs. Kendall +had returned with dry lips. "So suppose we don't take any of the Whalens +this time--just devote ourselves to Patty and the twins." + +To this, however, Margaret refused to give her consent. What, not take +any of the Whalens--the Whalens who had been so good as to give them one +whole corner of their kitchen, rent free? Certainly not! She agreed, +however, after considerable discussion, to take only Tom, Mary, and +Peter of the Whalen family, leaving the rest of the children and Mrs. +Whalen to keep old Mike Whalen company. + +"For, after all," as she said to her mother, "if Tom and Mary and Peter +like it here, the rest will. They always like what Tom does--he makes +'em." + +Mrs. Kendall never thought of that speech afterward without a shudder. +She even dreamed once of this all-powerful Tom--he stood over her with +clinched fists and flashing eyes, demanding that she "divvy up" to the +last cent. Clearly as she understood that this was only a dream, yet the +vision haunted her; and it was not without some apprehension that she +went with Margaret to the station to meet her guests, on the day +appointed. + +A letter from Margaret had gone to Patty, and one from Mrs. Kendall to +Miss Murdock, the city missionary who had been so good to Margaret. +Houghtonsville was on a main line to New York, and but a few hours' ride +from the city. Mrs. Kendall had given full instructions as to trains, +and had sent the money for the six tickets. She had also asked Miss +Murdock to place the children in care of the conductor, saying that she +would meet them herself at the Houghtonsville station. + +Promptly in return had come Miss Murdock's letter telling of the +children's delighted acceptance of the invitation; and almost +immediately had followed Patty's elaborately flourished scrawl: + + "Much obliged for de invite an wes Acomin. Tanks. + + "Clarabella, Arabella, an + "Patty at yer service." + +Mrs. Kendall thought of this letter and of Tom as she stood waiting for +the long train from New York to come to a standstill; then she looked +down at the sweet-faced daintily-gowned little maid at her side, and +shuddered--it is one thing to carry beef-tea and wheel-chairs to our +unfortunate fellow men, and quite another to invite those same fellow +men to a seat at our own table or by our own fireside. + +Margaret and her mother had not long to wait. Tom Whalen, in spite of +the conductor's restraining hand, was on the platform before the wheels +had ceased to turn. Behind him tumbled Peter, Mary, and Clarabella, +while Patty, carefully guiding Arabella's twisted feet, brought up the +rear. There was an instant's pause; then Tom spied Margaret, and with a +triumphant "Come on--here she is!" to those behind, he dashed down the +platform. + +"My, but ain't you slick!" he cried admiringly, stopping short before +Margaret, who had unconsciously shrunk close to her mother's side. "Hi, +thar, Patty," he called, hailing the gleeful children behind him, "what +would the Alley say if they could see her now?" + +There was a moment's pause. Eagerly as the children had followed Tom's +lead, they stood abashed now before the tall, beautiful woman and the +pretty little girl they had once known as "Mag of the Alley." Almost +instantly Margaret saw and understood; and with all the strength of her +hospitable little soul she strove to put her guests at their ease. With +a glad little cry she gave one after another a bear-like hug; then she +stood back with a flourish and prepared for the introductions. +Unconsciously her words and manner aped those of her mother in sundry +other introductions that had figured in her own experience during the +last four weeks; and before Mrs. Kendall knew what was happening she +found herself being ceremoniously presented to Tom Whalen, late of the +Alley, New York. + +"Tom, this is my dear mother that I lost long ago," said Margaret. +"Mother, dear, can't you shake hands with Tom?" + +Tom advanced. His face was a fiery red, and the freckles shone luridly +through the glow. + +"Proud ter know ye, ma'am," he stammered, clutching frantically at the +daintily-gloved, outstretched hand. + +Margaret sighed with relief. Tom did know how to behave, after all. She +had feared he would not. + +"And this is Mary Whalen, and Peter," she went on, as Mrs. Kendall +clasped in turn two limp hands belonging to a white-faced girl and a +frightened boy. "And here's Patty and the twins, Clarabella and +Arabella; and now you know 'em all," finished Margaret, beaming joyously +upon her mother who was leaning with tender eyes over the little lame +Arabella. + +"My dear, how thin your poor little cheeks are," Mrs. Kendall was +saying. + +"Yes, she is kind o' peaked," volunteered Patty. "Miss Murdock says as +how her food don't 'similate. Ye see she ain't over strong, anyhow, on +account o' dem," pointing to the little twisted feet and legs. "Mebbe +Maggie told ye, ma'am, how Arabella wa'n't finished up right, an' how +her legs didn't go straight like ours," added Patty, giving her usual +explanation of her sister's misfortune. + +"Yes," choked Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. "She told me that the little girl +was lame. Now, my dears, we--we'll go home." Mrs. Kendall hesitated and +looked about her. "You--you haven't any bags or--or anything?" she asked +them. + +"Gee!" cried Tom, turning sharply toward the track where had stood a +moment before the train that brought them. "An' if 'tain't gone so +soon!" + +"Gone--the bag?" chorused five shrill voices. + +"Sure!" nodded Tom. Then, with a resigned air, he thrust both hands into +his trousers pockets. "Gone she is, bag and baggage." + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," murmured Mrs. Kendall. + +"Pooh! 'tain't a mite o' matter," assured Patty, quickly. "Ye see, dar +wa'n't nothin' in it, anyhow, only a extry ribb'n fur Arabella's hair." +Then, at Mrs. Kendall's blank look of amazement, she explained: "We only +took it 'cause Katy Sovrensky said folks allers took 'em when they went +trav'lin'. So we fished dis out o' de ash barrel an' fixed it up wid +strings an' tacks. We didn't have nothin' ter put in it, 'course. All +our clo's is on us." + +"We didn't need nothin' else, anyhow," piped up Arabella, "for all our +things is span clean. We went ter bed 'most all day yisterday so's Patty +could wash 'em." + +"Yes, yes, of course, certainly," agreed Mrs. Kendall, faintly, as she +turned and led the way to the big four-seated carryall waiting for them. +"Then we'll go home right away." + +To Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and Clarabella, it was all so +wonderful that they fairly pinched themselves to make sure they were +awake. The drive through the elm-bordered streets with everywhere +flowers, vine-covered houses, and velvety lawns--it was all quite +unbelievable. + +"It's more like Mont-Lawn than anythin' I ever see," murmured Arabella. +"Seems 'most as though 'twas heaven." And Mrs. Kendall, who heard the +words, reproached herself because for four long weeks she had stood +jealous guard over this "heaven" and refused to "divvy up" its +enjoyment. The next moment she shuddered and unconsciously drew Margaret +close to her side. Patty had said: + +"Gee whiz, Mag, ain't you lucky? Wis't I was a lost an' founded!" + +The house with its great stone lions was hailed with an awed "oh-h!" of +delight, as were the wide lawns and brilliant flower-beds. Inside the +house the children blinked in amazement at the lace-hung windows, and +gold-framed pictures; and Clarabella, balancing herself on her toes, +looked fearfully at the woven pinks and roses at her feet and demanded: +"Don't walkin' on 'em hurt 'em? + +"Seems so 'twould," she added, her eyes distrustfully bent on Margaret +who had laughed, and by way of proving the carpet's durability, was +dancing up and down upon it. + +The matter of choosing beds in the wide, airy chambers was a momentous +one. In the boys' room, to be sure, it was a simple matter, for there +were only two beds, and Tom settled the question at once by +unceremoniously throwing Peter on to one of them, and pommeling him with +the pillow until he howled for mercy. + +The girls had two rooms opening out of each other, and in each room were +two dainty white beds. Here the matter of choosing was only settled +amicably at last by a rigid system of "counting out" by "Eeny, meany, +miny, mo"; and even this was not accomplished without much shouting and +laughter, and not a few angry words. + +Margaret was distressed. For a time she was silent; then she threw +herself into the discussion with all the ardor of one who would bring +peace at any cost; and it was by her suggestion that the "Eeny, meany, +miny, mo," finally won the day. In her own room that night, as she went +to bed, she apologized to her mother. + +"I'm sorry they was so rude, mother. I had forgot they was quite so +noisy," she confessed anxiously. "But I'll tell 'em to-morrow to be more +quiet. Maybe they didn't know that little ladies and little gentlemen +don't act like that." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Five oaks awoke to a new existence on the first morning after the +arrival of its guests from New York--an existence of wild shouts, gleeful +laughter, scampering feet and confusion. In the kitchen and the garden +old Mr. and Mrs. Barrett no longer held full sway. For some time there +had been a cook, a waitress, a laundress, and an experienced gardener as +well. In the barn, too, there was now a stalwart fellow who was coachman +and chauffeur by turns, according to whether the old family carriage or +the new four-cylinder touring car was wanted. + +Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, and the twins had not been at Five Oaks +twenty-four hours before they were fitted to new clothing throughout. +Mrs. Kendall had not slept until she had interviewed the town clothier +as to ways and means of immediately providing two boys and four girls +with shoes, stockings, hats, coats, trousers, dresses, and +undergarments. + +"'Course 'tain't 'zactly necessary," Patty had said, upon being +presented with her share of the new garments, "but it's awful nice, +'cause now we don't have ter go ter bed when ours is washed--an' they be +awful nice! Just bang-up!" + +No wonder Five Oaks awoke to a new existence! The wide-spreading lawns +knew now what it was to be pressed by a dozen little scampering feet at +once: and the great stone lions knew what it was to have two yelling +boys mount their carven backs, and try to dig sharp little heels into +their stone sides. Within the house, the attic, sacred for years to +cobwebs and musty memories, knew what it was to yield its treasured +bonnets, shawls, and quilted skirts to a swarm of noisy children who +demanded them for charades. + +Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and Clarabella had been at Five Oaks +two weeks when one day Bobby McGinnis found Margaret crying all alone in +the old summerhouse down in the garden. + +"Gorry, what's up?" he questioned; adding cheerily: "'Soldiers' +daughters don't cry'!"--it was a quotation from Margaret's own +childhood's creed, and one which in the old days seldom failed to dry +her tears. Even now it was not without its effect, for her head came up +with a jerk. + +"I--I know it," she sobbed; "and I ain't--I mean, I _are_ not going to. +There, you see," she broke off miserably, falling back into her old +despondent attitude. "'Ain't' should be 'are not' always, and I never +can remember." + +"Pooh! Is that all?" laughed Bobby. "'Twould take more'n a 'are not' ter +make me cry." + +"But that ain't all," wailed Margaret, and she did not notice that at +one of her words Bobby chuckled and parted his lips only to close them +again with a snap. "There's heaps more of 'em; 'bully' and 'bang-up' and +'gee' and 'drownded' and 'g' on the ends of things, and--well, almost +everything I say, seems so." + +"Well, what of it? You'll get over it. You're a-learnin' all the time; +ain't ye?" + +"'Are not you,' Bobby," sighed Margaret. + +"Well, 'are not you,' then," snapped Bobby. + +Margaret shook her head. A look that was almost terror came to her eyes. +She leaned forward and clutched the boy's arm. + +"Bobby, that's just it," she whispered, looking fearfully over her +shoulder to make sure that no one heard. "That's just it--I'm not +a-learnin'!" + +"Why not?" + +"Because of them--Tom, and Patty, and the rest" + +Bobby looked dazed, and Margaret plunged headlong into her explanation. + +"It's them. They do 'em--all of 'em. Don't you see? They say 'ain't' and +'gee' and 'bully' all the time, and I see now how bad 'tis, and I want +to stop. But I can't stop, Bobby. I just can't. I try to, but it just +comes before I know it. I tried to stop them sayin' 'em, first," went on +Margaret, feverishly, "just as I tried to make 'em act ladylike with +their feet and their knives and forks; but it didn't do a mite o' good. +First they laughed at me, then they got mad. You know how 'twas, Bobby. +You saw 'em." + +Bobby whistled. + +"Yes, I know," he said soberly. "But when they go away----" + +"That's just it," cut in Margaret, tragically. "I wa'n't goin' to have +them go away. I was goin' to keep 'em always; and now I--Bobby, I _want_ +them to go!" she paused and let the full enormity of her confession sink +into her hearer's comprehension. Then she repeated: "I want them to go!" + +"Well, what of it?" retorted Bobby, with airy unconcern. + +"What of it!" wept Margaret. "Why, Bobby, don't you see? I was goin' to +divvy up, and I ought to divvy up, too. I've got trees and grass and +flowers and beds with sheets on 'em and enough to eat, and they hain't +got anything--not anything. And now I don't want to divvy up, I don't +want to divvy up, because I don't want them--here!" + +Margaret covered her face with her hands and rocked herself to and fro. +Bobby was silent. His hands were in his pocket, and his eyes were on an +ant struggling with a burden almost as large as itself. + +"Don't you see, Bobby, it's wicked that I am--awful wicked," resumed +Margaret, after a minute. "I want to be nice and gentle like mother +wants me to be. I don't want to be Mag of the Alley. I--I hate Mag of the +Alley. But if Tom and Patty and the rest stays I shall be just like +them, Bobby, I know I shall; and--and so I don't want 'em to stay." + +Bobby stirred uneasily, changing his position. + +"Well, you--you hain't asked 'em to, yet; have ye?" he questioned. + +"No. Mother 'spressly stip'lated that I shouldn't say anything about +their stayin' always till their visit was over and they saw how they +liked things." + +"Shucks!" rejoined Bobby, his face clearing. "Then what ye cryin' 'bout? +You ain't bound by no contract. You don't have ter divvy up." + +"But I ought to divvy up." + +"Pooh! 'Course ye hadn't," scoffed Bobby. "Hain't folks got a right ter +have their own things?" + +Margaret frowned doubtfully. + +"I don't know," she began with some hesitation. "If I've got nice things +and more of 'em than Patty has, why shouldn't she have some of mine? +'Tain't fair, somehow. Somebody ain't playin' straight. I--I'm goin' to +ask mother." And she turned slowly away and began to walk toward the +house. + +Not once, but many times during the next few days, did Margaret talk +with her mother on this subject that so troubled her. The result of +these conferences Bobby learned not five days later when Margaret ran +down to meet him at the great driveway gate. Back on the veranda Patty +and the others were playing "housekeeping," and Margaret spoke low so +that they might not hear. + +"I _am_ goin' to divvy up," she announced in triumph, "but not here." + +"Huh?" frowned Bobby. + +"I _am_ goin' to divvy up--give 'em some of my things, you know," +explained Margaret; "then when they go back, mother's goin' with 'em and +find a better place for 'em to live in." + +"Oh, then they are _goin'_ back--eh?" + +Margaret flushed a little and threw a questioning look into Bobby's +face. There seemed to be a laugh in Bobby's voice, though there was none +on his lips. + +"Yes," she nodded hurriedly. "You see, mother thinks it's best. She says +that they hadn't ought to be here now--with me; that it's my form'tive +period, and that everything about me ought to be just right so as to +form me right. See?" + +"Yes, I see," said Bobby, so crossly that Margaret opened her eyes in +wonder. + +"Why, Bobby, you don't care 'cause they're goin' away; do you?" + +"Don't I?" he growled. "Humph! I s'pose 'twill be me next that'll be +sent flyin'." + +"You? Why, you live here!" + +"Well, I say 'ain't' an' 'bully'; don't I?" he retorted aggressively. + +Margaret stepped back. Her face changed. + +"Why--so--you--do!" she breathed. "And I never once thought of it." + +Bobby said nothing. He was standing on one foot, digging the toe of the +other into the graveled driveway. For a time Margaret regarded him with +troubled eyes; then she sighed: + +"Well, anyhow, you don't live here all the time, right in the house, +same's Patty and the rest would if they stayed. I--I don't want to give +_you_ up, Bobby." + +Bobby flushed red under the tan. His eyes sparkled with pleasure--but his +chin went up, and his hands executed the careless flourish that a boy of +fourteen is apt to use when he wishes to hide the fact that his heart is +touched. + +[Illustration: "FOR A TIME MARGARET REGARDED HIM WITH TROUBLED EYES."] + +"Don't trouble yerself," he shrugged airily. "It don't make a mite o' +diff'rence ter me, ye know. There's plenty I _can_ be with." And he +turned and hurried up the road with long strides, sending back over his +shoulder a particularly joyous whistle--a whistle that broke and wheezed +into silence, however, the minute that the woods at the turn of the road +were reached. + +"I don't care," he blustered, glaring at the chipmunk that eyed him from +the top rail of the fence. "Bully--gee--ain't--hain't--bang-up! There!" +Then, having demonstrated his right to whatever vocabulary he chose to +employ, he went home to the little red farmhouse on the hill and spent +an hour hunting for a certain book of his mother's in the attic. When he +had found it he spent another hour poring over its contents. The book +was old and yellow and dog-eared, and bore on the faded pasteboard cover +the words: "A work on English Grammar and Composition." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, and the twins stayed at Five Oaks until the +first of September, then, plump, brown, and happy they returned to New +York. With them went several articles of use and beauty which had +hitherto belonged to Five Oaks. Mrs. Kendall, greatly relieved at +Margaret's somewhat surprising willingness to let the visitors go, had +finally consented to Margaret's proposition that the children be allowed +to select something they specially liked to take back with them. In +giving this consent, Mrs. Kendall had made only such reservation as +would insure that certain valuable (and not easily duplicated) treasures +of her own should remain undisturbed. + +She smiled afterward at her fears. Tom selected an old bugle from the +attic, and Peter a scabbard that had lost its sword. Mary chose a string +of blue beads that Margaret sometimes wore, and Clarabella a pink sash +that she found in a trunk. Patty, before telling her choice, asked +timidly what would happen if it was "too big ter be tooked in yer +hands." Upon being assured that it would be sent, if it could not be +carried, she unhesitatingly chose the biggest easy-chair the house +afforded, with the announcement that it was "a Christmas present fur +Mis' Whalen." + +For a moment Mrs. Kendall had felt tempted to remonstrate, and to ask +Patty if she realized just how a green satin-damask Turkish chair would +look in Mrs. Whalen's basement kitchen; but after one glance at Patty's +radiant face, she had changed her mind, and had merely said: + +"Very well, dear. It shall be sent the day you go." + +Arabella only, of all the six, delayed her choice until the final +minute. Even on that last morning she was hesitating between a marble +statuette and a harmonica. In the end she took neither, for she had +spied a huge chocolate-frosted cake that the cook had just made; and it +was that cake which finally went to the station carefully packed in a +pasteboard box and triumphantly borne in Arabella's arms. + +Mrs. Kendall herself went to New York with the children, taking Margaret +with her. In the Grand Central Station she shuddered a little as she +passed a certain seat. Involuntarily she reached for her daughter's +hand. + +"And was it here that I stayed and stayed that day long ago when you got +hurt and didn't come?" asked Margaret. + +"Yes, dear--right here." + +"Seems 'most as if I remembered," murmured the little girl, her eyes +fixed on one of the great doors across the room. "I stayed and stayed, +and you never came at all. And by and by I went out there to look for +you, and I walked and walked and walked. And I was so tired and hungry!" + +"Yes, yes, dear, I know," faltered Mrs. Kendall, tightening her clasp on +the small fingers. "But we won't think of all that now, dear. It is past +and gone. Come, we're going to take Patty and the others home, you know, +then to-morrow we are going to see if we can't find a new home for +them." + +"Divvy up!" cried Margaret, brightening. "We're goin' to divvy up!" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Oh!" breathed Margaret, ecstatically. "I like to divvy up!" And the +mother smiled content, for the last trace of gloomy brooding had fled +from her daughter's face, and left it glowing with the joy of a +care-free child. + +Not two hours later a certain alley in the great city was thrown into +wild confusion. Out of every window leaned disheveled heads, and in +every doorway stood a peering, questioning throng. Down by the Whalens' +basement door, the crowd was almost impassable; and every inch of space +in the windows opposite was filled with gesticulating men, women, and +children. + +Mag of the Alley had come back. And, as if that were not excitement +enough for once, with her had come Tom, Mary, Peter, Patty, and the +twins, to say nothing of the beautiful lady with the golden hair, and +the white wings on her hat. + +"An' she's all dressed up fit ter kill--Maggie is," Katy Goldburg was +calling excitedly over her shoulder. Katy, and Tony Valerio had the +advantage over the others, for they were down on their knees before the +Whalens' window on a level with the sidewalk. The room inside was almost +in darkness, to be sure, for the crowd outside had obscured what little +daylight there was left, and there was only the sputtering kerosene lamp +on the table for illumination. Even this, however, sufficed to show Katy +and Tony wonders that unloosed their tongues and set them to giving +copious reports. + +"She's got a white dress on, an' a hat with posies, an' shoes an' +stockings," enumerated Katy. + +"An' de lady's got di'monds on her--I seen 'em sparkle," shouted Tony. +"An' de Whalen kids is all fixed up, too," he added. "An', say, dey've +bringed home stuff an' is showin' 'em. Gee! look at that sw-word!" + +"An' thar's cake," gurgled Katy. "Tony, they're eatin' choc'late cake. +Say, I _am_ a-goin' in!" + +There was a sudden commotion about the Whalens' door. An undersized +little body was worming its way through the crowd, and thrusting sharp +little elbows to the right and to the left. The next minute, Margaret +Kendall, standing near the Whalens' table, felt an imperative tug at her +sleeve. + +"Hullo! Say, Mag, give us a bite; will ye?" + +"Katy! Why, it's Katy Goldburg," cried Margaret in joyous recognition. +"Mother, here's Katy." + +The first touch of Margaret's hand on Katy's shoulder swept like an +electric shock through the waiting throng around the door. It was the +signal for a general onslaught. In a moment the Whalen kitchen swarmed +with boys, girls, and women, all shouting, all talking at once, and all +struggling to reach the beautiful, blue-eyed, golden-haired little girl +they had known as "Mag of the Alley." + +Step by step Margaret fell back until she was quite against the wall. +Her eyes grew wide and terror-filled, yet she made a brave attempt to +smile and to respond politely to the noisy greetings. Across the room +Mrs. Kendall struggled to reach her daughter's side, but the onrushing +tide of humanity flung her back and left her helpless and alone. + +It was then that Mrs. Whalen's powerful fist and strident voice came to +the rescue. In three minutes the room was cleared, and Margaret was +sobbing in her mother's arms. + +"You see, mother, you see how 'tis," she cried hysterically, as soon as +she could speak. "There's such lots and lots of them, and they're all so +poor. Did you see how ragged and bad their clothes were, and how they +grabbed for the cake? We've got to divvy up, mother, we've got to divvy +up!" + +"Yes, dear, I know; and we will," soothed Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. +"We'll begin right away to-morrow, darling. But now we'll go back to the +hotel and go to bed. My little girl is tired and needs rest." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Dr. Spencer met Mrs. Kendall and her daughter at the Houghtonsville +station on the night they returned from New York. His lips were smiling, +and his eyes were joyous as befitted a lover who is to behold for the +first time in nine long days his dear one's face. The eager words of +welcome died on his lips, however, at sight of the weariness and misery +in the two dear faces before him. + +"Why, Amy, dearest," he began anxiously: but her upraised hand silenced +him. + +"To-night--not now," she murmured, with a quick glance at Margaret. Then +aloud to her daughter she said: "See, dear, here's Dr. Spencer, and he's +brought the ponies to carry us home. What a delightful drive we will +have!" + +"Oh, has he?" For an instant Margaret's face glowed with animation; then +the light died out as suddenly as it had come. "But, mother, I--I think +I'd rather walk," she said. "You know Patty and the rest can't ride." + +The doctor frowned, and gave a sudden exclamation under his breath. Mrs. +Kendall paled a little and turned to her daughter. + +"Yes, I know," she said gently. "But you are very tired, and mother +thinks it best you should ride. After all, dearie, you know it won't +make Patty and the rest ride, even if you do walk. Don't you see?" + +"Yes, I--I suppose so," admitted Margaret; but she sighed as she climbed +into the carriage, and all the way home her eyes were troubled. + +Not until after Margaret had gone to bed that night did Mrs. Kendall +answer the questions that had trembled all the evening on the doctor's +lips; then she told him the story of those nine days in New York, +beginning with Margaret's visit to the Alley, and her overwhelming +"reception" in the Whalens' basement home. + +"I'm afraid the whole thing has been a mistake," she said despondently, +when she had finished. "Instead of making Margaret happy, it has made +her miserable." + +"But I don't see," protested the doctor. "As near as I can make out you +did just what she wanted; you--er--'divvied up.'" + +Mrs. Kendall sighed. + +"Why, of course, to a certain extent: but even Margaret, child though +she is, saw the hopelessness of the task when once we set about it. +There were so many, so pitifully many. Her few weeks of luxurious living +here at home have opened her eyes to the difference between her life and +theirs, and I thought the child would cry herself sick over it all." + +"But you helped them--some of them?" + +Again Mrs. Kendall sighed. + +"Yes, oh, yes, we helped them. I think if Margaret could have had her +way we should have marched through the streets to the tune of 'See the +conquering hero comes,' distributing new dresses and frosted cakes with +unstinted hands; but I finally convinced her that such assistance was +perhaps not the wisest way of going about what we wanted to do. At last +I had to keep her away from the Alley altogether, it affected her so. I +got her interested in looking up a new home for the Whalens, and so +filled her mind with that." + +"Oh, then the Whalens have a new home? Well, I'm sure Margaret must have +liked that." + +Mrs. Kendall smiled wearily. + +"_Margaret_ did," she said; and at the emphasis the doctor raised his +eyebrows. + +"But, surely the Whalens----" + +"Did not," supplied Mrs. Kendall. + +"Did not!" cried the doctor. + +"Well, 'twas this way," laughed Mrs. Kendall. "It was my idea to find a +nice little place outside the city where perhaps Mr. Whalen could raise +vegetables, and Mrs. Whalen do some sort of work that paid better than +flower-making. Perhaps Margaret's insistence upon 'grass and trees' +influenced me. At any rate, I found the place, and in high feather told +the Whalens of the good fortune in store for them. What was my surprise +to be met with blank silence, save only one wild whoop of glee from the +children. + +"'An' sure then, an' it's in the country; is it?' Mrs. Whalen asked +finally. + +"'Yes,' I said. 'With a yard, some flower beds, and a big garden for +vegetables.' I was just warming to my subject once more when Mr. Whalen +demanded, 'Is it fur from the Alley?' + +"Well, to make a long story short, they at last kindly consented to view +the place; but, after one glance, they would have none of it." + +"But--why?" queried the doctor. + +"Various reasons. 'Twas lonesome; too far from the Alley; they didn't +care to raise vegetables, any way, and Mr. Whalen considered it quite +too much work to 'kape up a place like that.' According to my private +opinion, however, the man had an eye out for a saloon, and he didn't see +it; consequently--the result! + +"Well, we came back to town and the basement kitchen. Margaret was +inconsolable when she heard the decision. The Whalen children, too, were +disappointed; but Mr. Whalen and his wife were deaf to their entreaties. +In the end I persuaded them to move to rooms that at least had the sun +and air--though they were still in the Alley--and there I left them with a +well-stocked larder and wardrobe, and with the rent paid six months in +advance. I shall keep my eye on them, of course, for Margaret's sake, +and I hope to do something really worth while for the children. Patty +and the twins are still with them at present." + +"But wasn't Margaret satisfied with that?" asked the doctor. + +"Yes, so far as it went: but there were still the others. Harry, that +child has the whole Alley on her heart. I'm at my wits' end to know what +to do. You heard her this afternoon--she didn't want to ride home because +Patty must walk in New York. She looks askance at the frosting on her +cake, and questions her right to wear anything but rags. Harry, what can +I do?" + +The man was silent. + +"I don't know, dear," he said slowly, at last. "We must think--and think +hard. Hers is not a common case. There is no precedent to determine our +course. Small girls of five that have been reared in luxury are not +often thrust into the streets and sweat shops of a great city and there +forced to spend four years of their life--thank God! That those four +years should have had a tremendous influence is certain. She can't be +the same girl she would have been had she spent those years at her +mother's knee. One thing is sure, however, seems to me. In her present +nervous condition, if there is such a thing as getting her mind off +those four years of her life and everything connected with it, it should +be done." + +The doctor paused, and at that instant a step sounded on the graveled +driveway. A moment later a boy's face flashed into the light that +streamed through the open door. + +"Why, Bobby, is that you?" cried Mrs. Kendall. + +"Yes, ma'am, it's me, please. Did Mag--I mean Margaret come home, +please?" + +"Yes, she came to-night." + +Bobby hesitated. He stood first on one foot, then on the other. At last, +very slowly he dragged his right hand from behind his back. + +"I been makin' it for her," he said, presenting a small, but very +elaborate basket composed of peach-stones. "Mebbe if she ain't--er--_are_ +not awake, you'll give it to her in the mornin'. Er--thank ye. Much +obliged. Good-evenin', ma'am." And he turned and fled down the walk. + +For a time there was silence on the veranda. Mrs. Kendall was turning +the basket over and over in her hands. Suddenly she raised her head. + +"You are right, Harry," she sighed. "Her mind must be taken off those +four years of her life, and off everything connected with it; everything +and--everybody." + +"Yes," echoed the doctor; "everything and--everybody. Er--let me see his +basket, please." + +Four days later Mrs. Kendall and her daughter Margaret left +Houghtonsville for a month's stay in the White Mountains. From the rear +window of a certain law office in town a boy of fourteen disconsolately +watched the long train that was rapidly bearing them out of sight. + +"An' I hain't seen her but once since I give her the basket," he was +muttering; "an' then I couldn't speak to her--her mother whisked her off +so quick. Plague take that basket--wish't I'd never see it! An' I worked +so hard over it, 'cause she said she liked 'em made out o' peach-stones! +She said she did." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +It was the day before Christmas. For eight weeks Margaret had been at +Elmhurst, Miss Dole's school in the Berkshires. School--Miss Dole's +school--had been something of a surprise to Margaret; and Margaret had +been decidedly a surprise to the school. Margaret was not used to young +misses who fared sumptuously every day, and who yet complained because a +favorite ice cream or a pet kind of cake was not always forthcoming; and +Miss Dole's pupils were not used to a little girl who questioned their +right to be well-fed and well-clothed, and who supplemented this +questioning with distressing stories of other little girls who had +little to wear and less to eat day after day, and week after week. + +Margaret had not gone to Elmhurst without a struggle on the part of her +mother. To Mrs. Kendall it seemed cruel to be separated so soon from the +little daughter who had but just been restored to her hungry arms after +four long years of almost hopeless waiting. On the other hand, there +were Margaret's own interests to be thought of. School, certainly, was a +necessity, unless there should be a governess at home; and of this last +Mrs. Kendall did not approve. She particularly wished Margaret to have +the companionship of happy, well-bred girls of her own age. The +Houghtonsville public school was hardly the place, in Mrs. Kendall's +opinion, for a little maid with Margaret's somewhat peculiar ideas as to +matters and things. There was Bobby, too--Bobby, the constant reminder in +word and deed of the city streets and misery that Mrs. Kendall +particularly wished forgotten. Yes, there certainly was Bobby to be +thought of--and to be avoided. It was because of all this, therefore, +that Margaret had been sent to Elmhurst. She had gone there straight +from the great hotel in the mountains, where she and her mother had been +spending a few weeks; so she had not seen Houghtonsville since +September. It was the Christmas vacation now, and she was going +back--back to the house with the stone lions and the big play room where +had lain for so long the little woolly dog of her babyhood. + +It was not of the stone lions, nor the play room that Margaret was +thinking, however; it was of something much more important and +more--delightful, the girls said. At all events, it was wonderfully +exciting, and promised all sorts of charming possibilities in the way of +music, pretty clothes, and good things to eat--again according to the +girls. + +It was a wedding. + +Margaret's idea of marriage had undergone a decided change in the last +few weeks. The envious delight of the girls over the fact that she was +to be so intimately connected with a wedding, together with their +absorbing interest in every detail, had been far more convincing than +all of Mrs. Kendall's anxious teachings: marriage might not be such a +calamity, after all. + +It had come as somewhat of a shock to Margaret--this envious delight of +her companions. She had looked upon her mother's marriage as something +to be deplored; something to be tolerated, to be sure, since for some +unaccountable reason her mother wanted it; but, still nevertheless an +evil. There was the contract, to be sure, and the doctor had signed it +without a murmur; but Margaret doubted the efficacy of even that at +times--it would take something more than a contract, certainly, if the +doctor should prove to be anything like Mike Whalen for a husband. + +The doctor would not be like Mike Whalen, however--so the girls said. +They had never seen any husbands that were like him, for that matter. +They knew nothing whatever about husbands that shook and beat their +wives and banged them around. All this they declared unhesitatingly, and +with no little indignation in response to Margaret's somewhat doubting +questions. There were the story-books, too. The girls all had them, and +each book was full of fair ladies and brave knights, and of beautiful +princesses who married the king--and who wanted to marry him, too, and +who would have felt very badly if they could not have married him! + +In the face of so overwhelming an array of evidence, Margaret almost +lost her fears--marriage might be very desirable, after all. And so it +was a very happy little girl that left Elmhurst on the day before +Christmas and, in care of one of the teachers, journeyed toward +Houghtonsville, where were waiting the play room, the great stone lions, +and the wonderful wedding, to say nothing of the dear loving mother +herself. + +It was not quite the same Margaret that had left Houghtonsville a few +months before. Even those short weeks had not been without their +influence. + +Margaret, in accordance with Mrs. Kendall's urgent request, had been the +special charge of every teacher at Elmhurst; and every teacher knew the +story of the little girl's life, as well as just what they all had now +to battle against. Everything that was good and beautiful was kept +constantly before her eyes, and so far as was possible, everything that +was the reverse of all this was kept from her sight, and from being +discussed in her presence. She learned of wonderful countries across the +sea, and of the people who lived in them. She studied about high +mountains and great rivers, and she was shown pictures of kings and +queens and palaces. Systematically and persistently she was led along a +way that did not know the Alley, and that did not recognize that there +was in the world any human creature who was poor, or sick, or hungry. + +It is little wonder, then, that she came to question less and less the +luxury all about her; that she wore the pretty dresses and dainty shoes, +and ate the food provided, with a resignation that was strangely like +content; and that she talked less and less of Patty, the twins, and the +Alley. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Christmas was a wonderful day at Five Oaks, certainly to Margaret. First +there was the joy of skipping, bare-toed, across the room to where the +long black stockings hung from the mantel. In the gray dawn of the early +morning its bulging knobbiness looked delightfully mysterious; and never +were presents half so entrancing as those drawn from its black depths by +Margaret's small eager fingers. + +Later in the morning came the sleigh-ride behind the doctor's span of +bays, and then there was the delicious dinner followed by the games and +the frolics and the quiet hour with mother. Still later the house began +to fill with guests and then came the wedding, with Mrs. Kendall all in +soft gray and looking radiantly happy on the doctor's arm. + +It was a simple ceremony and soon over, and then came the long line of +beaming friends and neighbors to wish the bride and groom joy and +God-speed. Margaret, standing a little apart by the dining-room door, +felt a sudden pull at her sleeve. She turned quickly and looked straight +into Bobby McGinnis's eyes. + +"Bobby, why, Bobby!" she welcomed joyously; but Bobby put his finger to +his lips. + +"Sh-h!" he cautioned; then, peremptorily, "Come." And he led the way +through the deserted dining-room to a little room off the sidehall where +the gloom made his presence almost indiscernible. "There!" he sighed in +relief. "I fetched ye, didn't I?" + +Margaret frowned. + +"But, Bobby," she remonstrated, "why--what are you doing out here, all in +the dark?" + +"Seein' you." + +"Seeing me! But I was in there, where 'twas all light and pretty, and +you could see me lots better there!" + +"Yes, but I wa'n't there," retorted Bobby, grimly; then he added: +"'Twa'n't my party, ye see, an' I wa'n't invited. But I wanted ter see +ye--an' I did, too." + +Margaret was silent. + +"Mebbe ye want ter go back now yerself," observed Bobby, gloomily, after +a time. "'Tain't so pretty here, I'll own." + +Margaret did want to go back, and she almost said so, but something in +the boy's voice silenced the words on her lips. + +"Oh, I'll stay, 'course," she murmured, shifting about uneasily on her +little white-slippered feet. + +Bobby roused himself. + +"Here, take a chair," he proposed, pushing toward her a low stool; "an' +I'll set here on the winder sill. Nice night; ain't it?" + +"Yes, 'tis." Margaret sat down, carefully spreading her skirts. + +There was a long silence. Through the half-open door came a shaft of +light and the sound of distant voices. Bobby was biting his finger +nails, and Margaret was wondering just how she could get back to the +drawing-room without hurting the feelings of her unbidden guest. At last +the boy spoke. + +"Mebbe when we're grown up we'll get married, too," he blurted out, +saying the one thing he had intended not to say. He bit his tongue +angrily, but the next minute he almost fell off the window sill in his +amazement--the little girl had sprung to her feet and clapped her hands. + +"Bobby, could we?" she cried. + +"Sure!" rejoined Bobby with easy nonchalance. "Why not?" + +"And there'd be flowers and music and lots of people to see us?" + +"Heaps!" promised Bobby. + +"Oh-h!" sighed Margaret ecstatically. "And then we'll go traveling 'way +over to London and Paris and Egypt and see the Alps." + +"Huh?" The voice of the prospective young bridegroom sounded a little +uncertain. + +"We'll go traveling to see things, you know," reiterated Margaret. +"There's such a lot of things I want to see." + +"Oh, yes, we'll go travelin'," assured Bobby, promptly, wondering all +the while if he could remember just where his mother's geography was. He +should have need of it after he got home that night. London, Paris, +Egypt, and the Alps--it might be well to look up the way to get there, at +all events. + +"I think maybe now I'll go back," said Margaret, with sudden stiffness. +"They might be looking for me. Good-bye." + +"Oh, I say, Maggie," called Bobby, eagerly, "when folks is engaged +they----" But only the swish of white skirts answered him, and there was +nothing for him to do but disconsolately to let himself out the side +door before any one came and found him. + +"And I'm going to get married, too," said Margaret to her mother half an +hour later. + +"You're going to get married!" + +"Yes; to Bobby, you know." + +The newly-made bride sat down suddenly, and threw a quick look at her +husband. + +"To Bobby!" she exclaimed. "Why, when--where--Bobby wasn't here." + +"No," smiled Margaret. "He said he wasn't invited, but he came. We fixed +it all up a little while ago. We're going to London and Paris and Egypt +and see the Alps." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +The great dining-room at Hilcrest, the old Spencer homestead, was +perhaps the pleasantest room in the house. The house itself crowned the +highest hill that overlooked the town, and its dining-room windows and +the veranda without, commanded a view of the river for miles, just where +the valley was the greenest and the most beautiful. On the other side of +the veranda which ran around three sides of the house, one might see the +town with its myriad roofs and tall chimneys; but although these same +tall chimneys represented the wealth that made possible the great +Spencer estate, yet it was the side of the veranda overlooking the green +valley that was the most popular with the family. It was said, to be +sure, that old Jacob Spencer, who built the house, and who laid the +foundations for the Spencer millions, had preferred the side that +overlooked the town; and that he spent long hours gloating over the +visible results of his thrift and enterprise. But old Jacob was dead +now, and his son's sons reigned instead; and his son's sons, no matter +how much they might value the whiz and whir and smoke of the town, +preferred, when at rest, to gaze upon green hills and far-reaching +meadows. This was, indeed, typical of the Spencer code--the farther away +they could get from the oil that made the machinery of life run easily +and noiselessly, the better pleased they were. + +The dining-room looked particularly pleasant this July evening. A gentle +breeze stirred the curtains at the open windows, and the setting sun +peeped through the vines outside and glistened on the old family plate. +Three generations of Spencers looked down from the walls on the two men +and the woman sitting at the great mahogany table. The two men and the +woman, however, were not looking at the sunlight, the vines, or the +swaying curtains; they were looking at each other, and their eyes were +troubled and questioning. + +"You say she is coming next week?" asked the younger man, glancing at +the letter in the other's hand. + +"Yes. Tuesday afternoon." + +"But, Frank, this is so--sudden," remonstrated the young fellow, laughing +a little as he uttered the trite phrase. "How does it happen that I've +heard so little of this young lady who is to be so unceremoniously +dropped into our midst next Tuesday?" + +Frank Spencer made an impatient gesture that showed how great was his +perturbation. + +"Come, come, Ned, don't be foolish," he protested. "You know very well +that your brother's stepdaughter has been my ward for a dozen years." + +"Yes, but that is all I know," rejoined the young man, quietly. "I have +never seen her, and scarcely ever heard of her, and yet you expect me to +take as a matter of course this strange young woman who is none of our +kith nor kin, and yet who is to be one of us from henceforth +forevermore!" + +"The boy is right," interposed the low voice of the woman across the +table. "Ned doesn't know anything about her. He was a mere child himself +when it all happened, and he's been away from home most of the time +since. For that matter, we don't know much about her ourselves." + +"We certainly don't," sighed Frank Spencer; then he raised his head and +squared his shoulders. "See here, good people, this will never do in the +world," he asserted with sudden authority. "I have offered the +hospitality of this house to a homeless, orphan girl, and she has +accepted it. There is nothing for us to do now but to try to make her +happy. After all, we needn't worry--it may turn out that she will make us +happy." + +"But what is she? How does she look?" catechized Ned. + +His brother shook his head. + +"I don't know," he replied simply. + +"You don't know! But, surely you have seen her!" + +"Yes, oh, yes, I have seen her, once or twice, but Margaret Kendall is +not a girl whom to see is to know; besides, the circumstances were such +that--well, I might as well tell the story from the beginning, +particularly as you know so little of it yourself." + +Frank paused, and looked at the letter in his hand. After a minute he +laid it gently down. When he spoke his voice was not quite steady. + +"Our brother Harry was a physician, as you know, Ned. You were twelve +years old when he married a widow by the name of Kendall who lived in +Houghtonsville where he had been practising. As it chanced, none of us +went to the wedding. You were taken suddenly ill, and neither Della nor +myself would leave you, and father was in Bermuda that winter for his +health. Mrs. Kendall had a daughter, Margaret, about ten years old, who +was at school somewhere in the Berkshires. It was to that school that I +went when the terrible news came that Harry and his new wife had lost +their lives in that awful railroad accident. That was the first time +that I saw Margaret. + +"The poor child was, of course, heartbroken and inconsolable; but her +grief took a peculiar turn. The mere sight of me drove her almost into +hysterics. She would have nothing whatever to do with me, or with any of +her stepfather's people. She reasoned that if her mother had not +married, there would have been no wedding journey; and if there had been +no wedding journey there would have been no accident, and that her +mother would then have been alive, and well. + +"Arguments, pleadings, and entreaties were in vain. She would not listen +to me, or even see me. She held her hands before her face and screamed +if I so much as came into the room. She was nothing but a child, of +course, and not even a normal one at that, for she had had a very +strange life. At five she was lost in New York City, and for four years +she lived on the streets and in the sweat shops, enduring almost +unbelievable poverty and hardships." + +"By Jove!" exclaimed Ned under his breath. + +"It was only seven or eight months before the wedding that she was +found," went on Frank, "and of course the influence of the wild life she +had led was still with her more or less, and made her not easily subject +to control. There was nothing for me to do but to leave the poor little +thing where she was, particularly as there seemed to be no other place +for her. She would not come with me, and she had no people of her own to +whom she could turn for love and sympathy. + +"As you know, poor Harry was conscious for some hours after the +accident, long enough to make his will and dictate the letter to me, +leaving Margaret to my care--boy though I was. I was only twenty, you +see; but, really, there was no one else to whom he could leave her. That +was something over thirteen years ago. Margaret must be about +twenty-three now." + +"And you've not seen her since?" There was keen reproach in Ned's voice. + +Frank smiled. + +"Yes, I've seen her twice," he replied. "And of course I've written to +her many times, and have always kept in touch with those she was with. +She stayed at the Berkshire school five years; then--with some fear and +trembling, I own--I went to see her. I found a grave-eyed little miss who +answered my questions with studied politeness, and who agreed without +comment to the proposition that I place her in a school where she might +remain until she was ready for college--should she elect to go to +college." + +"But her vacations--did she never come then?" questioned Ned. + +"No. At first I did not ask her, of course. It was out of the question, +as she was feeling. Some one of her teachers always looked out for her. +They all pitied her, and naturally did everything they could for her, as +did her mates at school. Later, when I did dare to ask her to come here, +she always refused. She wrote me stiff little notes in which she +informed me that she was to spend the holidays with some Blanche or +Dorothy or Mabel of her acquaintance. + +"She was nineteen when I saw her again. I found now a charming, graceful +girl, with peculiarly haunting blue eyes, and heavy coils of bronze-gold +hair that kinked and curled about her little pink ears in a most +distracting fashion. Even now, though, she would not come to my home. +She was going abroad with friends. The party included an irreproachable +chaperon, so of course I had nothing to say; while as for money--she had +all of her mother's not inconsiderable fortune besides everything that +had been her stepfather's; so of course there was no question on that +score. + +"In the fall she entered college, and there she has been ever since, +spending her vacations as usual with friends, generally traveling. When +she came of age she specially requested me to make no change in her +affairs, but to regard herself as my ward for the present, just as she +had been. So I still call myself her guardian. This June was her +graduation. I had forgotten the fact until I received the little +engraved invitation a week or two ago. I thought of running down for it, +but I couldn't get away very well, and--well, I didn't go, that's all. +But I did write and ask her to make this house her home, and here is her +reply. She thanks me, and will come next Tuesday. There! now you have +it. You know all that I do." And Frank Spencer leaned back in his chair +with a long sigh. + +"But I don't know yet what she's like," objected Ned. + +"Neither do I." + +"Oh, but you've seen her." + +"Yes; and how? Do you suppose that those two or three meetings were very +illuminating? No. I've been told this, however," he added. "It seems +that immediately after her return to her mother's home she had the most +absurd quixotic notions about sharing all she had with every ragamuffin +in New York. She even carried her distress over their condition to such +an extent that her mother really feared for her reason. All her +teachers, therefore, were instructed to keep from her all further +knowledge of poverty and trouble; and particularly to instil into her +mind the fact that there was really in the world a great deal of +pleasure and happiness." + +Over across the table Mrs. Merideth shivered a little. + +"Dear me!" she sighed. "I do hope the child is well over those notions. +I shouldn't want her to mix up here with the mill people. I never did +quite like those settlement women, anyway, and only think what might +happen with one in one's own family!" + +"I don't think I should worry, sister sweet," laughed Frank. "I haven't +seen much of the young lady, but I think I have seen enough for that. I +fancy the teachers succeeded in their mission. As near as I can judge, +Miss Margaret Kendall does not resemble your dreaded 'settlement worker' +in the least. However, we'll wait and see." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +There was something of the precision of clockwork in matters and things +at Hilcrest. A large corps of well-trained servants in charge of an +excellent housekeeper left Mrs. Merideth free to go, and come, and +entertain as she liked. For fifteen years now she had been mistress of +Hilcrest, ever since her mother had died, in fact. Widowed herself at +twenty-two after a year of married life, and the only daughter in a +family of four children, she had been like a second mother to her two +younger brothers. Harry, the eldest brother, had early left the home +roof to study medicine. Frank, barely twenty when his brother Harry lost +his life, had even then pleased his father by electing the mills as his +life-work. And now, five years after that father's death, Ned was +sharing his brother Frank's care and responsibility in keeping the great +wheels turning and the great chimneys smoking in the town below. + +Della Merideth was essentially a woman who liked--and who usually +obtained--the strawberries and cream of life. Always accustomed to +luxury, she demanded as a matter of course rich clothing and dainty +food. That there were people in the world whose clothing was coarse and +whose food was scanty, she well knew; and knowing this she was careful +that her donations to the Home Missionary Society and the Woman's Guild +were prompt and liberal. Beyond this her duty did not extend, she was +sure. As for any personal interest in the recipients of her alms, she +had none whatever; and would, indeed, have deemed it both unnecessary +and unladylike that she should have had such interest. Her eyes were +always on the hills and meadows on the west side of the house, and even +her way to and from Hilcrest was carefully planned so that she might +avoid so far as was possible, the narrow, ill-smelling streets of the +town on the other side of the hill. + +Frank Spencer was a hard-headed, far-seeing man of business--inside the +office of Spencer & Spencer; outside, he was a delightful gentleman--a +little grave, perhaps, for his thirty-three years, but none the less a +favorite, particularly with anxious mothers having marriageable, but +rather light-headed, daughters on their hands. His eyes were brown, his +nose was straight and long, and his mouth firm and clean-cut. His whole +appearance was that of a man sure of himself--and of others. To Frank +Spencer the vast interests of Spencer & Spencer, as represented by the +huge mills that lined the river bank, were merely one big machine; and +the hundreds of men, women, and children that dragged their weary way in +and out the great doors were but so many cogs in the wheels. That the +cogs had hearts that ached and heads that throbbed did not occur to him. +He was interested only in the smooth and silent running of the wheels +themselves. + +Ned was the baby of the house. In spite of his length of limb and +breadth of shoulder he was still looked upon by his brother and sister +as little more than a boy. School, college, and a year of travel had +trained his brain, toughened his muscles, and browned his skin, and left +him full of enthusiasm for his chosen work, which just now meant helping +to push Spencer & Spencer to the top notch of power and prosperity. + +For five years the two brothers and the widowed sister in the great +house that crowned Prospect Hill, had been by themselves save for the +servants and the occasional guests--and the Spencers were a clannish +family, so people said. However that might have been, there certainly +was not one of the three that was not conscious of a vague fear and a +well-defined regret, whenever there came the thought of this strange +young woman who was so soon to enter their lives. + +To be a Spencer was to be hospitable, however, and the preparations for +the expected guest were prompt and generous. By Tuesday the entire +house, even to its inmates, was ready with a cordial welcome for the +orphan girl. + +In his big touring car Frank Spencer went to the station to meet his +ward. With him was Mrs. Merideth, and her eyes, fully as anxiously as +his, swept the crowd of passengers alighting from the long train. Almost +simultaneously they saw the tall young woman in gray; and Mrs. Merideth +sighed with relief as Frank gave a quick exclamation and hurried +forward. + +"At least she looks like a lady," Mrs. Merideth murmured, as she +followed her brother. + +"You are Margaret Kendall, I am sure," Frank was saying; and Mrs. +Merideth saw the light leap to the girl's eyes as she gave him her hand. + +"And you are Mr. Spencer, my guardian--'Uncle Frank.' Am I still to call +you 'Uncle Frank'?" Mrs. Merideth heard a clear voice say. The next +moment she found herself looking into what she instantly thought were +the most wonderful eyes she had ever seen. + +"And I am Mrs. Merideth, my dear--'Aunt Della,' I hope," she said gently, +before her brother could speak. + +"Thank you; and it will be 'Aunt Della,' I'm sure," smiled the girl; and +again Mrs. Merideth marveled at the curious charm of the eyes that met +her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +The big touring car skirted the edge of the town, avoiding as usual the +narrower streets, and turning as soon as possible into a wide, +elm-bordered avenue. + +"We have to climb to reach Hilcrest," called Frank over his shoulder, as +the car began a steep ascent. + +"Then you must have a view as a reward," rejoined Margaret. + +"We do," declared Mrs. Merideth,--"but not here," she laughed, as the car +plunged into the depths of a miniature forest. + +It was a silent drive, in the main. The man in front had the car to +guide. The two women in the tonneau dropped an occasional word, but for +the most part their eyes were fixed on bird or flower, or on the +shifting gleams of sunlight through the trees. The very fact that there +was no constraint in this silence argued well for the place the orphan +girl had already found in the hearts of her two companions. + +Not until the top of the hill was reached, and the car swung around the +broad curve of the driveway, did the full beauty of the panorama before +her burst on Margaret's eyes. She gave a low cry of delight. + +"Oh, how beautiful--how wonderfully, wonderfully beautiful!" she +exclaimed. + +Her eyes were on the silver sheen of the river trailing along the green +velvet of the valley far below--she had turned her back on the red-roofed +town with its smoking chimneys. + +The sun was just setting when a little later she walked across the lawn +to where a rustic seat marked the abrupt descent of the hill. Far below +the river turned sharply. On the left it flowed through a canyon of +many-windowed walls, and under a pall of smoke. On the right it washed +the shores of flowering meadows, and mirrored the sunset sky in its +depths. + +So absorbed was Margaret in the beauty of the scene that she did not +notice the figure of a man coming up the winding path at her left. Even +Ned Spencer himself did not see the girl until he was almost upon her. +Then he stopped short, his lips breaking into a noiseless "Well, by +Jove!" + +A twig snapped under his foot at his next step, and the girl turned. + +"Oh, it's you," she said absorbedly. "I couldn't wait. I came right out +to see it," she finished, her eyes once more on the valley below. The +brothers, at first glance, looked wonderfully alike, and Margaret had +unhesitatingly taken Ned to be Frank. + +Ned did not speak. He, too, like his sister an hour before, had fallen +under the spell of a pair of wondrous blue eyes. + +"It seems to me," said the girl, slowly, "that nothing in the world +would ever trouble me if I had that to look at." + +"It seems so to me, too," agreed Ned--but he was not looking at the view. + +The girl turned sharply. She gave a little cry of dismay. The +embarrassed red flew to her cheeks. + +"Oh, you--you are not Uncle Frank at all!" she stammered. + +A sudden light of comprehension broke over Ned's face. And so this was +Margaret. How stupid of him not to have known at once! + +He laughed lightly and made a low bow. + +"I have not that honor," he confessed. "But you--you must be Miss +Kendall." + +"And you?" + +"I?" Ned smiled quizzically. "I? Oh, I am--your _Uncle_ Ned!" he +announced; and his voice and his emphasis told her that he fully +appreciated his privilege in being twenty-five--and uncle to a niece of +twenty-three. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +By the end of the month the family at Hilcrest wondered how they had +ever lived before they saw the world and everything in it through the +blue eyes of Margaret Kendall--the world and everything in it seemed so +much more beautiful now! + +Never were the long mornings in the garden or on the veranda so +delightful to Mrs. Merideth as now with a bright, sympathetic girl to +laugh, chat, or keep silent as the whim of the moment dictated; and +never were the summer evenings so charming to Frank as now when one +might lie back in one's chair or hammock and listen to a dreamy nocturne +or a rippling waltz-song, and realize that the musician was no bird of +passage, but that she was one's own beloved ward and was even now at +home. As for Ned--never were the golf links in so fine a shape, nor the +tennis court and croquet ground so alluring; and never had he known +before how many really delightful trips there were within a day's run +for his motor-car. + +And yet---- + +"Della, do you think Margaret is happy?" asked Frank one day, as he and +his sister and Ned were watching the sunset from the west veranda. +Margaret had gone into the house, pleading a headache as an excuse for +leaving them. + +Della was silent. It was Ned who answered, indignantly. + +"Why, Frank, of course she's happy!" + +"I'm not so--sure," hesitated Frank. Then Mrs. Merideth spoke. + +"She's happy, yes; but she's--restless." + +Frank leaned forward. + +"That's it exactly," he declared with conviction. "She's restless--and +what's the matter? That's what I want to know." + +"Nonsense! it's just high spirits," cut in Ned, with an impatient +gesture. "Margaret's perfectly happy. Doesn't she laugh and sing and +motor and play tennis all day?" + +"Yes," retorted his brother, "she does; but behind it all there's a +curious something that I can't get at. It is as if she were--were trying +to get away from something--something within herself." + +Mrs. Merideth nodded her head. + +"I know," she said. "I've seen it, too." + +"Ah, you have!" Frank turned to his sister with a troubled frown. "Well, +what is it?" + +"I don't know." Mrs. Merideth paused, her eyes on the distant sky-line. +"I have thought--once or twice," she resumed slowly, "that Margaret might +be--in love." + +"In love!" cried two voices in shocked amazement. + +Had Mrs. Merideth been observant she might have seen the sudden paling +of a smooth-shaven face, and the quick clinching of a strong white hand +that rested on the arm of a chair near her; but she was not observant--in +this case, at least--and she went on quietly. + +"Yes; but on the whole I'm inclined to doubt that now." + +"Oh, you are," laughed Ned, a little nervously. His brother did not +speak. + +"Yes," repeated Mrs. Merideth; "but I haven't decided yet what it is." + +"Well, I for one don't believe it's anything," declared Ned, stubbornly. +"To me she seems happy, and I believe she is." + +Frank shook his head. + +"No," he said. "By her own confession she has been flitting from one +place to another all over the world; and, though perhaps she does not +realize it herself, I believe her coming here was merely another effort +on her part to get away from this something--this something that while +within herself, perhaps, is none the less pursuing her, and making her +restless and unhappy." + +"But what can it be?" argued Ned. "She's not so different from other +girls--only nicer. She likes good times and pretty clothes, and is always +ready for any fun that's going. I'm sure it isn't anything about those +socialistic notions that Della used to worry about," he added +laughingly. "She's got well over those--if she ever had them, indeed. I +don't believe she's looked toward the mills since she's been here--much +less wanted to know anything about the people that work in them!" + +"No, it isn't that," agreed Frank. + +"Perhaps it isn't anything," broke in Della, with sudden cheeriness. +"Maybe it is a little dull here for her after all her gay friends and +interesting travels. Perhaps she is a little homesick, but is trying to +make us think everything is all right, and she overdoes it. Anyway, +we'll ask some nice people up for a week or two. I fancy we all need +livening up. We're getting morbid. Come, whom shall we have?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +It had been a particularly delightful day with the Hilcrest house-party. +They had gone early in the morning to Silver Lake for a picnic. A sail +on the lake, a delicious luncheon, and a climb up "Hilltop" had filled +every hour with enjoyment until five o'clock when they had started for +home. + +Two of the guests had brought their own motor-cars to Hilcrest, and it +was in one of these that Miss Kendall was making the homeward trip. + +"And you call this a 'runabout,' Mr. Brandon?" she laughed gaily, as the +huge car darted forward. "I should as soon think of having an elephant +for an errand boy." + +Brandon laughed. + +"But just wait until you see the elephant get over the ground," he +retorted. "And, after all, the car isn't so big when you compare it with +Harlow's or Frank's. It only seats two, you know, but its engine is +quite as powerful as either of theirs. I want you to see what it can +do," he finished, as he began gradually to increase their speed. + +For some time neither spoke. The road ran straight ahead in a narrowing +band of white that lost itself in a thicket of green far in the +distance. Yet almost immediately--it seemed to Margaret--the green was at +their right and their left, and the road had unwound another white +length of ribbon that flung itself across the valley and up the opposite +hill to the sky-line. + +Houses, trees, barns, and bushes rushed by like specters, and the soft +August air swept by her cheeks like a November gale. Not until the +opposite hill was reached, however, did Brandon slacken speed. + +"You see," he exulted, "we can just annihilate space with this!" + +"You certainly can," laughed Margaret, a little hysterically. "And you +may count yourself lucky if you don't annihilate anything else." + +Brandon brought the car almost to a stop. + +"I was a brute. I frightened you," he cried with quick contrition. + +The girl shook her head. A strange light came to her eyes. + +"No; I liked it," she answered. "I liked it--too well. Do you know? I +never dare to run a car by myself--very much. I learned how, and had a +little runabout of my own at college, and I run one now sometimes. But +it came over me one day--the power there was under my fingers. Almost +involuntarily I began to let it out. I went faster and faster--and yet I +did not go half fast enough. Something seemed to be pushing me on, +urging me to even greater and greater speed. I wanted to get away, +away----! Then I came to myself. I was miles from where I should have +been, and in a locality I knew nothing about. I had no little difficulty +in getting back to where I belonged, besides having a fine or two to +pay, I believe. I was frightened and ashamed, for everywhere I heard of +stories of terrified men, women, children, and animals, and of how I had +narrowly escaped having death itself to answer for as a result of my mad +race through the country. And yet--even now--to-day, I felt that wild +exhilaration of motion. I did not want to stop. I wanted to go on and +on----" She paused suddenly, and fell back in her seat. "You see," she +laughed with a complete change of manner, "I am not to be trusted as a +chauffeur." + +"I see," nodded Brandon, a little soberly; then, with a whimsical smile: +"Perhaps I should want the brakes shifted to my side of the car--if I +rode with you!... But, after all, when you come right down to the solid +comfort of motoring, you can take it best by jogging along like this at +a good sensible rate of speed that will let you see something of the +country you are passing through. Look at those clouds. We shall have a +gorgeous sunset to-night." + +It was almost an hour later that Brandon stopped his car where two roads +crossed, and looked behind him. + +"By George, where are those people?" he queried. + +"But we started first, and we came rapidly for a time," reminded the +girl. + +"I know, but we've been simply creeping for the last mile or two," +returned the man. "I slowed up purposely to fall in behind the rest. I'm +not so sure I know the way from here--but perhaps you do." And he turned +his eyes questioningly to hers. + +"Not I," she laughed. "But I thought you did." + +"So did I," he grumbled. "I've been over this road enough in times past. +Oh, I can get back to Hilcrest all right," he added reassuringly. "It's +only that I don't remember which is the best way. One road takes us +through the town and is not so pleasant. I wanted to avoid that if +possible." + +"Never mind; let's go on," proposed the girl. "It's getting late, and we +might miss them even if we waited. They may have taken another road +farther back. If they thought you knew the way they wouldn't feel in +duty bound to keep track of us, and they may have already reached home. +I don't mind a bit which road we take." + +"All right," acquiesced Brandon. "Just as you say. I think this is the +one. Anyhow, we'll try it." And he turned his car to the left. + +The sun had dipped behind the hills, and the quick chill of an August +evening was in the air. Margaret shivered and reached for her coat. The +road wound in and out through a scrubby growth of trees, then turned +sharply and skirted the base of a steep hill. Beyond the next turn it +dropped in a gentle descent and ran between wide open fields. A house +appeared, then another and another. A man and a woman walked along the +edge of the road and stopped while the automobile passed. The houses +grew more frequent, and children and small dogs scurried across the road +to a point of safety. + +"By George, I believe we've got the wrong road now," muttered Brandon +with a frown. "Shall we go back?" + +"No, no," demurred the girl. "What does it matter? It's only another way +around, and perhaps no longer than the other." + +The road turned and dropped again. The hill was steeper now. The air +grew heavy and fanned Margaret's cheek with a warm breath as if from an +oven. Unconsciously she loosened the coat at her throat. + +"Why, how warm it is!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. I fancy there's no doubt now where we are," frowned Brandon. "I +thought as much," he finished as the car swung around a curve. + +Straight ahead the road ran between lines of squat brown houses with +men, women, and children swarming on the door-steps or hanging on the +fences. Beyond rose tier upon tier of red and brown roofs flanked on the +left by the towering chimneys of the mills. Still farther beyond and a +little to the right, just where the sky was reddest, rose the terraced +slopes of Prospect Hill crowned by the towers and turrets of Hilcrest. + +"We can at least see where we want to be," laughed Brandon. "Fine old +place--shows up great against that sky; doesn't it?" + +The girl at his side did not answer. Her eyes had widened a little, and +her cheeks had lost their bright color. She was not looking at the pile +of brick and stone on top of Prospect Hill, but at the ragged little +urchins and pallid women that fell back from the roadway before the car. +The boys yelled derisively, and a baby cried. Margaret shrank back in +her seat, and Brandon, turning quickly, saw the look on her face. His +own jaw set into determined lines. + +"We'll be out of this soon, Miss Kendall," he assured her. "You mustn't +mind them. As if it wasn't bad enough to come here anyway but that I +must needs come now just when the day-shift is getting home!" + +"The day-shift?" + +"Yes; the hands who work days, you know." + +"But don't they all work--days?" + +Brandon laughed. + +"Hardly!" + +"You mean, they work _nights_?" + +"Yes." He threw a quizzical smile into her startled eyes. "By the way," +he observed, "you'd better not ask Frank in that tone of voice if they +work nights. That night-shift is a special pet of his. He says it's one +great secret of the mills' prosperity--having two shifts. Not that his +are the only mills that run nights, of course--there are plenty more." + +Margaret's lips parted, but before she could speak there came a hoarse +shout and a quick cry of terror. The next instant the car under +Brandon's skilful hands swerved sharply and just avoided a collision +with a boy on a bicycle. + +"Narrow shave, that," muttered Brandon. "He wasn't even looking where he +was going." + +Margaret shuddered. She turned her gaze to the right and to the left. +Everywhere were wan faces and sunken eyes. With a little cry she +clutched Brandon's arm. + +"Can't we go faster--faster," she moaned. "I want to get away--away!" + +For answer came the sharp "honk-honk" of the horn, and the car bounded +forward. With a shout the crowd fell back, and with another "honk-honk" +Brandon took the first turn to the right. + +"I think we're out of the worst of it," he cried in Margaret's ear. "If +we keep to the right, we'll go through only the edge of the town." Even +as he spoke, the way cleared more and more before them, and the houses +grew farther apart. + +The town was almost behind them, and their speed had considerably +lessened, when Margaret gave a scream of horror. Almost instantly +Brandon brought the car to a stop and leaped to the ground. Close by one +of the big-rimmed wheels lay a huddled little heap of soiled and ragged +pink calico; but before Brandon could reach it, the heap stirred, and +lifted itself. From beneath a tangled thatch of brown curls looked out +two big brown eyes. + +"I reckon mebbe I felled down," said a cheery voice that yet sounded a +little dazed. "I reckon I did." + +"Good heavens, baby, I reckon you did!" breathed the man in glad relief. +"And you may thank your lucky stars 'twas no worse." + +"T'ank lucky stars. What are lucky stars?" demanded the small girl, +interestedly. + +"Eh? Oh, lucky stars--why, they're--what are lucky stars, Miss Kendall?" + +Margaret did not answer. She did not seem to hear. With eyes that +carried a fascinated terror in their blue depths, she was looking at the +dirty little feet and the ragged dress of the child before her. + +"T'ank lucky stars," murmured the little girl again, putting out a +cautious finger and just touching the fat rubber tire of the wheel that +had almost crushed out her life. + +Brandon shuddered involuntarily and drew the child away. + +"What's your name, little girl?" he asked gently. + +"Maggie." + +"How old are you?" + +"I'm 'most five goin' on six an' I'll be twelve ter-morrer." + +Brandon smiled. + +"And where do you live?" he continued. + +A thin little claw of a finger pointed to an unpainted, shabby-looking +cottage across the street. At that moment a shrill voice called: +"Maggie, Maggie, what ye doin'? Come here, child." And a tall, gaunt +woman appeared in the doorway. + +Maggie turned slowly; but scarcely had the little bare feet taken one +step when the girl in the automobile stirred as if waking from sleep. + +"Here--quick--little girl, take this," she cried, tearing open the little +jeweled purse at her belt, and thrusting all its contents into the +small, grimy hands. + +Maggie stared in wonder. Then her whole face lighted up. + +"Lucky stars!" she cried gleefully, her eyes on the shining coins. +"T'ank lucky stars!" And she turned and ran with all her small might +toward the house. + +"Quick--come--let us go," begged Margaret, "before the mother sees--the +money!" And Brandon, smiling indulgently at the generosity that was so +fearful of receiving thanks, lost no time in putting a long stretch of +roadway between themselves and the tall, gaunt woman behind them. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +"Stars--t'ank lucky stars," Maggie was still shouting gleefully when she +reached her mother's side. + +Mrs. Durgin bent keen eyes on her young daughter's face. + +"Maggie, what was they sayin' to ye?" she began, pulling the little girl +into the house. Suddenly her jaw dropped. She stooped and clutched the +child's hands. "Why, Maggie, it's money--stacks of it!" she exclaimed, +prying open the small fingers. + +"Stars--lucky stars!" cooed Maggie. Maggie liked new words and phrases, +and she always said them over and over until they were new no longer. + +Mrs. Durgin shook her daughter gently, yet determinedly. Her small black +eyes looked almost large, so wide were they with amazement. + +"Maggie, Maggie, tell me--what did they say to ye?" she demanded again. +"Why did they give ye all this money?" + +Maggie was silent. Her brow was drawn into a thoughtful frown. + +"But, Maggie, think--there must 'a' been somethin'. What did ye do?" + +"There wa'n't," insisted the child. "I jest felled down an' got up, an' +they said it." + +"Said what?" + +"'T'ank lucky stars.'" + +A sudden thought sent a quick flash of fear to Mrs. Durgin's eyes. + +"Maggie, they didn't hurt ye," she cried, dropping on her knees and +running swift, anxious fingers over the thin little arms and legs and +body. "They didn't hurt ye!" + +Maggie shook her head. At that moment a shadow darkened the doorway, and +the kneeling woman glanced up hastily. + +"Oh, it's you, Mis' Magoon," she said to the small, tired-looking woman +in the doorway. + +"Yes, it's me," sighed the woman, dragging herself across the room to a +chair. "What time did Nellie leave here?" + +"Why, I dunno--mebbe four o'clock. Why?" + +The woman's face contracted with a sharp spasm of pain. + +"She wa'n't within half a mile of the mill when I met her, yet she was +pantin' an' all out o' breath then. She'll be late, 'course, an' you +know what that means." + +"Yes, I know," sighed Mrs. Durgin, sympathetically. "She--she hadn't +orter gone." + +Across the room Mrs. Magoon's head came up with a jerk. + +"Don't ye s'pose I know that? The child's sick, an' I know it. But what +diff'rence does that make? She works, don't she?" + +For a moment Mrs. Durgin did not speak. Gradually her eyes drifted back +to Maggie and the little pile of coins on the table. + +"Mis' Magoon, see," she cried eagerly, "what the lady give Maggie. They +was in one o' them 'nauty-mobiles,' as Maggie calls 'em, an' Maggie +felled down in the road. She wa'n't hurt a mite--not even scratched, but +they give her all this money." + +The woman on the other side of the room sniffed disdainfully. + +"Well, what of it? They'd oughter give it to her," she asserted. + +"But they wa'n't ter blame, an' they didn't hurt her none--not a mite," +argued the other. + +"No thanks ter them, I'll warrant," snapped Mrs. Magoon. "For my part, I +wouldn't tech their old money." Then, crossly, but with undeniable +interest, she asked: "How much was it?" + +Mrs. Durgin laughed. + +"Never you mind," she retorted, as she gathered up the coins from the +table; "but thar's enough so's I'm goin' ter get them cough-drops fur +Nellie, anyhow. So!" And she turned her back and pretended not to hear +the faint remonstrances from the woman over by the window. Later, when +she had bought the medicine and had placed it in Mrs. Magoon's hands, +the remonstrances were repeated in a higher key, and were accompanied +again with an angry snarl against the world in general and automobiles +in particular. + +"But why do ye hate 'em so?" demanded Mrs. Durgin, "--them autymobiles? +They hain't one of 'em teched ye, as I knows of." + +There was no answer. + +"I don't believe ye knows yerself," declared the questioner then; and at +the taunt the other raised her head. + +"Mebbe I don't," she flamed, "an' 'tain't them I hate, anyway--it's the +folks in 'em. It's rich folks. I've allers hated 'em anywheres, but +'twa'n't never so bad as now since them things came. They look so--so +comfortable--the folks a-leanin' back on their cushions; an' so--so +_free_, as if there wa'n't nothin' that could bother 'em. 'Course I knew +before that there was rich folks, an' that they had fine clo's an' good +things ter eat, an' shows an' parties, an' spent money; but I didn't +_see_ 'em, an' now I do. I _see_ 'em, I tell ye, an' it makes me realize +how I ain't comfortable like they be, nor Nellie ain't neither!" + +"But they ain't all bad--rich folks," argued the thin, black-eyed woman, +earnestly. "Some of 'em is good." + +The other shook her head. + +"I hain't had the pleasure o' meetin' that kind," she rejoined grimly. + +"Well, I have," retorted Maggie's mother with some spirit. "Look at that +lady ter-night what give Maggie all that money." + +There was no answer, and after a moment Mrs. Durgin went on. Her voice +was lower now, and not quite clear. + +"Thar was another one, too, an' she was jest like a angel out o' heaven. +It was years ago--much as twelve or fourteen, when I lived in New York. +She was the mother of the nicest an' prettiest little girl I ever +see--the one I named my Maggie for. An' she asked us ter her home an' we +stayed weeks, an' rode in her carriages, an' ate ter her table, an' +lived right with her jest as she did. An' when we come back ter New York +she come with us an' took us out of the cellar an' found a beautiful +place fur us, all sun an' winders, an' she paid up the rent fur us 'way +ahead whole months. An' thar was all the Whalens an' me an' the twins." + +"Well," prompted Mrs. Magoon, as the speaker paused. "What next? You +ain't in New York, an' she ain't a-doin' it now, is she? Where is she?" + +Mrs. Durgin turned her head away. + +"I don't know," she said. + +The other sniffed. + +"I thought as much. It don't last--it never does." + +"But it would 'a' lasted with her," cut in Mrs. Durgin, sharply. "She +wa'n't the kind what gives up. She's sick or dead, or somethin'--I know +she is. But thar's others what has lasted. That Mont-Lawn I was tellin' +ye of, whar I learned them songs we sings, an' whar I learned 'most +ev'rythin' good thar is in me--_that's_ done by rich folks, an' that's +lasted! They pays three dollars an' it lets some poor little boy or girl +go thar an' stay ten whole days jest eatin' an' sleepin' an' playin'. +An' if I was in New York now my Maggie herself'd be a-goin' one o' these +days--you'd see! I tell ye, rich folks ain't bad--all of 'em, an' they do +do things 'sides loll back in them autymobiles!" + +Mrs. Magoon stared, then she shrugged her shoulders. + +"Mebbe," she admitted grudgingly. "Say--er--Mis' Durgin, how much was that +money Maggie got--eh?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Margaret Kendall did not sleep well the night after the picnic at Silver +Lake. She was restless, and she tossed from side to side finding nowhere +a position that brought ease of mind and body. She closed her eyes and +tried to sleep, but her active brain painted the dark with a panorama of +the day's happenings, and whether her eyes were open or closed, she was +forced to see it. There were the lake, the mountain, and the dainty +luncheon spread on the grass; and there were the faces of the merry +friends who had accompanied her. There were the shifting scenes of the +homeward ride, too, with the towers of Hilcrest showing dark and +clear-cut against a blood-red sky. But everywhere, from the lake, the +mountain, and even from Hilcrest itself, looked out strange wan faces +with hollow cheeks and mournful eyes; and everywhere fluttered the +ragged skirts of a child's pink calico dress. + +It was two o'clock when Margaret arose, thrust her feet into a pair of +bed-slippers and her arms into the sleeves of a long, loose +dressing-gown. There was no moon, but a starlit sky could be seen +through the open windows, and Margaret easily found her way across the +room to the door that led to the balcony. + +Margaret's room, like the dining-room below, looked toward the west and +the far-reaching meadows; but from the turn of the balcony where it +curved to the left, one might see the town, and it was toward this curve +that Margaret walked now. Once there she stopped and stood motionless, +her slender hands on the balcony rail. + +The night was wonderfully clear. The wide dome of the sky twinkled with +a myriad of stars, and seemed to laugh at the town below with its puny +little lights blinking up out of the dark where the streets crossed and +recrossed. Over by the river where the mills pointed big black fingers +at the sky, however, the lights did not blink. They blazed in tier upon +tier and line upon line of windows, and they glowed with a never-ending +glare that sent a shudder to the watching girl on the balcony. + +"And they're working now--_now_!" she almost sobbed; then she turned with +a little cry and ran down the balcony toward her room where was waiting +the cool soft bed with the lavender-scented sheets. + +In spite of the restless night she had spent, Margaret arose early the +next morning. The house was very quiet when she came down-stairs, and +only the subdued rustle of the parlor maid's skirts broke the silence of +the great hall which was also the living-room at Hilcrest. + +"Good-morning, Betty." + +"Good-morning, Miss," courtesied the girl. + +Miss Kendall had almost reached the outer hall door when she turned +abruptly. + +"Betty, you--you don't know a little child named--er--'Maggie'; do you?" +she asked. + +"Ma'am?" Betty almost dropped the vase she was dusting. + +"'Maggie,'--a little girl named 'Maggie.' She's one of the--the mill +people's children, I think." + +Betty drew herself erect. + +"No, Miss, I don't," she said crisply. + +"No, of course not," murmured Miss Kendall, unconsciously acknowledging +the reproach in Betty's voice. Then she turned and went out the wide +hall door. + +Twice she walked from end to end of the long veranda, but not once did +she look toward the mills; and when she sat down a little later, her +chair was so placed that it did not command a view of the red and brown +roofs of the town. + +Miss Kendall was restless that day. She rode and drove and sang and +played, and won at golf and tennis; but behind it all was a feverish +gayety that came sometimes perilously near to recklessness. Frank +Spencer and his sister watched her with troubled eyes, and even Ned gave +an anxious frown once or twice. Just before dinner Brandon came upon her +alone in the music room where she was racing her fingers through the +runs and trills of an impromptu at an almost impossible speed. + +"If you take me motoring with you to-night, Miss Kendall," he said +whimsically, when the music had ceased with a crashing chord, "if you +take me to-night, I shall make sure that the brakes _are_ on my side of +the car!" + +The girl laughed, then grew suddenly grave. + +"You would need to," she acceded; "but--I shall not take you or any one +else motoring to-night." + +In the early evening after dinner Margaret sought her guardian. He was +at his desk in his own special den out of the library, and the door was +open. + +"May I come in?" she asked. + +Spencer sprang to his feet. + +"By all means," he cried as he placed a chair. "You don't often honor +me--like this." + +"But this is where you do business, when at home; isn't it?" she +inquired. "And I--I have come to do business." + +The man laughed. + +"So it's business--just plain sordid business--to which I am indebted for +this," he bemoaned playfully. "Well, and what is it? Income too small +for expenses?" He chuckled a little, and he could afford to. Margaret +had made no mistake in asking him still to have the handling of her +property. The results had been eminently satisfactory both to his pride +and her pocketbook. + +"No, no, it's not that; it's the mills." + +"The mills!" + +"Yes. Is it quite--quite necessary to work--nights?" + +For a moment the man stared wordlessly; then he fell back in his chair. + +"Why, Margaret, what in the world----" he stopped from sheer inability to +proceed. He had suddenly remembered the stories he had heard of the +early life of this girl before him, and of her childhood's horror at the +difference between the lot of the rich and the poor. + +"Last night we--we came through the town," explained Margaret, a little +feverishly; "and Mr. Brandon happened to mention that they +worked--nights." + +The man at the desk roused himself. + +"Yes, I see," he said kindly. "You were surprised, of course. But don't +worry, my child, or let it fret you a moment. It's nothing new. They are +used to it. They have done it for years." + +"But at night--all night--it doesn't seem right. And it must be so--hard. +_Must_ they do it?" + +"Why, of course. Other mills run nights; why shouldn't ours? They expect +it, Margaret. Besides, they are paid for it. Come, come, dear girl, just +look at it sensibly. Why, it's the night work that helps to swell your +dividends." + +Margaret winced. + +"I--I think I'd prefer them smaller," she faltered. She hesitated, then +spoke again. "There's another thing, too, I wanted to ask you about. +There was a little girl, Maggie. She lives in one of those shabby, +unpainted houses at the foot of the hill. I want to do something for +her. Will you see that this reaches her mother, please?" And she held +out a fat roll of closely folded bills. "Now don't--please don't!" she +cried, as she saw the man's remonstrative gesture. "Please don't say you +can't, and that indiscriminate giving encourages pauperism. I used to +hear that so often at school whenever I wanted to give something, and +I--I hated it. If you could have seen that poor little girl +yesterday!--you will see that she gets it; won't you?" + +"But, Margaret," began the man helplessly, "I don't know the child--there +are so many----" he stopped, and Margaret picked up the dropped thread. + +"But you can find out," she urged. "You must find out. Her name's +Maggie. You can inquire--some one will know." + +"But, don't you see----" the man's face cleared suddenly. "I'll give it to +Della," he broke off in quick relief. "She runs the charity part, and +she'll know just what to do with it. Meanwhile, let me thank you----" + +"No, no," interrupted Margaret, rising to go. "It is you I have to thank +for doing it for me," she finished as she hurried from the room. + +"By George!" muttered the man, as he looked at the denominations of the +bills in his fingers. "I'm not so sure but we may have our hands full, +after all--certainly, if she keeps on as she's begun!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +It was after eight o'clock. The morning, for so early in September, was +raw and cold. A tall young fellow, with alert gray eyes and a square +chin hurried around the corner of one of the great mills, and almost +knocked down a small girl who was coming toward him with head bent to +the wind. + +"Heigh-ho!" he cried, then stopped short. The child had fallen back and +was leaning against the side of the building in a paroxysm of coughing. +She was thin and pale, and looked as if she might be eleven years old. +"Well, well!" he exclaimed as soon as the child caught her breath. "I +reckon there's room for both of us in the world, after all." Then, +kindly: "Where were you going?" + +"Home, sir." + +He threw a keen look into her face. + +"Are you one of the mill girls?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Night shift?" + +She nodded. + +"But it's late--it's after eight o'clock. Why didn't you go home with the +rest?" + +The child hesitated. Her eyes swerved from his gaze. She looked as if +she wanted to run away. + +"Come, come," he urged kindly. "Answer me. I won't hurt you. I may help +you. Let us go around here where the wind doesn't blow so." And he led +the way to the sheltered side of the building. "Now tell us all about +it. Why didn't you go home with the rest?" + +"I did start to, sir, but I was so tired, an'--an' I coughed so, I +stopped to rest. It was nice an' cool out here, an' I was so hot in +there." She jerked her thumb toward the mill. + +"Yes, yes, I know," he said hastily; and his lips set into stern lines +as he thought of the hundreds of other little girls that found the raw +morning "nice and cool" after the hot, moist air of the mills. + +"But don't you see," he protested earnestly, "that that's the very time +you mustn't stop and rest? You take cold, and that's what makes you +cough. You shouldn't be----" he stopped abruptly. "What's your name?" he +asked. + +"Nellie Magoon." + +"How old are you?" + +The thin little face before him grew suddenly drawn and old, and the +eyes met his with a look that was half-shrewd, half-terrified, and +wholly defiant. + +"I'm thirteen, sir." + +"How old were you when you began to work here?" + +"Twelve, sir." The answer was prompt and sure. The child had evidently +been well trained. + +"Where do you live?" + +"Over on the Prospect Hill road." + +"But that's a long way from here." + +"Yes, sir. I does get tired." + +"And you've walked it a good many times, too; haven't you?" said the +man, quietly. "Let's see, how long is it that you've worked at the +mills?" + +"Two years, sir." + +A single word came sharply from between the man's close-shut teeth, and +Nellie wondered why the kind young man with the pleasant eyes should +suddenly look so very cross and stern. At that moment, too, she +remembered something--she had seen this man many times about the mills. +Why was he questioning her? Perhaps he was not going to let her work any +more, and if he did not let her work, what would her mother say and do? + +"Please, sir, I must go, quick," she cried suddenly, starting forward. +"I'm all well now, an' I ain't tired a mite. I'll be back ter-night. +Jest remember I'm thirteen, an' I likes ter work in the mills--I likes +ter, sir," she shouted back at him. + +"Humph!" muttered the man, as he watched the frail little figure +disappear down the street. "I thought as much!" Then he turned and +strode into the mill. "Oh, Mr. Spencer, I'd like to speak to you, +please, sir," he called, hurrying forward, as he caught sight of the +younger member of the firm of Spencer & Spencer. + +Fifteen minutes later Ned Spencer entered his brother's office, and +dropped into the nearest chair. + +"Well," he began wearily, "McGinnis is on the war-path again." + +Frank smiled. + +"So? What's up now?" + +"Oh, same old thing--children working under age. By his own story the +girl herself swears she's thirteen, but he says she isn't." + +Frank shrugged his shoulders. + +"Perhaps he knows better than the girl's parents," he observed dryly. +"He'd better look her up on our registers, or he might ask to see her +certificate." + +Ned laughed. He made an impatient gesture. + +"Good heavens, Frank," he snapped; "as if 'twas our fault that they lie +so about the kids' ages! They'd put a babe in arms at the frames if they +could. But McGinnis--by the way, where did you get that fellow? and how +long have you had him? I can't remember when he wasn't here. He acts as +if he owned the whole concern, and had a personal interest in every +bobbin in it." + +"That's exactly it," laughed Frank. "He _has_ a personal interest, and +that's why I keep him, and put up with some of his meddling that's not +quite so pleasant. He's as honest as the daylight, and as faithful as +the sun." + +"Where did you get him? He must have been here ages." + +"Ages? Well, for twelve--maybe thirteen years, to be exact. He was a mere +boy, fourteen or fifteen, when he came. He said he was from +Houghtonsville, and that he had known Dr. Harry Spencer. He asked for +work--any kind, and brought good references. We used him about the office +for awhile, then gradually worked him into the mills. He was bright and +capable, and untiring in his efforts to please, so we pushed him ahead +rapidly. He went to night school at once, and has taken one or two of +those correspondence courses until he's acquired really a good +education. + +"He's practically indispensable to me now--anyhow, I found out that he +was when he was laid up for a month last winter. He stands between me +and the hands like a strong tower, and takes any amount of +responsibility off my shoulders. You'll see for yourself when you've +been here longer. The hands like him, and will do anything for him. +That's why I put up with some of his notions. They're getting pretty +frequent of late, however, and he's becoming a little too meddlesome. I +may have to call him down a peg." + +"You'd think so, I fancy, if you had heard him run on about this +mill-girl half an hour ago," laughed Ned. "He said he should speak to +you." + +"Very good. Then I can speak to him," retorted the other, grimly. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Early in the second week of September the houseful of guests at Hilcrest +went away, leaving the family once more alone. + +"It seems good; doesn't it--just by ourselves," said Margaret that first +morning at breakfast. As she spoke three pairs of eyes flashed a message +of exultant thankfulness to each other, and three heads nodded an "I +told you so!" when Margaret's gaze was turned away. Later, Mrs. Merideth +put the sentiment into words, as she followed her brothers to the door. + +"You see, I was right," she declared. "Margaret only needed livening up. +She's all right now, and will be contented here with us." + +"Sure!" agreed Ned, as he stepped out on to the veranda. Frank paused a +moment. + +"Has she ever been to you again, Della, with money, or--or anything?" he +asked in a low voice. + +"No, never," replied Mrs. Merideth. "She asked once if I'd found the +child, Maggie, to give the money to, and I evaded a direct reply. I told +her I had put the money into the hands of the Guild, and that they were +in constant touch with all cases of need. I got her interested in +talking of something else, and she did not say anything more about it." + +"Good! It's the best way. You know her history, and how morbid she got +when she was a child. It won't do to run any chances of that happening +again; and I fear 'twouldn't take much to bring it back. She was not a +little excited when she brought the money in to me that night. We must +watch out sharp," he finished as he passed through the door, and hurried +down the steps after his brother. + +Back in the dining-room Margaret had wandered listlessly to the window. +It had been some weeks since she had seen a long day before her with no +plans to check off the time into hours and half-hours of expected +happenings. She told herself that it was a relief and that she liked +it--but her fingers tapped idly upon the window, and her eyes gazed +absent-mindedly at a cloud sailing across a deep blue sky. + +After a time she turned to the door near by and stepped out upon the +veranda. She could hear voices from around the corner, and aimlessly she +wandered toward them. But before she had reached the turn the voices had +ceased; and a minute later she saw Frank and Ned step into the waiting +automobile and whir rapidly down the driveway. + +Mrs. Merideth had disappeared into the house, and Margaret found herself +alone. Slowly she walked toward the railing and looked at the town far +below. The roofs showed red and brown and gray in the sunlight, and were +packed close together save at the outer edges, where they thinned into a +straggling fringe of small cottages and dilapidated shanties. + +Margaret shivered with repulsion. How dreadful it must be to live like +that--no air, no sun, no view of the sky and of the cool green valley! +And there were so many of them--those poor creatures down there, with +their wasted forms and sunken eyes! She shuddered again as she thought +of how they had thronged the road on the day of the picnic at Silver +Lake--and then she turned and walked with resolute steps to the farther +side of the veranda where only the valley and the hills met her eyes. + +It had been like this with Margaret every day since that memorable ride +home with Mr. Brandon. Always her steps, her eyes, and her thoughts had +turned toward the town; and always, with uncompromising determination, +they had been turned about again by sheer force of will until they +looked toward the valley with its impersonal green and silver. Until now +there had been gay companions and absorbing pastimes to make this +turning easy and effectual; now there was only the long unbroken day of +idleness in prospect, and the turning was neither so easy nor so +effectual. The huddled roofs and dilapidated shanties of the town looked +up at her even from the green of the valley; and the wasted forms and +hollow eyes of the mill workers blurred the sheen of the river. + +"I'll go down there," she cried aloud with sudden impulsiveness. "I'll +go back through the way we came up; then perhaps I'll be cured." And she +hurried away to order the runabout to be brought to the door for her +use. + +To Margaret it was all very clear. She needed but a sane, daylight ride +through those streets down there to drive away forever the morbid +fancies that had haunted her so long. She told herself that it was the +hour, the atmosphere, the half-light, that had painted the picture of +horror for her. Under the clear light of the sun those swarming +multitudes would be merely men, women, and children, not haunting ghosts +of misery. There was the child, Maggie, too. Perhaps she might be found, +and it would be delightful, indeed, to see for herself the comforting +results of the spending of that roll of money she had put into her +guardian's hands some time before. + +Of all this Margaret thought, and it was therefore with not unpleasant +anticipations that she stepped into the runabout a little later, and +waved a good-bye to Mrs. Merideth, with a cheery: "I'm off for a little +spin, Aunt Della. I'll be back before luncheon." + +Margaret was very sure that she knew the way, and some distance below +the house she made the turn that would lead to what was known as the +town road. The air was fresh and sweet, and the sun flickered through +the trees in dancing little flecks of light that set the girl's pulses +to throbbing in sympathy, and caused her to send the car bounding +forward as if it, too, had red blood in its veins. Far down the hill the +woods thinned rapidly, and a house or two appeared. Margaret went more +slowly now. Somewhere was the home of little Maggie, and she did not +want to miss it. + +Houses and more houses appeared, and the trees were left behind. There +was now only the glaring sunlight showing up in all their barrenness the +shabby little cottages with their dooryards strewn with tin cans and +bits of paper, and swarming with half-clothed, crying babies. + +From somewhere came running a saucy-faced, barefooted urchin, then +another and another, until the road seemed lined with them. + +"Hi, thar, look at de buz-wagon wid de gal in it!" shrieked a gleeful +voice, and instantly the cry was taken up and echoed from across the +street with shrill catcalls and derisive laughter. + +Margaret was frightened. She tooted her horn furiously, and tried to +forge ahead; but the children, reading aright the terror in her eyes, +swarmed about her until she was forced to bring the car almost to a stop +lest she run over the small squirming bodies. + +With shrieks of delight the children instantly saw their advantage, and +lost no time in making the most of it. They leaped upon the low step and +clung to the sides and front of the car like leeches. Two larger boys +climbed to the back and hung there with swinging feet, their jeering +lips close to Miss Kendall's shrinking ears. A third boy, still more +venturesome, had almost reached the vacant seat at Miss Kendall's side, +when above the din of hoots and laughter, sounded an angry voice and a +sharp command. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +It had been young McGinnis's intention to look up the home and the +parents of the little mill-girl, Nellie Magoon, at once, and see if +something could not be done to keep--for a time, at least--that frail bit +of humanity out of the mills. Some days had elapsed, however, since he +had talked with the child, and not until now had he found the time to +carry out his plan. He was hurrying with frowning brow along the lower +end of Prospect Hill road when suddenly his ears were assailed by the +unmistakable evidence that somewhere a mob of small boys had found an +object upon which to vent their wildest mischief. The next moment a turn +of the road revealed the almost motionless runabout with its living +freight of shrieking urchins, and its one white-faced, terrified girl. + +With a low-breathed "Margaret!" McGinnis sprang forward. + +[Illustration: "A MOB OF SMALL BOYS HAD FOUND AN OBJECT UPON WHICH TO +VENT THEIR WILDEST MISCHIEF."] + +It was all done so quickly that even the girl herself could not have +told how it happened. Almost unconsciously she slipped over into the +vacant seat and gave her place to the fearless, square-jawed man who +seemingly had risen from the ground. An apparently impossible number of +long arms shot out to the right and to the left, and the squirming +urchins dropped to the ground, sprawling on all fours, and howling +with surprise and chagrin. Then came a warning cry and a sharp +"honk-honk-honk" from the horn. The next moment the car bounded forward +on a roadway that opened clear and straight before it. + +Not until he had left the town quite behind him did McGinnis bring the +car to a halt in the shade of a great tree by the roadside. Then he +turned an anxious face to the girl at his side. + +"You're not hurt, I hope, Miss Kendall," he began. "I didn't like to +stop before to ask. I hope you didn't mind being thrust so +unceremoniously out of your place and run away with," he finished, a +faint twinkle coming into his gray eyes. + +Margaret flushed. Before she spoke she put both hands to her head and +straightened her hat. + +"No, I--I'm not hurt," she said faintly; "but I _was_ frightened. You--you +were very good to run away with me," she added, the red deepening in her +cheeks. "I'm sure I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't." + +The man's face darkened. + +"The little rascals!" he cried. "They deserve a sound thrashing--every +one of them." + +"But I'd done nothing--I'd not spoken to them," she protested. "I don't +see why they should have molested me." + +"Pure mischief, to begin with, probably," returned the man; "then they +saw that you were frightened, and that set them wild with delight. All +is--I'm glad I was there," he concluded, with grim finality. + +Margaret turned quickly. + +"And so am I," she said, "and yet I don't even know whom to thank, +though you evidently know me. You seemed to come from the ground, and +you handled the car as if it were your own." + +With a sudden exclamation the man stepped to the ground; then he turned +and faced her, hat in hand. + +"And I'm acting now as if it were my own, too," he said, almost +bitterly. "I beg your pardon, Miss Kendall. I have run it many times for +Mr. Spencer; that explains my familiarity with it." + +"And you are----" she paused expectantly. + +The man hesitated. It was almost on his tongue's end to say, "One of the +mill-hands"; then something in the bright face, the pleasant smile, the +half-outstretched hand, sent a strange light to his eyes. + +"I am--Miss Kendall, I have half a mind to tell you who I am." + +She threw a quick look into his face and drew back a little; but she +said graciously: + +"Of course you will tell me who you are." + +There was a moment's silence, then slowly he asked: + +"Do you remember--Bobby McGinnis?" + +"Bobby? Bobby McGinnis?" The blue eyes half closed and seemed to be +looking far into the past. Suddenly they opened wide and flashed a glad +recognition into his face. "And are you Bobby McGinnis?" + +"Yes." + +"Why, of course I remember Bobby McGinnis," she cried, with outstretched +hand. "It was you that found me when I was a wee bit of a girl and lost +in New York, though _that_ I don't remember. But we used to play +together there in Houghtonsville, and it was you that got me the +contract----" She stopped abruptly and turned her face away. The man saw +her lips and chin tremble. "I can't speak of it--even now," she said +brokenly, after a moment. Then, gently: "Tell me of yourself. How came +you here?" + +"I came here at once from Houghtonsville." McGinnis's voice, too, was +not quite steady. She nodded, and he went on without explaining the "at +once"--he had thought she would understand. "I went to work in the mills, +and--I have been here ever since. That is all," he said simply. + +"But how happened it that you came--here?" + +A dull red flushed the man's cheeks. His eyes swerved from her level +gaze, then came back suddenly with the old boyish twinkle in their +depths. + +"I came," he began slowly, "well, to look after your affairs." + +"_My_ affairs!" + +"Yes. I was fifteen. I deemed somehow that I was the one remaining +friend who had your best interests at heart. I _couldn't_ look after +you, naturally--in a girls' school--so I did the next best thing. I looked +after your inheritance." + +"Dear old Bobby!" murmured the girl. And the man who heard knew, in +spite of a conscious throb of joy, that it was the fifteen-year-old lad +that Margaret Kendall saw before her, not the man-grown standing at her +side. + +"I suppose I thought," he resumed after a moment, "that if I were not +here some one might pick up the mills and run off with them." + +"And now?" She was back in the present, and her eyes were merry. + +"And now? Well, now I come nearer realizing my limitations, perhaps," he +laughed. "At any rate, I learned long ago that your interests were in +excellent hands, and that my presence could do very little good, even if +they had not been in such fine shape.... But I am keeping you," he broke +off suddenly, backing away from the car. "Are you--can you--you do not +need me any longer to run the machine? You'll not go back through the +town, of course." + +"No, I shall not go back through the town," shuddered the girl. "And I +can drive very well by myself now, I am sure," she declared. And he did +not know that for a moment she had been tempted to give quite the +opposite answer. "I shall go on to the next turn, and then around home +by the other way.... But I shall see you soon again?--you will come to +see me?" she finished, as she held out her hand. + +McGinnis shook his head. + +"Miss Kendall, in the kindness of her heart, forgets," he reminded her +quietly. "Bobby McGinnis is not on Hilcrest's calling list." + +"But Bobby McGinnis is my friend," retorted Miss Kendall with a bright +smile, "and Hilcrest always welcomes my friends." + +Still standing under the shadow of the great tree, McGinnis watched the +runabout until a turn of the road hid it from sight. + +"I thought 'twould be easier after I'd met her once, face to face, and +spoken to her," he was murmuring softly; "but it's going to be harder, +I'm afraid--harder than when I just caught a glimpse of her once in a +while and knew that she was here." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Margaret's morning ride through the town did not have quite the effect +she had hoped it would. By daylight the place looked even worse than by +the softening twilight. But she was haunted now, not so much by the wan +faces of the workers as by the jeering countenances of a mob of +mischievous boys. To be sure, the unexpected meeting with Bobby McGinnis +had in a measure blurred the vision, but it was still there; and at +night she awoke sometimes with those horrid shouts in her ears. Of one +thing it had cured her, however: she no longer wished to see for herself +the shabby cottages and the people in them. She gave money, promptly and +liberally--so liberally, in fact, that Mrs. Merideth quite caught her +breath at the size of the bills that the young woman stuffed into her +hands. + +"But, my dear, so much!" she had remonstrated. + +"No, no--take it, do!" Margaret had pleaded. "Give it to that society to +do as they like with it. And when it's gone there'll be more." + +Mrs. Merideth had taken the money then without more ado. The one thing +she wished particularly to avoid in the matter was controversy--for +controversy meant interest. + +There had been one other result of that morning's experience--a result +which to Frank Spencer was perhaps quite as startling as had been the +roll of bills to his sister. + +"I met your Mr. Robert McGinnis when I was out this morning," Margaret +had said that night at dinner. "What sort of man is he?" + +Before Frank could reply Ned had answered for him. + +"He's a little tin god on wheels, Margaret, that can do no wrong. That's +what he is." + +"Ned!" remonstrated Mrs. Merideth in a horror that was not all playful. +Then to Margaret: "He is a very faithful fellow and an efficient +workman, my dear, who is a great help to Frank. But how and where did +_you_ see him?" + +Margaret laughed. + +"I'll tell you," she promised in response to Mrs. Merideth's question; +"but I haven't heard yet from the head of the house." + +"I can add little to what has been said," declared Frank with a smile. +"He is all that they pictured him. He is the king-pin, the +keystone--anything you please. But, why?" + +"Nothing, only I know him. He is an old friend." + +"You know him!--a _friend_!" The three voices were one in shocked +amazement. + +"Yes, long ago in Houghtonsville," smiled Margaret. "He knew me still +longer ago than that, but that part I remember only as it has been told +to me. He was the little boy who found me crying in the streets of New +York, and took me home to his mother." + +There was a stunned silence around the table. It was the first time the +Spencers had ever heard Margaret speak voluntarily of her childhood, and +it frightened them. It seemed to bring into the perfumed air of the +dining-room the visible presence of poverty and misery. They feared, +too, for Margaret: this was the one thing that must be guarded +against--the possible return to the morbid fancies of her youth. And this +man-- + +"Why, how strange!" murmured Mrs. Merideth, breaking the pause. "But +then, after all, he'll not annoy you, I fancy." + +"Of course not," cut in Ned. "McGinnis is no fool, and he knows his +place." + +"Most assuredly," declared Frank, with a sudden tightening of his lips. +"You'll not see him again, I fancy. If he annoys you, let me know." + +"Oh, but 'twon't be an annoyance," smiled Margaret. "I _asked_ him to +come and see me." + +"You--asked--him--to come!" To the Spencers it was as if she had taken one +of the big black wheels from the mills and suggested its desirability +for the drawing-room. "You asked him to come!" + +Was there a slight lifting of the delicately moulded chin opposite?--the +least possible dilation of the sensitive nostrils? Perhaps. Yet +Margaret's voice when she answered, was clear and sweet. + +"Yes. I told him that Hilcrest would always welcome my friends, I was +sure. And--wasn't I right?" + +"Of course--certainly," three almost inaudible voices had murmured. And +that had been the end of it, except that the two brothers and the sister +had talked it over in low distressed voices after Margaret had gone +up-stairs to bed. + +Two weeks had passed now, however, since that memorable night, and the +veranda of Hilcrest had not yet echoed to the sound of young McGinnis's +feet. The Spencers breathed a little more freely in consequence. It +might be possible, after all, thought they, that _McGinnis_ had some +sense!--and the emphasis was eloquent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Miss Kendall was sitting alone before the great fireplace in the hall at +Hilcrest when Betty, the parlor maid, found her. Betty's nose, always +inclined to an upward tilt, was even more disdainful than usual this +morning. In fact, Betty's whole self from cap to dainty shoes radiated +strong disapproval. + +"There's a young person--a very impertinent young person at the side +door, Miss, who insists upon seeing you," she said severely. + +"Me? Seeing me? Who is it, Betty?" + +"I don't know, Miss. She looks like a mill girl." Even Betty's voice +seemed to shrink from the "mill" as if it feared contamination. + +"A mill girl? Then it must be Mrs. Merideth or Mr. Spencer that she +wants to see." + +"She said you, Miss. She said she wanted to see----" Betty stopped, +looking a little frightened. + +"Yes, go on, Betty." + +"That--that she wanted to see Miss _Maggie_ Kendall," blurted out the +horrified Betty. "'Mag of the Alley.'" + +Miss Kendall sprang to her feet. + +"Bring the girl here, Betty," she directed quickly. "I will see her at +once." + +Just what and whom she expected to see, Margaret could not have told. +For the first surprised instant it seemed that some dimly remembered +Patty or Clarabella or Arabella from the past must be waiting out there +at the door; the next moment she knew that this was impossible, for +time, even in the Alley, could not have stood still, and Patty and the +twins must be women-grown now. + +Out at the side door the "impertinent young person" received Betty's +order to "come in" with an airy toss of her head, and a jeering "There, +what'd I tell ye?" but once in the subdued luxury of soft rugs and +silken hangings, and face to face with a beauteous vision in a trailing +pale blue gown, she became at once only a very much frightened little +girl about eleven years old. + +At a sign from Miss Kendall, Betty withdrew and left the two alone. + +"What is your name, little girl?" asked Miss Kendall gently. + +The child swallowed and choked a little. + +"Nellie Magoon, ma'am, if you please, thank you," she stammered. + +"Where do you live?" + +"Down on the Prospect Hill road." + +"Who sent you to me?" + +"Mis' Durgin." + +Miss Kendall frowned and paused a moment. As yet there had not been a +name that she recognized, nor could she find in the child's face the +slightest resemblance to any one she had ever seen before. + +"But I don't understand," she protested. "Who is this Mrs. Durgin? What +did she tell you to say to me?" + +"She said, 'Tell her Patty is in trouble an' wants ter see Mag of the +Alley,'" murmured the child, as if reciting a lesson. + +"'Patty'? 'Patty'? Not Patty Murphy!" cried Miss Kendall, starting +forward and grasping the child's arm. + +Nellie drew back, half frightened. + +"Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. I don't know, ma'am," she stammered. + +"But how came she to send for me? Who told her I was here?" + +"The boss." + +"The--boss!" + +"Yes. Mr. McGinnis, ye know. He said as how you was here." + +"Bobby!" cried Miss Kendall, releasing the child's arm and falling back +a step. "Why, of course, it's Patty--it must be Patty! I'll go to her at +once. Wait here while I dress." And she hurried across the hall and up +the broad stairway. + +Back by the door Nellie watched the disappearing blue draperies with +wistful eyes that bore also a trace of resentment. "Go and dress" +indeed! As if there could be anything more altogether to be desired than +that beautiful trailing blue gown! She was even more dissatisfied ten +minutes later when Miss Kendall came back in the trim brown suit and +walking-hat--it would have been so much more delightful to usher into +Mrs. Durgin's presence that sumptuous robe of blue! She forgot her +disappointment, however, a little later, in the excitement of rolling +along at Miss Kendall's side in the Hilcrest carriage, with the +imposing-looking coachman in the Spencer livery towering above her on +the seat in front. + +It had been Miss Kendall's first thought to order the runabout, but a +sudden remembrance of her morning's experience a few weeks before caused +her to think that the stalwart John and the horses might be better; so +John, somewhat to his consternation, it must be confessed, had been +summoned to take his orders from Nellie as to roads and turns. He now +sat, stern and dignified, in the driver's seat, showing by the very +lines of his stiffly-held body his entire disapproval of the whole +affair. + +Nor were John and Betty the only ones at Hilcrest who were conscious of +keen disapproval that morning. The mistress herself, from an upper +window, watched with dismayed eyes the departure of the carriage. + +"I've found Patty, the little girl who was so good to me in New York," +Margaret had explained breathlessly, flying into the room three minutes +before. "She's in trouble and has sent for me. I'm taking John and the +horses, so I'll be all right. Don't worry!" And with that she was gone, +leaving behind her a woman too dazed to reply by so much as a word. + +Hilcrest was not out of sight before Margaret turned to the child at her +side. + +"You said she was in trouble--my friend, Patty. What is it?" she +questioned. + +"It's little Maggie. She's sick." + +"Maggie? Not _the_ Maggie, the little brown-eyed girl in the pink calico +dress, who fell down almost in front of our auto!" + +Nellie turned abruptly, her thin little face alight. + +"Gee! Was that you? Did you give her the money? Say, now, ain't that +queer!" + +"Then it is Maggie, and she's Patty's little girl," cried Margaret. "And +to think I was so near and didn't know! But tell me about her. What is +the matter?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Down in the shabby little cottage on the Hill road Mrs. Durgin walked +the floor, vibrating between the window and the low bed in the corner. +By the stove sat Mrs. Magoon, mending a pair of trousers--and talking. To +those who knew Mrs. Magoon, it was never necessary to add that last--if +Mrs. Magoon was there, so also was the talking. + +"It don't do no good ter watch the pot--'twon't b'ile no quicker," she +was saying now, her eyes on the woman who was anxiously scanning the +road from the window. + +"Yes, I know," murmured Mrs. Durgin, resolutely turning her back on the +window and going over to the bed. Sixty seconds later, however, she was +again in her old position at the window, craning her neck to look far up +the road. + +"How's Maggie doin' now?" asked Mrs. Magoon. + +"She's asleep." + +"Well, she better be awake," retorted Mrs. Magoon, "so's ter keep her ma +out o' mischief. Come, come, Mis' Durgin, why don't ye settle down an' +do somethin'? Jest call it she ain't a-comin', then 'twill be all the +more happyfyin' surprise if she does." + +"But she is a-comin'." + +"How do ye know she is?" + +"'Cause she's Maggie Kendall, an' she was Mag of the Alley: an' Mag of +the Alley don't go back on her friends." + +"But she's rich now." + +"I know she is, an' you don't think rich folks is any good; but I do, +an' thar's the diff'rence. Mr. McGinnis has seen her, an' he says she's +jest as nice as ever." + +"Mebbe she is nice ter folks o' her sort, but even Mr. McGinnis don't +know that you've sent fur her ter come 'way off down here." + +"I know it, but--Mis' Magoon, she's come!" broke off Mrs. Durgin; and +something in her face and voice made the woman by the stove drop her +work and run to the window. + +Drawn up before the broken-hinged, half-open gate, were the Spencers' +famous span of thoroughbreds, prancing, arching their handsome necks, +and apparently giving the mighty personage on the driver's seat all that +he wanted to do to hold them. Behind, in the luxurious carriage, sat a +ragged little girl, and what to Patty Durgin was a wonderful vision in +golden brown. + +Mrs. Durgin was thoroughly frightened. She, _she_ had summoned this +glorious creature to come to her, because, indeed, her little girl, +Maggie, was sick! And where, in the vision before her, was there a trace +of Mag of the Alley? Just what she had expected to see, Mrs. Durgin did +not know--but certainly not this; and she fairly shook in her shoes as +the visible evidence of her audacity, in the shape of the vision in +golden brown, walked up the little path from the gate. + +It was Mrs. Magoon who had to go to the door. + +The young woman on the door-step started eagerly forward, but fell back +with a murmured, "Oh, but you can't be--Patty!" + +Over by the window the tall, black-eyed woman stirred then, as if by +sheer force of will. + +"No, no, it's me that's Patty," she began hurriedly. "An' I hadn't +oughter sent fur ye; but"--her words were silenced by a pair of +brown-clad arms that were flung around her neck. + +"Patty--it is Patty!" cried an eager voice, and Mrs. Durgin found herself +looking into the well-remembered blue eyes of the old-time Mag of the +Alley. + +Later, when Mrs. Magoon had taken herself and her amazed ejaculations, +together with her round-eyed daughter, home--which was, after all, merely +the other side of the shabby little house--Patty and Margaret sat down to +talk. In the bed in the corner little Maggie still slept, and they +lowered their voices that they might not wake her. + +"Now, tell me everything," commanded Margaret. "I want to know +everything that's happened." + +Patty shook her head. + +"Thar ain't much, an' what thar is ain't interestin'," she said. "We +jest lived, an' we're livin' now. Nothin' much happens." + +"But you married." + +Patty flushed. Her eyes fell. + +"Yes." + +"And your husband--he's--living?" + +"Yes." + +Margaret hesitated. This was plainly an unpleasant subject, yet if she +were to give any help that _was_ help-- + +Patty saw the hesitation, and divined its cause. + +"You--you better leave Sam out," she said miserably. "He has ter be left +out o' most things. Sam--drinks." + +"Oh, but we aren't going to leave Sam out," retorted Margaret, brightly; +and at the cheery tone Patty raised her head. + +"He didn't used ter be left out, once--when I married him eight years +ago," she declared. "We worked in the mill--both of us, an' done well." + +"Here?" + +Patty turned her eyes away. All the animation fled from her face and +left it gray and pinched. + +"No. We hain't been here but two years. We jest kind of drifted here +from the last place. We don't never stay long--in one place." + +"And the twins--where are they?" + +A spasm of pain tightened Patty's lips. + +"I don't know," she said. + +"You--don't--know!" + +"No. They lived with us at first, an' worked some in the mill. Arabella +couldn't much; you know she was lame. After Sam got--worse, he didn't +like ter have 'em 'round, an' 'course they found it out. One night +he--struck Arabella, an' 'course that settled things. Clarabella wouldn't +let her stay thar another minute, an'--an' I wouldn't neither. Jest +think--an' her lame, an' we always treatin' her so gentle! I give 'em +what little money I had, an' they left 'fore mornin'. I couldn't go. My +little Maggie wa'n't but three days old." + +"But you heard from them--you knew where they went?" + +"Yes, once or twice. They started fur New York, an' got thar all right. +We was down in Jersey then, an' 'twa'n't fur. They found the Whalens an' +went back ter them. After that I didn't hear. You know the twins wa'n't +much fur writin', an'--well, we left whar we was, anyhow. I've wrote +twice, but thar hain't nothin' come of it.... But I hadn't oughter run +on so," she broke off suddenly. "You was so good ter come. Mis' Magoon +said you--you wouldn't want to." + +"Want to? Of course I wanted to!" + +"I know; but it had been so long, an' we hadn't never heard from you +since you got the Whalens their new--that is----" she stopped, a painful +red dyeing her cheeks. + +"Yes, I know," said Margaret, gently. "You thought we had forgotten you, +and no wonder. But you know now? Bobby told you that----" her voice broke, +and she did not finish her sentence. + +Patty nodded, her eyes averted. She could not speak. + +"Those years--afterward, were never very clear to me," went on Margaret, +unsteadily. "It was all so terrible--so lonely. I know I begged to go +back--to the Alley; and I talked of you and the others constantly. But +they kept everything from me. They never spoke of those years in New +York, and they surrounded me with all sorts of beautiful, interesting +things, and did everything in the world to make me happy. In time they +succeeded--in a way. But I think I never quite forgot. There was always +something--somewhere--behind things; yet after a while it seemed like a +dream, or like a life that some one else had lived." + +Margaret had almost forgotten Patty's presence. Her eyes were on the +broken-hinged gate out the window, and her voice was so low as to be +almost inaudible. It was a cry from little Maggie that roused her, and +together with Patty she sprang toward the bed. + +"My--lucky--stars!" murmured the child, a little later, in dim +recollection as she gazed into the visitor's face. + +"You precious baby! And it shall be 'lucky stars'--you'll see!" cried +Margaret. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +It was, indeed, "lucky stars," as little Maggie soon found out. Others +found it out, too; but to some of these it was not "lucky" stars. + +At the dinner table on that first night after the visit to Patty's +house, Margaret threw the family into no little consternation by +abruptly asking: + +"How do you go to work to get men and things to put houses into livable +shape?... I don't suppose I did word it in a very businesslike manner," +she added laughingly, in response to Frank Spencer's amazed ejaculation. + +"But what--perhaps I don't quite understand," he murmured. + +"No, of course you don't," replied Margaret; "and no wonder. I'll +explain. You see I've found another of my friends. It's the little girl, +Patty, with whom I lived three years in New York. She's down in one of +the mill cottages, and it leaks and is in bad shape generally. I want to +fix it up." + +There was a dazed silence; then Frank Spencer recovered his wits and his +voice. + +"By all means," he rejoined hastily. "It shall be attended to at once. +Just give me your directions and I will send the men around there right +away." + +"Thank you; then I'll meet them there and tell them just what I want +done." + +Frank Spencer moistened his lips, which had grown unaccountably dry. + +"But, my dear Margaret," he remonstrated, "surely it isn't necessary +that you yourself should be subjected to such annoyance. I can attend to +all that is necessary." + +"Oh, but I don't mind a bit," returned Margaret, brightly. "I _want_ to +do it. It's for Patty, you know." And Frank Spencer could only fall back +in his chair with an uneasy glance at his sister. + +Before the week was out there seemed to be a good many things that were +"for Patty, you know." There was the skilled physician summoned to +prescribe for Maggie; and there was the strong, capable woman hired to +care for her, and to give the worn-out mother a much needed rest. There +were the large baskets of fruit and vegetables, and the boxes of +beautiful flowers. In fact there seemed to be almost nothing throughout +the whole week that was not "for Patty, you know." + +Even Margaret's time--that, too, was given to Patty. The golf links and +the tennis court were deserted. Neither Ned nor the beautiful October +weather could tempt Margaret to a single game. The music room, too, was +silent, and the piano was closed. + +Down in the little house on the Prospect Hill road, however, a radiant +young woman was superintending the work that was fast putting the +cottage into a shape that was very much "livable." Meanwhile this same +radiant young woman was getting acquainted with her namesake. + +"Lucky Stars," as the child insisted upon calling her, and Maggie were +firm friends. Good food and proper care were fast bringing the little +girl back to health; and there was nothing she so loved to do as to +"play" with the beautiful young lady who had never yet failed to bring +toy or game or flower for her delight. + +"And how old are you now?" Margaret would laughingly ask each day, just +to hear the prompt response: + +"I'm 'most five goin' on six an' I'll be twelve ter-morrow." + +Margaret always chuckled over this retort and never tired of hearing it, +until one day Patty sharply interfered. + +"Don't--please don't! I can't bear it when you don't half know what it +means." + +"When I don't know what it means! Why, Patty!" exclaimed Margaret. + +"Yes. It's Sam. He learned it to her." + +"Well?" Margaret's eyes were still puzzled. + +"He likes it. He _wants_ her ter be twelve, ye know," explained Patty +with an effort. Then, as she saw her meaning was still not clear, she +added miserably: + +"She can work then--in the mills." + +"In the mills--at twelve years old!" + +"That's the age, ye know, when they can git their papers--that is, if +it's summer--vacation time: an' they looks out that 'tis summer, most +generally, when they does gits 'em. After that it don't count; they jest +works, lots of 'em, summer or winter, school or no school." + +"The age! Do you mean that they let mere children, twelve years old, +work in those mills?" + +For a moment Patty stared silently. Then she shook her head. + +"I reckon mebbe ye don't know much about it," she said wearily. "They +don't wait till they's twelve. They jest says they's twelve. Nellie +Magoon's eleven, an' Bess is ten, an' Susie McDermot ain't but nine--but +they's all twelve on the mill books. Sam's jest a-learnin' Maggie ter +say she's twelve even now, an' the minute she's big enough ter work she +will be twelve. It makes me jest sick; an' that's why I can't bear ter +hear her say it." + +Margaret shuddered. Her face lost a little of its radiant glow, and her +hand trembled as she raised it to her head. + +"You are right--I did not know," she said faintly. "There must be +something that can be done. There _must_ be. I will see." + +And she did see. That night she once more followed her guardian into the +little den off the library. + +"It's business again," she began, smiling faintly; "and it's the mills. +May I speak to you a moment?" + +"Of course you may," cried the man, trying to make his voice so cordial +that there should be visible in his manner no trace of his real dismay +at her request. "What is it?" + +Margaret did not answer at once. Her head drooped forward a little. She +had seated herself near the desk, and her left hand and arm rested along +the edge of its smooth flat top. The man's gaze drifted from her face to +the arm, the slender wrist and the tapering fingers so clearly outlined +in all their fairness against the dark mahogany, and so plainly all +unfitted for strife or struggle. With a sudden movement he leaned +forward and covered the slim fingers with his own warm-clasping hand. + +"Margaret, dear child, don't!" he begged. "It breaks my heart to see you +like this. You are carrying the whole world on those two frail shoulders +of yours." + +"No, no, it's not the whole world at all," protested the girl. "It's +only a wee small part of it--and such a defenseless little part, too. +It's the children down at the mills." + +Unconsciously the man straightened himself. His clasp on the +outstretched hand loosened until Margaret, as if in answer to the stern +determination of his face, drew her hand away and raised her head until +her eyes met his unfalteringly. + +"It is useless, of course, to pretend not to understand," he began +stiffly. "I suppose that that altogether too officious young McGinnis +has been asking your help for some of his pet schemes." + +"On the contrary, Mr. McGinnis has not spoken to me of the mill +workers," corrected Margaret, quietly, but with a curious little thrill +that resolved itself into a silent exultation that there was then at +least one at the mills on whose aid she might count. "I have not seen +him, indeed, since that first morning I met him," she finished coldly. +Though Margaret would not own it to herself, the fact that she had not +seen the young man, Robert McGinnis, had surprised and disappointed her +not a little--Margaret Kendall was not used to having her presence and +her gracious invitations ignored. + +"Oh, then you haven't seen him," murmured her guardian; and there was a +curious intonation of relief in his voice. "Who, then, has been talking +to you?" + +"No one--in the way you mean. Patty inadvertently mentioned it to-day, +and I questioned her. I was shocked and distressed. Those little +children--just think of it--twelve years old, and working in the mills!" + +The man made a troubled gesture. + +"But, my dear Margaret, I did not put them there. Their parents did it." + +"But you could refuse to take them." + +"Why should I?" he shrugged. "They would merely go into some other man's +mill." + +"But you don't know the worst of it," moaned the girl. "They've lied to +you. They aren't even twelve, some of them. They're babies of nine and +ten!" + +She paused expectantly, but he did not speak. He only turned his head so +that she could not see his eyes. + +"You did not know it, of course," she went on feverishly. "But you do +now. And surely now, _now_ you can do something." + +Still he was silent. Then he turned sharply. + +"Margaret, I beg of you to believe me when I say that you do not +understand the matter at all. Those people are poor. They need the +money. You would deprive some of the families of two-thirds of their +means of support if you took away what the children earn. Help them, +pity them, be as charitable as you like. That is well and good; but, +Margaret, don't, for heaven's sake, let your heart run away with your +head when it comes to the business part of it!" + +"Business!--with babies nine years old!" + +The man sprang to his feet and walked twice the length of the room; then +he turned about and faced the scornful eyes of the girl by the desk. + +"Margaret, don't look at me as if you thought I was a fiend incarnate. I +regret this sort of thing as much as you do. Indeed I do. But my hands +are tied. I am simply a part of a great machine--a gigantic system, and I +must run my mills as other men do. Surely you must see that. Just think +it over, and give me the credit at least for knowing a little more of +the business than you do, when I and my father before me, have been here +as many years as you have days. Come, please don't let us talk of this +thing any more to-night. You are tired and overwrought, and I don't +think you realize yourself what you are asking." + +"Very well, I will go," sighed Margaret, rising wearily to her feet. +"But I can't forget it. There must be some way out of it. There must be +some way out of it--somehow--some time." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +There came a day when there seemed to be nothing left to do for Patty. +Maggie was well, and at play again in the tiny yard. The yard itself was +no longer strewn with tin cans and bits of paper, nor did the gate hang +half-hinged in slovenly decrepitude. The house rejoiced in new paper, +paint, and window-glass, and the roof showed a spotted surface that +would defy the heaviest shower. Within, before a cheery fire, Patty +sewed industriously on garments which Miss Kendall no wise needed, but +for which Miss Kendall would pay much money. + +Patty did not work in the mills now; Margaret had refused to let her go +back, saying that she wanted lots of sewing done, and Patty could do +that instead. Patty's own wardrobe, as well as that of the child, +Maggie, was supplied for a year ahead; and the pantry and the storeroom +of the little house fairly groaned with good things to eat. Even Sam, +true to Margaret's promise, was not "left out," as was shown by his +appearance. Sam, stirred by the girl's cheery encouragement and tactful +confidence, held up his head sometimes now with a trace of his old +manliness, and had even been known to keep sober for two whole days at a +time. + +There did, indeed, seem nothing left to do for Patty, and Margaret found +herself with the old idleness on her hands. + +At Hilcrest Mrs. Merideth and her brothers were doing everything in +their power to make Margaret happy. They were frightened and dismayed at +the girl's "infatuation for that mill woman," as they termed Margaret's +interest in Patty; and they had ever before them the haunting vision of +the girl's childhood morbidness, which they so feared to see return. + +To the Spencers, happiness for Margaret meant pleasure, excitement, +and--as Ned expressed it--"something doing." At the first hint, then, of +leisure on the part of Margaret, these three vied with each other to +fill that leisure to the brim. + +Two or three guests were invited--just enough to break the monotony of +the familiar faces, though not enough to spoil the intimacy and render +outside interests easy. It was December, and too late for picnics, but +it was yet early in the month, and driving and motoring were still +possible, and even enjoyable. The goal now was not a lake or a mountain, +to be sure; but might be a not too distant city with a matinee or a +luncheon to give zest to the trip. + +Ned, in particular, was indefatigable in his efforts to please; and +Margaret could scarcely move that she did not find him at her elbow with +some suggestion for her gratification ranging all the way from a +dinner-party to a footstool. + +Margaret was not quite at ease about Ned. There was an exclusiveness in +his devotions, and a tenderness in his ministrations that made her a +little restless in his presence, particularly if she found herself alone +with him. Ned was her good friend--her comrade. She was very sure that +she did not wish him to be anything else; and if he should try to +be--there would be an end to the comradeship, at all events, if not to +the friendship. + +By way of defense against these possibilities she adopted a playful air +of whimsicality and fell to calling him the name by which he had +introduced himself on that first day when she had seen him at the head +of the hillside path--"Uncle Ned." She did not do this many times, +however, for one day he turned upon her a white face working with +emotion. + +"I am not your uncle," he burst out; and Margaret scarcely knew whether +to laugh or to cry, he threw so much tragedy into the simple words. + +"No?" she managed to return lightly. "Oh, but you said you were, you +know; and when a man says----" + +"But I say otherwise now," he cut in, leaning toward her until his +breath stirred the hair at her temples. "Margaret," he murmured +tremulously, "it's not 'uncle,'--but there's something else--a name +that----" + +"Oh, but I couldn't learn another," interrupted Margaret, with nervous +precipitation, as she rose hurriedly to her feet, "so soon as this, you +know! Why, you've just cast me off as a niece, and it takes time for me +to realize the full force of that blow," she finished gayly, as she +hurried away. + +In her own room she drew a deep breath of relief; but all day, and for +many days afterward, she was haunted by the hurt look in Ned's eyes as +she had turned away. It reminded her of the expression she had seen once +in the pictured eyes of a dog that had been painted by a great artist. +She remembered, too, the title of the picture: "Wounded in the house of +his friends," and it distressed her not a little; and yet--Ned was her +comrade and her very good friend, and that was what he must be. + +Not only this, however, caused Margaret restless days and troubled +nights: there were those children down in the mills--those little +children, nine, ten, twelve years old. It was too cold now to stay long +on the veranda; but there was many a day, and there were some nights, +when Margaret looked out of the east windows of Hilcrest and gazed with +fascinated, yet shrinking eyes at the mills. + +She was growing morbid--she owned that to herself. She knew nothing at +all of the mills, and she had never seen a child at work in them; yet +she pictured great black wheels relentlessly crushing out young lives, +and she recoiled from the touch of her trailing silks--they seemed alive +with shrunken little forms and wasted fingers. Day after day she turned +over in her mind the most visionary projects for stopping those wheels, +or for removing those children beyond their reach. Even though her eyes +might be on the merry throngs of a gay city street--her thoughts were +still back in the mill town with the children; and even though her body +might be flying from home at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour +in Frank's big six-cylinder Speeder, her real self was back at Hilcrest +with the mills always in sight. + +Once again she appealed to her guardian, but five minutes' talk showed +her the uselessness of anything she could say--it was true, she did not +_know_ anything about it. + +It was that very fact, perhaps, which first sent her thoughts in a new +direction. If, as was true, she did not know anything about it, how +better could she remedy the situation than by finding out something +about it? And almost instantly came the memory of her guardian's words: +"I suppose that that altogether too officious young McGinnis has been +asking your help for some of his schemes." + +Bobby knew. Bobby had schemes. Bobby was the one to help her. By all +means, she would send for Bobby! + +That night, in a cramped little room in one of the mill boarding-houses, +a square-jawed, gray-eyed young man received a note that sent the blood +in a tide of red to his face, and made his hands shake until the paper +in his long, sinewy fingers fluttered like an aspen leaf in a breeze. +Yet the note was very simple. It read: + +"Will you come, please, to see me to-morrow night? I want to ask some +questions about the children at the mills." + +And it was signed, "Margaret Kendall." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +With a relief which she did not attempt to hide from herself, Margaret +saw the male members of the family at Hilcrest leave early the next +morning on a trip from which they could not return until the next day; +and with a reluctance which she could not hide from either herself or +Mrs. Merideth, she said that afternoon: + +"Mr. McGinnis is coming to see me this evening, Aunt Della. I sent for +him. You know I am interested in the children at the mills, and I wanted +to ask him some questions." + +Mrs. Merideth was dumb with dismay. For some days Margaret's apparent +inactivity had lulled her into a feeling of security. And now, with her +brothers away, the blow which they had so dreaded for weeks had +fallen--McGinnis was coming. Summoning all her strength, Mrs. Merideth +finally managed to murmur a faint remonstrance that Margaret should +trouble herself over a matter that could not be helped; then with an +earnest request that Margaret should not commit herself to any foolish +promises, she fled to her own room, fearful lest, in her perturbation, +she should say something which she would afterward regret. + +When Miss Kendall came down-stairs at eight o'clock that night she found +waiting for her in the drawing-room--into which McGinnis had been shown +by her express orders--a young man whose dress, attitude, and expression +radiated impersonality and business, in spite of his sumptuous +surroundings. + +In directing that the young man should be shown into the drawing-room +instead of into the more informal library or living-room, Margaret had +vaguely intended to convey to him the impression that he was a +highly-prized friend, and as such was entitled to all honor; but she had +scarcely looked into the cold gray eyes, or touched the half-reluctantly +extended fingers before she knew that all such efforts had been without +avail. The young man had not come to pay a visit: he was an employee who +had obeyed the command of one in authority. + +McGinnis stood just inside the door, hat in hand. His face was white, +and his jaw stern-set. His manner was quiet, and his voice when he spoke +was steady. There was nothing about him to tell the girl--who was vainly +trying to thaw the stiff frigidity of his reserve--that he had spent all +day and half the night in lashing himself into just this manner that so +displeased her. + +"You sent for me?" he asked quietly. + +"Yes," smiled the girl. "And doesn't your conscience prick you, sir, +because I _had_ to send for you, when you should have come long ago of +your own accord to see me?" she demanded playfully, motioning him to a +seat. Then, before he could reply, she went on hurriedly: "I wanted to +see you very much. By something that Mr. Spencer said the other evening +I suspected that you were interested in the children who work in the +mills--particularly interested. And--you are?" + +"Yes, much interested." + +"And you know them--lots of them? You know their parents, and how they +live?" + +"Yes, I know them well--too well." He added the last softly, almost +involuntarily. + +The girl heard, and threw a quick look of sympathy into his eyes. + +"Good! You are just the one I want, then," she cried. "And you will help +me; won't you?" + +McGinnis hesitated. An eager light had leaped to his eyes. For a moment +he dared not speak lest his voice break through the lines of stern +control he had set for it. + +"I shall be glad to give you any help I can," he said at last, steadily; +"but Mr. Spencer, of course, knows----" he paused, leaving his sentence +unfinished. + +"But that is exactly it," interposed Margaret, earnestly. "Mr. Spencer +does not know--at least, he does not know personally about the mill +people, I mean. He told me long ago that you stood between him and them, +and had for a long time. It is you who must tell me." + +"Very well, I will do my best. Just what--do you want to know?" + +"Everything. And I want not only to be told, but to see for myself. I +want you to take me through the mills, and afterward I want to visit +some of the houses where the children live." + +"Miss Kendall!" The distressed consternation in the man's voice was +unmistakable. + +"Is it so bad as that?" questioned the girl. "You don't want me to see +all these things? All the more reason why I should, then! If conditions +are bad, help is needed; but before help can be effectual, or even given +at all, the conditions must be understood. That is what I mean to +do--understand the conditions. How many children are there employed in +the mills, please?" + +McGinnis hesitated. + +"Well, there are some--hundreds," he acknowledged. "Of course many of +them are twelve and fourteen and fifteen, and that is bad enough; but +there are others younger. You see the age limit of this state is lower +than some. Many parents bring their children here to live, so that they +can put them into the mills." + +Margaret shuddered. + +"Then it is true, as Patty said. There are children there nine and ten +years old!" + +"Yes, even younger than that, I fear. Only last week I turned away a man +who brought a puny little thing with a request for work. He swore she +was twelve. I'd hate to tell you how old--or rather, how young, she +really looked. I sent him home with a few remarks which I hope he will +remember. She was only one, however, out of many. I am not always able +to do what I would like to do in such cases--I am not the only man at the +mills. You must realize that." + +"Yes, I realize it, and I understand why you can't always do what you +wish. But just suppose you tell me now some of the things you would like +to do--if you could." And she smiled encouragement straight into his eyes +until in spite of his stern resolve he forgot himself and his +surroundings, and began to talk. + +Robert McGinnis was no silver-tongued orator, but he knew his subject, +and his heart was in it. For long months he had been battling alone +against the evils that had little by little filled his soul with horror. +Accustomed heretofore only to rebuffs and angry denunciations of his +"officious meddling," he now suddenly found a tenderly sympathetic ear +eagerly awaiting his story, and a pair of luminous blue eyes already +glistening with unshed tears. + +No wonder McGinnis talked, and talked well. He seemed to be speaking to +the Maggie of long ago--the little girl who stood ready and anxious to +"divvy up" with all the world. Then suddenly his eyes fell on the rich +folds of the girl's dress, and on the velvety pile of the rug beneath +her feet. + +"I have said too much," he broke off sharply, springing to his feet. "I +forgot myself." + +"On the contrary you have not said half enough," declared the girl, +rising too; "and I mean to go over the mills at once, if you'll be so +good as to take me. I'll let you know when. And come to see me again, +please--without being sent for," she suggested merrily, adding with a +pretty touch of earnestness: "We are a committee of two; and to do good +work the committee must meet!" + +McGinnis never knew exactly how he got home that night. The earth was +beneath him, but he did not seem to touch it. The sky was above him--he +was nearer that. But, in spite of this nearness, the stars seemed dim--he +was thinking of the light in a pair of glorious blue eyes. + +McGinnis told himself that it was because of his mill people--this +elation that possessed him. He was grateful that they had found a +friend. He did not ask himself later whether it was also because of his +mill people that he sat up until far into the morning, with his eyes +dreamily fixed on the note in his hand signed, "Margaret Kendall." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Frank Spencer found the mental atmosphere of Hilcrest in confusion when +he returned from his two days' trip. Margaret had repeated to Mrs. +Merideth the substance of what McGinnis had told her, drawing a vivid +picture of the little children wearing out their lives in plain sight of +the windows of Hilcrest. Mrs. Merideth had been shocked and dismayed, +though she hardly knew which she deplored the more--that such conditions +existed, or that Margaret should know of them. At Margaret's avowed +determination to go over the mills, and into the operatives' houses, she +lifted her hands in horrified protest, and begged her to report the +matter to the Woman's Guild, and leave the whole thing in charge of the +committee. + +"But don't you see that they can't reach the seat of the trouble?" +Margaret had objected. "Why, even that money which I intended for little +Maggie went into a general fund, and never reached its specified +destination." And Mrs. Merideth could only sigh and murmur: + +"But, my dear, it's so unnecessary and so dreadful for you to mix +yourself up personally with such people!" + +When her brother came home, Mrs. Merideth went to him. Frank was a man: +surely Frank could do something! But Frank merely grew white and stern, +and went off into his own den, shutting himself up away from everybody. +The next morning, after a fifteen minute talk with Margaret, he sought +his sister. His face was drawn into deep lines, and his eyes looked as +if he had not slept. + +"Say no more to Margaret," he entreated. "It is useless. She is her own +mistress, of course, in spite of her insistence that I am still her +guardian; and she must be allowed to do as she likes in this matter. +Make her home here happy, and do not trouble her. We must not make her +quite--hate us!" His voice broke over the last two words, and he was gone +before Mrs. Merideth could make any reply. + +Some twenty-four hours later, young McGinnis at the mills was summoned +to the telephone. + +"If you are not too busy," called a voice that sent a quick throb of joy +to the young man's pulse, "the other half of the committee would like to +begin work. May she come down to the mills this afternoon at three +o'clock?" + +"By all means!" cried McGinnis. "Come." He tried to say more, but while +he was searching for just the right words, the voice murmured, "Thank +you"; and then came the click of the receiver against the hook at the +other end of the line. + +The clock had not struck three that afternoon when Margaret was ushered +into the inner office of Spencer & Spencer. Only Frank was there, for +which Margaret was thankful. She avoided Ned these days when she could. +There was still that haunting reproach in his eyes whenever they met +hers. + +Frank was expecting her, and only a peculiar tightening of his lips +betrayed his disquietude as he turned to his desk and pressed the button +that would summon McGinnis to the office. + +"Miss Kendall would like to go over one of the mills," he said quietly, +as the young man entered, in response to his ring. "Perhaps you will be +her escort." + +Margaret gave her guardian a grateful look as she left the office. She +thought she knew just how much the calm acceptance of the situation had +cost him, and she appreciated his unflinching determination to give her +actions the sanction of his apparent consent. It was for this that she +gave him the grateful glance--but he did not see it. His head was turned +away. + +"And what shall I show you?" asked McGinnis, as the office door closed +behind them. + +"Everything you can," returned Margaret; "everything! But particularly +the children." + +From the first deafening click-clack of the rattling machines she drew +back in consternation. + +"They don't work there--the children!" she cried. + +For answer he pointed to a little girl not far away. She was standing on +a stool, that she might reach her work. Her face was thin and drawn +looking, with deep shadows under her eyes, and little hollows where the +roses should have been in her cheeks. Her hair was braided and wound +tightly about her small head, though at the temples and behind her ears +it kinked into rebellious curls that showed what it would like to do if +it had a chance. Her ragged little skirts were bound round and round +with a stout cord so that the hungry jaws of the machine might not snap +at any flying fold or tatter. She did not look up as Margaret paused +beside her. She dared not. Her eyes were glued to the whizzing, +whirring, clattering thing before her, watching for broken threads or +loose ends, the neglect of which might bring down upon her head a +snarling reprimand from "de boss" of her department. + +Margaret learned many things during the next two hours. Conversation was +not easy in the clattering din, but some few things her guide explained, +and a word or two spoke volumes sometimes. + +She saw what it meant to be a "doffer," a "reeler," a "silk-twister." +She saw what it might mean if the tiny hand that thrust the empty bobbin +over the buzzing spindle-point should slip or lose its skill. She saw a +little maid of twelve who earned two whole dollars a week, and she saw a +smaller girl of ten who, McGinnis said, was with her sister the only +support of an invalid mother at home. She saw more, much more, until her +mind refused to grasp details and the whole scene became one blurred +vision of horror. + +Later, after a brief rest--she had insisted upon staying--she saw the +"day-shift" swarm out into the chill December night, and the +"night-shift" come shivering in to take their places; and she grew faint +and sick when she saw among them the scores of puny little forms with +tired-looking faces and dragging feet. + +"And they're only beginning!" she moaned, as McGinnis hurried her away. +"And they've got to work all night--all night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Margaret did not sleep well in her lavender-scented sheets that night. +Always she heard the roar and the click-clack of the mills, and +everywhere she saw the weary little workers with their closely-bound +skirts, and their strained, anxious faces. + +She came down to breakfast with dark circles under her eyes, and she ate +almost nothing, to the great, though silent, distress of the family. + +The Spencers were alone now. There would be no more guests for a week, +then would come a merry half-dozen for the Christmas holidays. New +Year's was the signal for a general breaking up. The family seldom +stayed at Hilcrest long after that, though the house was not quite +closed, being always in readiness for the brothers when either one or +both came down for a week's business. + +It was always more or less of a debatable question--just where the family +should go. There was the town house in New York, frequently opened for a +month or two of gaiety; and there were the allurements of some Southern +resort, or of a trip abroad, to be considered. Sometimes it was merely a +succession of visits that occupied the first few weeks after New Year's, +particularly for Mrs. Merideth and Ned; and sometimes it was only a +quiet rest under some sunny sky entirely away from Society with a +capital S. The time was drawing near now for the annual change, and the +family were discussing the various possibilities when Margaret came into +the breakfast-room. They appealed to her at once, and asked her opinion +and advice--but without avail. There seemed to be not one plan that +interested her to the point of possessing either merits or demerits. + +"I am going down to Patty's," she said, a little hurriedly, to Mrs. +Merideth, when breakfast was over. "I got some names and addresses of +the mill children yesterday from Mr. McGinnis; and I shall ask Patty to +go with me to see them. I want to talk with the parents." + +"But, my dear, you don't know what you are doing," protested Mrs. +Merideth. "They are so rough--those people. Miss Alby, our visiting home +missionary, told me only last week how dreadful they were--so rude and +intemperate and--and ill-odored. She has been among them. She knows." + +"Yes; but don't you see?--those are the very people that need help, +then," returned Margaret, wearily. "They don't know what they are doing +to their little children, and I must tell them. I _must_ tell them. I +shall have Patty with me. Don't worry." And Mrs. Merideth could only +sigh and sigh again, and hurry away up-stairs to devise an altogether +more delightful plan for the winter months than any that had yet been +proposed--a plan so overwhelmingly delightful that Margaret could not +help being interested. Of one thing, however, Mrs. Merideth was +certain--if there was a place distant enough to silence the roar of the +mills in Margaret's ears, that place should be chosen if it were Egypt +itself. + +Patty Durgin hesitated visibly when Margaret told her what she wanted to +do, until Margaret exclaimed in surprise, and with a little reproach in +her voice: + +"Why, Patty, don't you want to help me?" + +"Yes, yes; you don't understand," protested Patty. "It ain't that. I +want ter do it all. If you have money for 'em, let me give it to 'em." + +Margaret was silent. Her eyes were still hurt, still rebellious. + +"I--I don't want you ter see them," stammered Patty, then. "I don't want +you ter feel so--so bad." + +Margaret's face cleared. + +"Oh, but I'm feeling bad now," she asserted cheerily; "and after I see +them I'll feel better. I want to talk to them; don't you see? They don't +realize what they are doing to their children to let them work so, and I +am going to tell them." + +Patty sighed. + +"Ye don't understand," she began, then stopped, her eyes on the +determined young face opposite. "All right, I'll go," she finished, but +she shivered a little as she spoke. + +And they did go, not only on that day, but on the next and the next. +Margaret almost forgot the mills, so filled was her vision with drunken +men, untidy women, wretched babies, and cheerless homes. + +Sometimes her presence and her questions were resented, and always they +were looked upon with distrust. Her money, if she gave that, was +welcome, usually; but her remonstrances and her warnings fell upon deaf, +if not angry, ears. And then Margaret perceived why Patty had said she +did not understand--there was no such thing as making a successful appeal +to the parents. She might have spared herself the effort. + +Sometimes she did not understand the words of the dark-browed men and +the slovenly women--there were many nationalities among the +operatives--but always she understood their black looks and their almost +threatening gestures. Occasionally, to be sure, she found a sick woman +or a discouraged man who welcomed her warmly, and who listened to her +and agreed with what she had to say; but with them there was always the +excuse of poverty--though their Sue and Bess and Teddy might not earn but +twenty, thirty, forty cents a day; yet that twenty, thirty, and forty +cents would buy meat and bread, and meant all the difference between a +full and an empty stomach, perhaps, for every member of the family, at +times. + +Margaret did what she could. She spent her time and her money without +stint, and went from house to house untiringly. She summoned young +McGinnis to her aid, and arranged for a monster Christmas tree to be +placed in the largest hall in town; and she herself ordered the books, +toys, candies, and games for it, besides the candles and tinsel stars to +make it a vision of delight to the weary little eyes all unaccustomed to +such glory. And yet, to Margaret it seemed that nothing that she did +counted in the least against the much there was to be done. It was as if +a child with a teaspoon and a bowl of sand were set to filling up a big +chasm: her spoonful of sand had not even struck bottom in that pit of +horror! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +The house-party at Hilcrest was not an entire success that Christmas. +Even the guests felt a subtle something in the air that was not +conducive to ease; while Mrs. Merideth and her brothers were plainly +fighting a losing contest against a restlessness that sent a haunting +fear to their eyes. + +Margaret, though scrupulously careful to show every attention to the +guests that courtesy demanded, was strangely quiet, and not at all like +the merry, high-spirited girl that most of them knew. Brandon, who was +again at the house, sought her out one day, and said low in her ear: + +"If it were June and not December, and if we were out in the auto +instead of here by the fire, I'm wondering; would I need to--watch out +for those brakes?" + +The girl winced. + +"No, no," she cried; "never! I think I should simply crawl for fear that +under the wheels somewhere would be a child, a dog, a chicken, or even a +helpless worm--something that moved and that I might hurt. There is +already so much--suffering!" + +Brandon laughed uneasily and drew back, a puzzled frown on his face. He +had not meant that she should take his jest so seriously. + +It was on the day after New Year's, when all the guests had gone, that +Margaret once more said to her guardian that she wished to speak to him, +and on business. Frank Spencer told himself that he was used to this +sort of thing now, and that he was resigned to the inevitable; but his +eyes were troubled, and his lips were close-shut as he motioned the girl +to precede him into the den. + +"I thought I ought to tell you," she began, plunging into her subject +with an abruptness that betrayed her nervousness, "I thought I ought to +tell you at once that I--I cannot go with you when you all go away next +week." + +"You cannot go with us!" + +"No. I must stay here." + +"Here! Why, Margaret, child, that is impossible!--here in this great +house with only the servants?" + +"No, no, you don't understand; not here at Hilcrest. I shall be down in +the town--with Patty." + +"Margaret!" The man was too dismayed to say more. + +"I know, it seems strange to you, of course" rejoined the girl, hastily; +"but you will see--you will understand when I explain. I have thought of +it in all its bearings, and it is the only way. I could not go with you +and sing and laugh and dance, and all the while remember that my people +back here were suffering." + +"Your people! Dear child, they are not your people nor my people; they +are their own people. They come and go as they like. If not in my mills, +they work in some other man's mills. You are not responsible for their +welfare. Besides, you have already done more for their comfort and +happiness than any human being could expect of you!" + +"I know, but you do not understand. It is in a peculiar way that they +are my people--not because they are here, but because they are poor and +unhappy." Margaret hesitated, and then went on, her eyes turned away +from her guardian's face. "I don't know as I can make you understand--as +I do. There are people, lots of them, who are generous and kind to the +poor. But they are on one side of the line, and the poor are on the +other. They merely pass things over the line--they never go themselves. +And that is all right. They could not cross the line if they wanted to, +perhaps. They would not know how. All their lives they have been +surrounded with tender care and luxury; they do not know what it means +to be hungry and cold and homeless. They do not know what it means to +fight the world alone with only empty hands." + +Margaret paused, her eyes still averted; then suddenly she turned and +faced the man sitting in silent dismay at the desk. + +"Don't you see?" she cried. "I _have_ crossed the line. I crossed it +long ago when I was a little girl. I do know what it means to be hungry +and cold and homeless. I do know what it means to fight the world with +only two small empty hands. In doing for these people I am doing for my +own. They are my people." + +For a moment there was silence in the little room. To the man at the +desk the bottom seemed suddenly to have dropped out of his world. For +some time it had been growing on him--the knowledge of how much the +presence of this fair-haired, winsome girl meant to him. It came to him +now with the staggering force of a blow in the face--and she was going +away. To Frank Spencer the days suddenly stretched ahead in empty +uselessness--there seemed to be nothing left worth while. + +"But, my dear Margaret," he said at last, unsteadily, "we tried--we all +tried to make you forget those terrible days. You were so keenly +sensitive--they weighed too heavily on your heart. You--you were morbid, +my dear." + +"I know," she said. "I understand better now. Every one tried to +interest me, to amuse me, to make me forget. I was kept from everything +unpleasant, and from everybody that suffered. It comes to me very +vividly now, how careful every one was that I should know of only +happiness." + +"We wanted you to forget." + +"But I never did forget--quite. Even when years and years had passed, and +I could go everywhere and see all the beautiful things and places I had +read about, and when I was with my friends, there was always something, +somewhere, behind things. Those four years in New York were vague and +elusive, as time passed. They seemed like a dream, or like a life that +some one else had lived. But I know now; they were not a dream, and they +were not a life that some one else lived. They were my life. I lived +them myself. Don't you see--now?" Margaret's eyes were luminous with +feeling. Her lips trembled; but her face glowed with a strange +exaltation of happiness. + +"But what--do you mean--to do?" faltered the man. + +Margaret flushed and leaned forward eagerly. + +"I am going to do all that I can, and I hope it will be a great deal. I +am going down there to live." + +"To live--not to live, child!" + +"Yes. Oh, I _know_ now," she went on hurriedly. "I have been among them. +Some are wicked and some are thoughtless, but all of them need teaching. +I am going to live there among them, to show them the better way." + +The man at the desk left his chair abruptly. He walked over to the +window and looked out. The moon shone clear and bright in the sky. Down +in the valley the countless gleaming windows and the tall black chimneys +showed where the mill-workers still toiled--those mill-workers whom the +man had come almost to hate: it was because of them that Margaret was +going! He turned slowly and walked back to the girl. + +"Margaret," he began in a voice that shook a little, "I had not thought +to speak of this--at least, not now. Perhaps it would be better if I +never spoke of it; but I am almost forced to say it now. I can't let you +go like this, and not--know. I must make one effort to keep you.... If +you knew that there was some one here who loved you--who loved you with +the whole strength of his being, and if you knew that to him your going +meant everything that was loneliness and grief, would you--could +you--stay?" + +Margaret started. She would not look into the eyes that were so +earnestly seeking hers. It was of Ned, of course, that he was speaking. +Of that she was sure. In some way he had discovered Ned's feeling for +her, had perhaps even been asked to plead his cause with her. + +"Did you ever think," began Spencer again, softly, "did you ever think +that if you did stay, you might find even here some one to whom you +could show--the better way? That even here you might do all these things +you long to do, and with some one close by your side to help you?" + +Margaret thought of Ned, of his impulsiveness, his light-heartedness, +his utter want of sympathy with everything she had been doing the last +few weeks; and involuntarily she shuddered. Spencer saw the sensitive +quiver and drew back, touched to the quick. Margaret struggled to her +feet. + +"No, no," she cried, still refusing to meet his eyes. "I--I cannot stay. +I am sorry, believe me, to give you pain; but I--I cannot stay!" And she +hurried from the room. + +The man dropped back in his chair, his face white. + +"She does not love me, and no wonder," he sighed bitterly; and he went +over word by word what had been said, though even then he did not find +syllable or gesture that told him the truth--that she supposed him merely +to be playing John Alden to his brother's Miles Standish. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The household at Hilcrest did not break up as early as usual that year. +A few days were consumed in horrified remonstrances and tearful +pleadings on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned when Margaret's plans +became known. Then several more days were needed for necessary +arrangements when the stoical calm of despair had brought something like +peace to the family. + +"It is not so dreadful at all," Margaret had assured them. "I have taken +a large house not far from the mills, and I am having it papered and +painted and put into very comfortable shape. Patty and her family will +live with me, and we are going to open classes in simple little things +that will help toward better living." + +"But that is regular settlement work," sighed Mrs. Merideth. + +"Is it?" smiled Margaret, a little wearily. "Well, perhaps it is. +Anyway, I hope that just the presence of one clean, beautiful home among +them will do some good. I mean to try it, at all events." + +"But are you going to do nothing but that all the time--just teach those +dreadful creatures, and--and live there?" + +"Certainly not," declared Margaret, with a bright smile. "I've planned a +trip to New York." + +"To New York?" Mrs. Merideth sat up suddenly, her face alight. "Oh, that +will be fine--lovely! Why didn't you tell us? Poor dear, you'll need a +rest all right, I'm thinking, and we'll keep you just as long as we can, +too." With lightning rapidity Mrs. Merideth had changed their plans--in +her mind. They would go to New York, not Egypt. Egypt had seemed +desirable, but if Margaret was going to New York, that altered the case. + +"Oh, but I thought you weren't going to New York," laughed Margaret. +"Besides--I'm going with Patty." + +"With Patty!" If it had not been tragical it would have been +comical--Mrs. Merideth's shocked recoil at the girl's words. + +"Yes. After we get everything nicely to running--we shall have teachers +to help us, you know--Patty and I are going to New York to see if we +can't find her sisters, Arabella and Clarabella." + +"What absurd names!" Mrs. Merideth spoke sharply. In reality she had no +interest whether they were, or were not absurd; but they chanced at the +moment to be a convenient scapegoat for her anger and discomfiture. + +"Patty doesn't think them absurd," laughed Margaret. "She would tell you +that she named them herself out of a 'piece of a book' she found in the +ash barrel long ago when they were children. You should hear Patty say +it really to appreciate it. She used to preface it by some such remark +as: 'Names ain't like measles an' relations, ye know. Ye don't have ter +have 'em if ye don't want 'em--you can change 'em.'" + +"Ugh!" shuddered Mrs. Merideth. "Margaret, how can you--laugh!" + +"Why, it's funny, I think," laughed Margaret again, as she turned away. + +Even the most urgent entreaties on the part of Margaret failed to start +the Spencers on their trip, and not until she finally threatened to make +the first move herself and go down to the town, did they consent to go. + +"But that absurd house of yours isn't ready yet," protested Mrs. +Merideth. + +"I know, but I shall stay with Patty until it is," returned Margaret. "I +would rather wait until you go, as you seem so worried about the +'break,' as you insist upon calling it; but if you won't, why I must, +that is all. I must be there to superintend matters." + +"Then I suppose I shall have to go," moaned Mrs. Merideth, "for I simply +will not have you leave us here and go down there to live; and I shall +tell everybody, _everybody_," she added firmly, "that it is merely for +this winter, and that we allowed you to do it only on that one +condition." + +Margaret smiled, but she made no comment--it was enough to fight present +battles without trying to win future ones. + +On the day the rest of the family left Hilcrest, Margaret moved to +Patty's little house on the Hill road. Her tiny room up under the eaves +looked woefully small and inconvenient to eyes that were accustomed to +luxurious Hilcrest; and the supper--which to Patty was sumptuous in the +extravagance she had allowed herself in her visitor's honor--did not +tempt her appetite in the least. She told herself, however, that all +this was well and good; and she ate the supper and laid herself down +upon the hard bed with an exaltation that rendered her oblivious to +taste and feeling. + +In due time the Mill House, as Margaret called her new home, was ready +for occupancy, and the family moved in. Naming the place had given +Margaret no little food for thought. + +"I want something simple and plain," she had said to Patty; "something +that the people will like, and feel an interest in. But I don't want any +'Refuges' or 'Havens' or 'Rests' or 'Homes' about it. It is a home, but +not the kind that begins with a capital letter. It is just one of the +mill houses." + +"Well, why don't ye call it the 'Mill House,' then, an' done with it?" +demanded Patty. + +"Patty, you're a genius! I will," cried Margaret. And the "Mill House" +it was from that day. + +Margaret's task was not an easy one. Both she and her house were looked +upon with suspicion, and she had some trouble in finding the two or +three teachers of just the right sort to help her. Even when she had +found these teachers and opened her classes in sewing, cooking, and the +care of children, only a few enrolled themselves as pupils. + +"Never mind," said Margaret, "we shall grow. You'll see!" + +The mill people, however, were not the only ones that learned something +during the next few months. Margaret herself learned much. She learned +that while there were men who purposely idled their time away and drank +up their children's hard-earned wages, there were others who tramped the +streets in vain in search of work. + +"I hain't got nothin' ter do yit, Miss," one such said to Margaret, in +answer to her sympathetic inquiries. "But thar ain't a boss but what +said if I'd got kids I might send them along. They was short o' kids. I +been tryin' ter keep Rosy an' Katy ter school. I was cal'latin' ter make +somethin' of 'em more'n their dad an' their mammy is: but I reckon as +how I'll have ter set 'em ter work." + +"Oh, but you mustn't," remonstrated Margaret. "That would spoil +everything. Don't you see that you mustn't? They must go to school--get +an education." + +The man gazed at her with dull eyes. + +"They got ter eat--first," he said. + +"Yes, yes, I know," interposed Margaret, eagerly. "I understand all +that, and I'll help about that part. I'll give you money until you get +something to do." + +A sudden flash came into the man's eyes. His shoulders straightened. + +"Thank ye, Miss. We be n't charity folks." And he turned away. + +A week later Margaret learned that Rosy and Katy were out of school. +When she looked them up she found them at work in the mills. + +This matter of the school question was a great puzzle to Margaret. Very +early in her efforts she had sought out the public school-teachers, and +asked their help and advice. She was appalled at the number of children +who appeared scarcely to understand that there was such a thing as +school. This state of affairs she could not seem to remedy, however, in +spite of her earnest efforts. The parents, in many cases, were +indifferent, and the children more so. Some of the children in the +mills, indeed, were there solely--according to the parents' +version--because they could not "get on" in school. Conscious that there +must be a school law, Margaret went vigorously to work to find and +enforce it. Then, and not until then, did she realize the seriousness of +even this one phase of the problem she had undertaken to solve. + +There were other phases, too. It was not always poverty, Margaret found, +that was responsible for setting the children to work. Sometimes it was +ambition. There were men who could not even speak the language of their +adopted country intelligibly, yet who had ever before them the one end +and aim--money. To this end and aim were sacrificed all the life and +strength of whatever was theirs. The minute such a man's boys and girls +were big enough and tall enough to be "sworn in" he got the papers and +set them to work; and never after that, as long as they could move one +dragging little foot after the other, did they cease to pour into the +hungry treasury of his hand the pitiful dimes and pennies that +represented all they knew of childhood. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +The winter passed and the spring came. The Mill House, even to the most +skeptical observer, showed signs of being a success. Even already a +visible influence had radiated from its shining windows and orderly +yard; and the neighboring houses, with their obvious attempt at +"slickin' up," reminded one of a small boy who has been told to wash his +face, for company was coming. The classes boasted a larger attendance, +and the stomachs and the babies of many a family in the town were +feeling the beneficial results of the lessons. + +To Margaret, however, the whole thing seemed hopelessly small: there was +so much to do, so little done! She was still the little girl with the +teaspoon and the bowl of sand; and the chasm yawned as wide as ever. To +tell the truth, Margaret was tired, discouraged, and homesick. For +months her strength, time, nerves, and sympathies had been taxed to the +utmost; and now that there had come a breathing space, when the +intricate machinery of her scheme could run for a moment without her +hand at the throttle, she was left weak and nerveless. She was, in fact, +perilously near a breakdown. + +Added to all this, she was lonely. More than she would own to herself +she missed her friends, her home life at Hilcrest, and the tender care +and sympathetic interest that had been lavished upon her for so many +years. Here she was the head, the strong tower of defense, the one to +whom everybody came with troubles, perplexities, and griefs. There was +no human being to whom she could turn for comfort. They all looked to +her. Even Bobby McGinnis, when she saw him at all--which was +seldom--treated her with a frigid deference that was inexpressibly +annoying to her. + +From the Spencers she heard irregularly. Earlier in the winter the +letters had been more frequent: nervously anxious epistles of some +length from Mrs. Merideth; stilted notes, half protesting, half +pleading, from Ned; and short, but wonderfully sympathetic +communications from Frank. Later Frank had fallen very ill with a fever +of some sort, and Mrs. Merideth and Ned had written only hurried little +bulletins from the sick-room. Then had come the good news that Frank was +out of danger, though still far too weak to undertake the long journey +home. Their letters showed unmistakably their impatience at the delay, +and questioned her as to her health and welfare, but could set no date +for their return. Frank, in particular, was disturbed, they said. He had +not planned to leave either herself or the mills so long, it being his +intention when he went away merely to take a short trip with his sister +and brother, and then hurry back to America alone. As for Frank +himself--he had not written her since his illness. + +Margaret was thinking of all this, and was feeling specially forlorn as +she sat alone in the little sitting-room at the Mill House one evening +in early April. She held a book before her, but she was not reading; and +she looked up at once when Patty entered the room. + +"I'm sorry ter trouble ye," began Patty, hesitatingly, "but Bobby +McGinnis is here an' wanted me ter ask ye----" + +Margaret raised an imperious hand. + +"That's all right, Patty," she said so sharply that Patty opened wide +her eyes; "but suppose you just ask Bobby McGinnis to come here to me +and ask his question direct. I will see him now." And Patty, wondering +vaguely what had come to her gentle-eyed, gentle-voiced mistress--as she +insisted upon calling Margaret--fled precipitately. + +Two minutes later Bobby McGinnis himself stood tall and straight just +inside the door. + +"You sent for me?" he asked. + +Margaret sprang to her feet. All the pent loneliness of the past weeks +and months burst forth in a stinging whip of retort. + +"Yes, I sent for you." She paused, but the man did not speak, and in a +moment she went on hurriedly, feverishly. "I always send for you--if I +see you at all, and yet you know how hard I'm trying to help these +people, and that you are the only one here that can help me." + +She paused again, and again the man was silent. + +"Don't you know what I'm trying to do?" she asked. + +"Yes." The lips closed firmly over the single word. + +"Didn't I ask you to help me? Didn't I appoint us a committee of two to +do the work?" Her voice shook, and her chin trembled like that of a +grieved child. + +"Yes." Again that strained, almost harsh monosyllable. + +Margaret made an impatient gesture. + +"Bobby McGinnis, why don't you help me?" she demanded, tearfully. "Why +do you stand aloof and send to me? Why don't you come to me frankly and +freely, and tell me the best way to deal with these people?" + +There was no answer. The man had half turned his face so that only his +profile showed clean-cut and square-chinned against the close-shut door. + +"Don't you know that I am alone here--that I have no friends but you and +Patty?" she went on tremulously. "Do you think it kind of you to let me +struggle along alone like this? Sometimes it seems almost as if you were +afraid----" + +"I am afraid," cut in a voice shaken with emotion. + +"Bobby!" breathed Margaret in surprised dismay, falling back before the +fire in the eyes that suddenly turned and flashed straight into hers. +"Why, Bobby!" + +If the man heard, he did not heed. The bonds of his self-control had +snapped, and the torrent of words came with a force that told how great +had been the pressure. He had stepped forward as she fell back, and his +eyes still blazed into hers. + +"I _am_ afraid--I'm afraid of myself," he cried. "I don't dare to trust +myself within sight of your dear eyes, or within touch of your dear +hands--though all the while I'm hungry for both. Perhaps I do let you +send for me, instead of coming of my own free will; but I'm never +without the thought of you, and the hope of catching somewhere a glimpse +of even your dress. Perhaps I do stand aloof; but many's the night I've +walked the street outside, watching the light at your window, and many's +the night I've not gone home until dawn lest some harm come to the woman +I loved so--good God! what am I saying!" he broke off hoarsely, dropping +his face into his hands, and sinking into the chair behind him. + +Over by the table Margaret stood silent, motionless, her eyes on the +bowed figure of the man before her. Gradually her confused senses were +coming into something like order. Slowly her dazed thoughts were taking +shape. + +It was her own fault. She had brought this thing upon herself. She +should have seen--have understood. And now she had caused all this sorrow +to this dear friend of her childhood--the little boy who had befriended +her when she was alone and hungry and lost.... But, after all, why +should he not love her? And why should she not--love him? He was good and +true and noble, and for years he had loved her--she remembered now their +childish compact, and she bitterly reproached herself for not thinking +of it before--it might have saved her this.... Still, did she want to +save herself this? Was it not, after all, the very best thing that could +have happened? Where, and how could she do more good in the world than +right here with this strong, loving heart to help her?... She loved him, +too--she was sure she did--though she had never realized it before. +Doubtless that was half the cause of her present restlessness and +unhappiness--she had loved him all the time, and did not know it! Surely +there was no one in the world who could so wisely help her in her dear +work. Of course she loved him! + +Very softly Margaret crossed the room and touched the man's shoulder. + +"Bobby, I did not understand--I did not know," she said gently. "You +won't have to stay away--any more." + +"Won't have to--stay--away!" The man was on his feet, incredulous wonder +in his eyes. + +"No. We--we will do it together--this work." + +"But you don't mean--you can't mean----" McGinnis paused, his breath +suspended. + +"But I do," she answered, the quick red flying to her cheeks. Then, half +laughing, half crying, she faltered: "And--and I shouldn't think you'd +make--_me_ ask--_you_!" + +"Margaret!" choked the man, as he fell on his knees and caught the +girl's two hands to his lips. + +[Illustration: "MARGARET CROSSED THE ROOM AND TOUCHED THE MAN'S +SHOULDER."] + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Ned Spencer returned alone to Hilcrest about the middle of April. In +spite of their able corps of managers, the Spencers did not often leave +the mills for so long a time without the occasional presence of one or +the other of the firm, though Ned frequently declared that the mills +were like a clock that winds itself, so admirably adjusted was the +intricate machinery of their management. + +It was not without some little embarrassment and effort that Ned sought +out the Mill House, immediately upon his return, and called on Margaret. + +"I left Della and Frank to come more slowly," he said, after the +greetings were over. "Frank, poor chap, isn't half strong yet, but he +was impatient that some one should be here. For that matter, I found +things in such fine shape that I told them I was going away again. We +made more money when I wasn't 'round than when I was!" + +Margaret smiled, but very faintly. She understood only too well that +behind all this lay the reasons why her urgent requests and pleas +regarding some of the children, had been so ignored in the office of +Spencer & Spencer during the last few months. She almost said as much to +Ned, but she changed her mind and questioned him about Frank's health +and their trip, instead. + +The call was not an unqualified success--at least it was not a success so +far as Margaret was concerned. The young man was plainly displeased with +the cane-seated chair in which he sat, and with his hostess's simple +toilet. The reproachful look had gone from his eyes, it was true, but in +its place was one of annoyed disapproval that was scarcely less +unpleasant to encounter. There were long pauses in the conversation, +which neither participant seemed able to fill. Once Margaret tried to +tell her visitor of her work, but he was so clearly unsympathetic that +she cut it short and introduced another subject. Of McGinnis she did not +speak; time enough for that when Frank Spencer should return and the +engagement would have to be known. She did tell him, however, of her +plans to go to New York later in search of the twins. + +"I shall take Patty with me," she explained, "and we shall make it a +sort of vacation. We both need the change and the--well, it won't be +exactly a rest, perhaps." + +"No, I fear not," Ned returned grimly. "I do hope, Margaret, that when +Della gets home you'll take a real rest and change at Hilcrest. Surely +by that time you'll be ready to cut loose from all this sort of thing!" + +Margaret laughed merrily, though her eyes were wistful. + +"We'll wait and see how rested New York makes me," she said. + +"But, Margaret, you surely are going to come to Hilcrest then," appealed +Ned, "whether you need rest or not!" + +"We'll see, Ned, we'll see," was all she would say, but this time her +voice had lost its merriment. + +Ned, though he did not know it, and though Margaret was loth to +acknowledge it even to herself, had touched upon a tender point. She did +long for Hilcrest, its rest, its quiet, and the tender care that its +people had always given her. She longed for even one day in which she +would have no problems to solve, no misery to try to alleviate--one day +in which she might be the old care-free Margaret. She reproached herself +bitterly for all this, however, and accused herself of being false to +her work and her dear people; but in the next breath she would deny the +accusation and say that it was only because she was worn out and "dead +tired." + +"When the people do get home," she said to Bobby McGinnis one day, "when +the people do get home, we'll take a rest, you and I. We'll go up to +Hilcrest and just play for a day or two. It will do us good." + +"To Hilcrest?--I?" cried the man. + +"Certainly; why not?" returned Margaret quickly, a little disturbed at +the surprise in her lover's voice. "Surely you don't think that the man +I'm expecting to marry can stay away from Hilcrest; do you?" + +"N-no, of course not," murmured McGinnis; but his eyes were troubled, +and Margaret noticed that he did not speak again for some time. + +It was this, perhaps, that set her own thoughts into a new channel. +When, after all, had she thought of them before together--Bobby and +Hilcrest? It had always been Bobby and--the work. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +It was on a particularly beautiful morning in June that Margaret and +Patty started for New York--so beautiful that Margaret declared it to be +a good omen. + +"We'll find them--you'll see!" she cried. + +Little Maggie had been left at the Mill House with the teachers, and for +the first time for years Patty found herself care-free, and at liberty +to enjoy herself to the full. + +"I hain't had sech a grand time since I was a little girl an' went ter +Mont-Lawn," she exulted, as the train bore them swiftly toward their +destination. "Even when Sam an' me was married we didn't stop fur no +play-day. We jest worked. An' say, did ye see how grand Sam was doin' +now?" she broke off jubilantly. "He wa'n't drunk once last week! Thar +couldn't no one made him do it only you. Seems how I never could thank +ye fur all you've done," she added wistfully. + +"But you do thank me, Patty, every day of your life," contended +Margaret, brightly. "You thank me by just helping me as you do at the +Mill House." + +"Pooh! As if that was anything compared ter what you does fur me," +scoffed Patty. "'Sides, don't I git pay--money, fur bein' matron?" + +In New York Margaret went immediately to a quiet, but conveniently +located hotel, where the rooms she had engaged were waiting for them. To +Patty even this unpretentious hostelry was palatial, as were the service +and the dinner in the great dining-room that evening. + +"I don't wonder folks likes ter be rich," she observed after a silent +survey of the merry, well-dressed throng about her. "I s'pose mebbe Mis' +Magoon'd say this was worse than them autymobiles she hates ter see so; +an' it don't look quite--fair; does it? I wonder now, do ye s'pose any +one of 'em ever thought of--divvyin' up?" + +A dreamy, far-away look came into the blue eyes opposite. + +"Perhaps! who knows?" murmured Margaret. "Still, _they_ haven't +ever--crossed the line, perhaps, so they don't--_know_." + +"Huh?" + +Margaret smiled. + +"Nothing, Patty. I only meant that they hadn't lived in Mrs. Whalen's +kitchen and kept all their wealth in a tin cup." + +"No, they hain't," said Patty, her eyes on the sparkle of a diamond on +the plump white finger of a woman near by. + +Margaret and Patty lost no time the next morning in beginning their +search for the twins. There was very little, after all, that Patty knew +of her sisters since she had last seen them; but that little was +treasured and analyzed and carefully weighed. The twins were at the +Whalens' when last heard from. The Whalens, therefore, must be the first +ones to be looked up; and to the Whalens--as represented by the address +in Clarabella's last letter--the searchers proposed immediately to go. + +"An' ter think that you was bein' looked fur jest like this once," +remarked Patty, as they turned the corner of a narrow, dingy street. + +"Poor dear mother! how she must have suffered," murmured Margaret, her +eyes shrinking from the squalor and misery all about them. "I think +perhaps never until now did I realize it--quite," she added softly, her +eyes moist with tears. + +"Ye see the Whalens ain't whar they was when you left 'em in that nice +place you got fur 'em," began Patty, after a moment, consulting the +paper in her hand. "They couldn't keep that, 'course; but Clarabella +wrote they wa'n't more'n one or two blocks from the Alley." + +"The Alley! Oh, how I should love to see the Alley!" cried Margaret. +"And we will, Patty; we'll go there surely before we return home. But +first we'll find the Whalens and the twins." + +The Whalens and the twins, however, did not prove to be so easily found. +They certainly were not at the address given in Clarabella's letter. The +place was occupied by strangers--people who had never heard the name of +Whalen. It took two days of time and innumerable questions to find +anybody in the neighborhood, in fact, who had heard the name of Whalen; +but at last patience and diligence were rewarded, and early on the third +morning Margaret and Patty started out to follow up a clew given them by +a woman who had known the Whalens and who remembered them well. + +Even this, however, promising as it was, did not lead to immediate +success, and it was not until the afternoon of the fifth day that +Margaret and Patty toiled up four flights of stairs and found a little +bent old woman sitting in a green satin-damask chair that neither +Margaret nor Patty could fail to recognize. + +"Do I remember 'Maggie'? 'Mag of the Alley'?" quavered the old woman +excitedly in response to Margaret's questions. "Sure, an' of course I +do! She was the tirror of the hull place till she was that turned about +that she got ter be a blissed angel straight from Hiven. As if I could +iver forgit th' swate face of Mag of the Alley!" + +"Oh, but you have," laughed Margaret, "for I myself am she." + +"Go 'way wid ye, an' ye ain't that now!" cried the old woman, peering +over and through her glasses, and finally snatching them off altogether. + +"But I am. And this is Mrs. Durgin, who used to be Patty Murphy. Don't +you remember Patty Murphy?" + +Mrs. Whalen fell back in her chair. + +"Saints of Hiven, an' is it the both of yez, all growed up ter be sich +foine young ladies as ye be? Who'd 'a' thought it!" + +"It is, and we've come to you for help," rejoined Margaret. "Do you +remember Patty Murphy's sisters, the twins? We are trying to find them, +and we thought perhaps you could tell us where they are." + +Mrs. Whalen shook her head. + +"I knows 'em, but I don't know whar they be now." + +"But you did know," interposed Patty. "You must 'a' known four--five +years ago, for my little Maggie was jest born when the twins come ter +New York an' found ye. They wrote how they was livin' with ye." + +The old woman nodded her head. + +"I know," she said, "I know. We was livin' over by the Alley. But they +didn't stay. My old man he died an' we broke up. Sure, an' I'm nothin' +but a wanderer on the face of the airth iver since, an' I'm grown old +before my time, I am." + +"But, Mrs. Whalen, just think--just remember," urged Margaret. "Where did +they go? Surely you can tell that." + +Again Mrs. Whalen shook her head. + +"Mike died, an' Tom an' Mary, they got married, an' Jamie, sure an' he +got his leg broke an' they tuk him ter the horspital--bad cess to 'em! +An' 'twas all that upsettin' that I didn't know nothin' what did happen. +I seen 'em--then I didn't seen 'em; an' that's all thar was to it. An' +it's the truth I'm a-tellin' yez." + +It was with heavy hearts that Margaret and Patty left the little attic +room half an hour later. They had no clew now upon which to work, and +the accomplishment of their purpose seemed almost impossible. + +In the little attic room behind them, however, they left nothing but +rejoicing. Margaret's gifts had been liberal, and her promises for the +future even more than that. The little bent old woman could look +straight ahead now to days when there would be no bare cupboards and +empty coal scuttles to fill her soul with apprehension, and her body +with discomfort. + +Back to the hotel went Margaret and Patty for a much-needed night's +rest, hoping that daylight and the morning sun would urge them to new +efforts, and give them fresh courage, in spite of the unpromising +outlook. Nor were their hopes unfulfilled. The morning sun did bring +fresh courage; and, determined to make a fresh start, they turned their +steps to the Alley. + +The Alley never forgot that visit, nor the days that immediately +followed it. There were men and women who remembered Mag of the Alley +and Patty Murphy; but there were more who did not. There were none, +however, that did not know who they were before the week was out, and +that had not heard the story of Margaret's own childhood's experience in +that same Alley years before. + +As for the Alley--it did not know itself. It had heard, to be sure, of +Christmas. It had even experienced it, in a way, with tickets for a +Salvation Army tree or dinner. But all this occurred in the winter when +it was cold and snowy; and it was spring now. It was not Christmas, of +course; and yet-- + +The entire Alley from one end to the other was flooded with good things +to eat, and with innumerable things to wear. There was not a child that +did not boast a new toy, nor a sick room that did not display fruit and +flowers. Even the cats and the dogs stopped their fighting, and lay +full-stomached and content in the sun. No wonder the Alley rubbed its +eyes and failed to recognize its own face! + +The Alley received, but did not give. Nowhere was there a trace of the +twins; and after a two weeks' search, and a fruitless following of clews +that were no clews at all, even Margaret was forced sorrowfully to +acknowledge defeat. + +On the evening before the day they had set to go home, Patty timidly +said: + +"I hadn't oughter ask it, after all you've done; but do ye s'pose--could +we mebbe jest--jest go ter Mont-Lawn fur a minute, jest ter look at it?" + +"Mont-Lawn?" + +"Yes. We was so happy thar, once," went on Patty, earnestly. "You an' me +an' the twins. I hain't never forgot it, nor what they learnt me thar. +All the good thar was in me till you come was from them. I thought mebbe +if I could jest see it once 'twould make it easier 'bout the other--that +we can't find the twins ye know." + +"See it? Of course we'll see it," cried Margaret. "I should love to go +there myself. You know I owe it--everything, too." + +It was not for home, therefore, that Margaret and Patty left New York +the next morning, but for Mont-Lawn. The trip to Tarrytown and across +the Hudson was soon over, as was the short drive in the fresh morning +air. Almost before the two travelers realized where they were, the +beautiful buildings and grounds of Mont-Lawn appeared before their eyes. + +Margaret had only to tell that they, too, had once been happy little +guests in the years gone by, to make their welcome a doubly cordial one; +and it was not long before they were wandering about the place with eyes +and ears alert for familiar sights and sounds. + +In the big pavilion where their own hungry little stomachs had been +filled, were now numerous other little stomachs experiencing the same +delight; and in the long dormitories where their own tired little bodies +had rested were the same long rows of little white beds waiting for +other weary little limbs and heads. Margaret's eyes grew moist here as +she thought of that dear mother who years before had placed over just +such a little bed the pictured face of her lost little girl, and of how +that same little girl had seen it and had thus found the dear mother +arms waiting for her. + +It was just as Margaret and Patty turned to leave the grounds that they +saw a young woman not twenty feet away, leading two small children. +Patty gave a sudden cry. The next moment she bounded forward and caught +the young woman by the shoulders. + +"Clarabella, Clarabella--I jest know you're Clarabella Murphy!" + +It was a joyous half-hour then, indeed--a half-hour of tears, laughter, +questions, and ejaculations. At the end of it Margaret and Patty hurried +away with a bit of paper on which was the address of a certain city +missionary. + +All the way back to New York they talked it over--the story of the twins' +life during all those years; of how after months of hardship, they had +found the good city missionary, and of how she had helped them, and they +had helped her, until now Clarabella had gone to Mont-Lawn as one of the +caretakers for the summer, and Arabella had remained behind at the +missionary's home to help what she could in the missionary's daily work. + +"And we'll go now and see Arabella!" cried Patty, as they stepped from +the train at New York. "An' ain't it jest wonderful--wonderful ter think +that we are a-goin' ter see Arabella!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +When Margaret and Patty went home three days later they were accompanied +by a beautiful girl, whose dark eyes carried a peculiar appeal in their +velvety depths. Some of the passengers in the car that day wondered at +such an expression on the face of one so young and so lovely, but when +the girl rose and moved down the aisle, they wondered no longer. She was +lame, and in every movement her slender form seemed to shrink from +curious eyes. + +Margaret had found her little friend far from strong. Arabella had been +taxing her strength to the utmost, assisting the missionary through the +day, and attending night school in the evening. She had worked and +studied hard, and the strain was telling on her already frail +constitution. All this Margaret saw at once and declared that Arabella +must come home with them to the Mill House. + +"But I couldn't," the girl had objected. "I couldn't be a burden to you +and Patty." + +"Oh, but you won't be," Margaret had returned promptly. "You're going to +be a help to Patty and me. The Mill House needs you. The work is +increasing, and we haven't teachers enough." + +"Oh, then I'll come," the girl had sighed contentedly--nor did she know +that before night Margaret had found and engaged still another teacher, +lest Arabella, when she joined the Mill House family, should find too +much to do. + +Almost the first piece of news that Margaret heard upon her return was +that the family were back at Hilcrest, and that Mrs. Merideth had +already driven down to the Mill House three times in hopes to get +tidings of Margaret's coming. When Mrs. Merideth drove down the fourth +time Margaret herself was there, and went back with her to Hilcrest. + +"My dear child, how dreadfully you look!" Mrs. Merideth had exclaimed. +"You are worn out, and no wonder. You must come straight home with me +and rest." And because Mrs. Merideth had been tactful enough to say +"rest" and not "stay," Margaret had gone, willingly and thankfully. She +was tired, and she did need a rest: but she was not a little concerned +to find how really hungry she was for the cool quiet of the west +veranda, and how eagerly she listened to the low, sweet voices of her +friends in pleasant chat--it had been so long since she had heard low +sweet voices in pleasant chat! + +The thin cheeks and hollow eyes of Frank Spencer shocked her greatly. +She had not supposed a few short months could so change a strong man +into the mere shadow of his former self. There was a look, too, in his +eyes that stirred her curiously; and, true to her usual sympathetic +response to trouble wherever she found it, she set herself now to the +task of driving that look away. To this end, in spite of her own +weariness, she played and sang and devoted herself untiringly to the +amusement of the man who was not yet strong enough to go down to the +mills. + +It had been planned that immediately upon Frank Spencer's return, +McGinnis should go to him with the story of his love for Margaret. This +plan was abandoned, however, when Margaret saw how weak and ill her +guardian was. + +"We must wait until he is better," she said to Bobby when he called, as +had been arranged, on the second evening after her arrival. "He may not +be quite pleased--at first, you know," she went on frankly; "and I don't +want to cause him sorrow just now." + +"Then 'twill be better if I don't come up--again--just yet," stammered +Bobby, miserably, his longing eyes on her face. + +"Yes. I'll let you know when he's well enough to see you," returned +Margaret; and she smiled brightly. Nor did it occur to her that for a +young woman who has but recently become engaged, she was accepting with +extraordinary equanimity the fact that she should not see her lover +again for some days. It did occur to Bobby, however, and his eyes were +troubled. They were still troubled as he sat up far into the night, +thinking, in the shabby little room he called home. + +One by one the days passed. At Hilcrest Margaret was fast regaining her +old buoyant health, and was beginning to talk of taking up her "work" +again, much to the distress of the family. Frank Spencer, too, was +better, though in spite of Margaret's earnest efforts the curiously +somber look was not gone from his eyes. It even seemed deeper and more +noticeable than ever sometimes, Margaret thought. + +Never before had Margaret known quite so well the man who had so +carefully guarded her since childhood. She suddenly began to appreciate +what he had done for her all those years. She realized, too, with almost +the shock of a surprise, how young he had been when the charge was +intrusted to him, and what it must have meant to a youth of twenty to +have a strange, hysterical little girl ten years old thrust upon him so +unceremoniously. She realized it all the more fully now that the +pleasant intercourse of the last two weeks had seemed to strip from him +the ten years' difference in their ages. They were good friends, +comrades. Day after day they had read, and sung and walked together; and +she knew that he had exerted every effort to make her happy. + +More keenly than ever now she regretted that she must bring sorrow to +him in acknowledging her engagement to Bobby. She knew very well that he +would not approve of the marriage. Had he not already pleaded with her +to stay there at Hilcrest as Ned's wife? And had he not always +disapproved of her having much to say to McGinnis? It was hard, indeed, +in the face of all this, to tell him. But it must be done. In two days +now he was going back to the mills. There was really no excuse for any +further delay. She must send for Bobby. + +There was a thunder-storm on the night Bobby McGinnis came to Hilcrest. +The young man arrived just before the storm broke, and was ushered at +once by Margaret herself to the little den where Frank Spencer sat +alone. Mrs. Merideth had gone to bed with a headache, and Ned was out of +town, so Margaret had the house to herself. For a time she wandered +aimlessly about the living-room and the great drawing-room; then she sat +down in a shadowy corner which commanded a view of the library and of +the door of the den. She shivered at every clap of thunder, and sent a +furtive glance toward that close-shut door, wondering if the storm +outside were typical of the one which even then might be breaking over +Bobby's head. + +It was very late when McGinnis came out of the den and closed the door +behind him--so late that he could stop for only a few words with the girl +who hurried across the room to meet him. His face was gray-white, and +his whole appearance showed the strain he had been under for the last +two hours. + +"Mr. Spencer was very kind," he said huskily in response to the question +in Margaret's eyes. "At first, of course, he--but never mind that +part.... He has been very kind; but I--I can't tell you now--all that he +said to me. Perhaps--some other time." McGinnis was plainly very much +moved. His words came brokenly and with long pauses. + +For some time after her lover had gone Margaret waited for Frank Spencer +to come out and speak to her. But the door of the den remained fast +shut, and she finally went up-stairs without seeing him. + +The next few days at Hilcrest were hard for all concerned. Before +Margaret had come down stairs on the morning following McGinnis's call, +Frank Spencer had told his sister of the engagement; and after the first +shock of the news was over, he had said constrainedly, and with averted +eyes: + +"There is just one thing for us to do, Della--or rather, for us not to +do. We must not drive Margaret away from us. She has full right to marry +the man she loves, of course, and if--if we are too censorious, it will +result only in our losing her altogether. It isn't what we want to do, +but what we must do. We must accept him--or lose her. I--I'm afraid I +forgot myself at first, last night," went on Frank, hurriedly, "and said +some pretty harsh things. I didn't realize _what_ I was saying until I +saw the look on his face. McGinnis is a straightforward, manly young +fellow--we must not forget that, Della." + +"But think of his po-position," moaned Mrs. Merideth. + +Frank winced. + +"I know," he said. "But we must do our best to remedy that. I shall +advance him and increase his pay at once, of course, and eventually he +will become one of the firm, if Margaret--marries him." + +Mrs. Merideth burst into tears. + +"How can you take it so calmly, Frank," she sobbed. "You don't seem to +care at all!" + +Frank Spencer's lips parted, then closed again. Perhaps it was just as +well, after all, that she should not know just how much he did--care. + +"It may not be myself I'm thinking of," he said at last, quietly. "I +want Margaret--happy." And he turned away. + +Margaret was not happy, however, as the days passed. In spite of +everybody's effort to act as if everything was as usual, nobody +succeeded in doing it; and at last Margaret announced her determination +to go back to the Mill House. She agreed, however, to call it a "visit," +for Mrs. Merideth had cried tragically: + +"But, Margaret, dear, if we are going to lose you altogether by and by, +surely you will give us all your time now that you can!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +Bobby McGinnis wondered sometimes that summer why he was not happier. +Viewed from the standpoint of an outsider, he surely had enough to make +any man happy. He was young, strong, and in a position of trust and +profit. He was, moreover, engaged to the girl he loved, and that girl +was everything that was good and beautiful, and he saw her almost every +day. All this Bobby knew--and still he wondered. + +He saw a good deal of Margaret these days. Their engagement had come to +be an accepted fact, and the first flurry of surprise and comment had +passed. The Mill House, with Patty in charge, was steadily progressing. +Margaret had taken up her work again with fresh zest, but, true to her +promise to Mrs. Merideth, she spent many a day, and sometimes two or +three days at Hilcrest. All this, however, did not interfere with +Bobby's seeing her--for he, too, went to Hilcrest in accordance with +Margaret's express wishes. + +"But, Bobby," Margaret had said in response to his troubled +remonstrances, "are you not going to be my husband? Of course you are! +Then you must come to meet my friends." And Bobby went. + +Bobby McGinnis found himself in a new position then. He was Mr. Robert +McGinnis, the accepted suitor of Miss Margaret Kendall, and as such, he +was introduced to Margaret's friends. + +It was just here, perhaps, that misery began for Bobby. He was not more +at ease in his new, well-fitting evening clothes than he would have been +in the garb of Sing Sing; nor did he feel less conspicuous among the gay +throng about Margaret's chair than he would if he had indeed worn the +prison stripes. + +As Bobby saw it, he _was_ in prison, beyond the four walls of which lay +a world he had never seen--a world of beautiful music and fine pictures; +a world of great books and famous men; a world of travel, ease, and +pleasure. He could but dimly guess the meaning of half of what was said; +and the conversation might as well have been conducted in a foreign +language so far as there being any possibility of his participating in +it. Big, tall, and silent, he stood as if apart. And because he was +apart--he watched. + +He began to understand then, why he was unhappy--yet he was not watching +himself, he was watching Margaret. She knew this world--this world that +was outside his prison walls; and she was at home in it. There was a +light in her eye that he had never brought there, though he had seen it +sometimes when she had been particularly interested in her work at the +Mill House. As he watched her now, he caught the quick play of color on +her cheeks, and heard the ring of enthusiasm in her voice. One subject +after another was introduced, and for each she had question, comment, or +jest. Not once did she appeal to him. But why should she, he asked +himself bitterly. They--those others near her, knew this world. He did +not know it. + +Sometimes the mills were spoken of, and she was questioned about her +work. Then, indeed, she turned to him--but he was not the only one to +whom she turned: she turned quite as frequently to the man who was +seldom far away from the sound of her voice when she was at +Hilcrest--Frank Spencer. + +McGinnis had a new object for his brooding eyes then; and it was not +long before he saw that it was to this same Frank Spencer that Margaret +turned when subjects other than the mills were under discussion. There +seemed to be times, indeed, when she apparently heard only his voice, +and recognized only his presence, so intimate was the sympathy between +them. McGinnis saw something else, too--he saw the look in Frank +Spencer's eyes; and after that he did not question again the cause of +his own misery. + +Sometimes McGinnis would forget all this, or would call it the silly +fears of a jealous man who sees nothing but adoration in every eye +turned upon his love. Such times were always when Margaret was back at +the Mill House, and when it seemed as if she, too, were inside his +prison walls with him, leaving that hated, unknown world shut forever +out. Then would come Hilcrest--and the reaction. + +"She does not love me," he would moan night after night as he tossed in +sleepless misery. "She does not love me, but she does not know it--yet. +She is everything that is good and beautiful and kind; but I never, +never can make her happy. I might have known--I might have known!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +The Spencers remained at Hilcrest nearly all summer with only a short +trip or two on the part of Mrs. Merideth and Ned. The place was +particularly cool and delightful in summer, and this season it was more +so than usual. House-parties had always been popular at Hilcrest, and +never more so than now. So popular, indeed, were they that Margaret +suspected them to be sometimes merely an excuse to gain her own presence +at Hilcrest. + +There were no guests, however, on the Monday night that the mills caught +fire. Even Margaret was down at the Mill House. Mrs. Merideth, always a +light sleeper, was roused by the first shrill blast of the whistle. From +her bed she could see the lurid glow of the sky, and with a cry of +terror she ran to the window. The next moment she threw a bath-robe over +her shoulders and ran to Frank Spencer's room across the hall. + +"Frank, it's the mills--they're all afire!" she called frenziedly. "Oh, +Frank, it's awful!" + +From behind the closed door came a sudden stir and the sound of bare +feet striking the floor; then Frank's voice. + +"I'll be out at once. And, Della, see if Ned's awake, and if you can +call up Peters, please. We shall want a motor car." + +Mrs. Merideth wrung her hands. + +"Frank--Frank--I can't have you go--I can't have you go!" she moaned +hysterically; yet all the while she was hurrying to the telephone that +would give the alarm and order the car that would take him. + +In five minutes the house was astir from end to end. Lights flashed here +and there, and terrified voices and hurried footsteps echoed through the +great halls. Down in the town the whistles were still shrieking their +frenzied summons, and up in the sky the lurid glow of the flames was +deepening and spreading. Then came a hurried word from McGinnis over the +telephone. + +The fire had caught in one of the buildings that had been closed for +repairs, which accounted for the great headway it had gained before it +was discovered. There was a strong east wind, and the fire was rapidly +spreading, and had already attacked the next building on the west. The +operatives were in a panic. There was danger of great loss of life, and +all help possible was needed. + +Mrs. Merideth, who heard, could only wring her hands and moan again: "I +can't have them go--I can't have them go!" Yet five minutes later she +sent them off, both Frank and Ned, with a fervid "God keep you" ringing +in their ears. + +Down in the Mill House all was commotion. Margaret was everywhere, +alert, capable, and untiring. + +"We can do the most good by staying right here and keeping the house +open," she said. "We are so near that they may want to bring some of the +children here, if there should be any that are hurt or overcome. At all +events, we'll have everything ready, and we'll have hot coffee for the +men." + +Almost immediately they came--those limp, unconscious little forms borne +in strong, tender arms. Some of the children had only fainted; others +had been crushed and bruised in the mad rush for safety. Before an hour +had passed the Mill House looked like a hospital, and every available +helper was pressed into service as a nurse. + +Toward morning a small boy, breathless and white-faced, rushed into the +main hall. + +"They're in there--they're in there--they hain't come out yet--an' the roof +has caved in!" he panted. "They'll be burned up--they'll be burned up!" + +Margaret sprang forward. + +"But I thought they were all out," she cried. "We heard that every one +was out. Who's in there? What do you mean?" + +The boy gasped for breath. + +"The boss, Bobby McGinnis an' Mr. Spencer--Mr. Frank Spencer. They +went----" + +With a sharp cry Margaret turned and ran through the open door to the +street, nor did she slacken her pace until she had reached the surging +crowds at the mills. + +From a score of trembling lips she learned the story, told in sobbing, +broken scraps of words. + +Frank and Ned Spencer, together with McGinnis, had worked side by side +with the firemen in clearing the mills of the frightened men, women, and +children. It was not until after word came that all were out that Frank +Spencer and McGinnis were reported to be still in the burning building. +Five minutes later there came a terrific crash, and a roar of flames as +a portion of the walls and the roof caved in. Since then neither one of +the two men had been seen. + +There was more--much more: tales of brave rescues, and stories of +children restored to frantically outstretched arms; but Margaret did not +hear. With terror-glazed eyes and numbed senses she shrank back from the +crowd, clasping and unclasping her hands in helpless misery. There Ned +found her. + +"Margaret, you! and here? No, no, you must not. You can do no good. Let +me take you home, do, dear," he implored. + +Margaret shook her head. + +"Ned, he can't be dead--not dead!" she moaned. + +Ned's face grew white. For an instant he was almost angry with the girl +who had so plainly shown that to her there was but one man that had gone +down into the shadow of death. Then his eyes softened. After all, it was +natural, perhaps, that she should think of her lover, and of him only, +in this first agonized moment. + +"Margaret, dear, come home," he pleaded. + +"Ned, he isn't dead--not dead," moaned the girl again. "Why don't you +tell me he isn't dead?" + +Ned shuddered. His eyes turned toward the blackened, blazing pile before +him--as if a man could be there, and live! Margaret followed his gaze and +understood. + +"But he--he may not have gone in again, Ned. He may not have gone in +again," she cried feverishly. "He--he is out here somewhere. We will find +him. Come! Come--we must find him!" And she tugged at his arm. + +Ned caught at the straw. + +"No, no, not you--you could do nothing here; but I'll go," he said. "And +I'll promise to bring you the very first word that I can. Come, now +you'll go home, surely!" + +Margaret gazed about her. Everywhere were men, confusion, smoke and +water. The fire was clearly under control, and the flames were fast +hissing into silence. Over in the east the sun was rising. A new day had +begun, a day of---- She suddenly remembered the sufferers back at the Mill +House. She turned about sharply. + +"Yes, I'll go," she choked. "I'll go back to the Mill House. I _can_ do +something there, and I can't do anything here. But, Ned, you will bring +me word--soon; won't you?--soon!" And before Ned could attempt to follow +her, she had turned and was lost in the crowd. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +Tuesday was a day that was not soon forgotten at the mills. Scarcely +waiting for the smoking timbers to cool, swarms of workmen attacked the +ruins and attempted to clear their way to the point where Spencer and +McGinnis had last been seen. Fortunately, that portion of the building +had only been touched by the fire, and it was evident that the floors +and roof had been carried down with the fall of those nearest to it. For +this reason there was the more hope of finding the bodies unharmed by +fire--perhaps, even, of finding a spark of life in one or both of them. +This last hope, however, was sorrowfully abandoned when hour after hour +passed with no sign of the missing men. + +All night they worked by the aid of numerous electric lights hastily +placed to illuminate the scene; and when Wednesday morning came, a new +shift of workers took up the task that had come to be now merely a +search for the dead. So convinced was every one of this that the men +gazed with blanched faces into each other's eyes when there came a +distinct rapping on a projecting timber near them. In the dazed silence +that followed a faint cry came from beneath their feet. + +With a shout and a ringing cheer the men fell to work--it was no ghost, +but a living human voice that had called! They labored more cautiously +now, lest their very zeal for rescue should bring defeat in the shape of +falling brick or timber. + +Ned Spencer, who had not left the mills all night, heard the cheer and +hurried forward. It was he who, when the men paused again, called: + +"Frank, are you there?" + +"Yes, Ned." The voice was faint, but distinctly audible. + +"And McGinnis?" + +There was a moment's hesitation. The listeners held their +breath--perhaps, after all, they had been dreaming and there was no +voice! Then it came again. + +"Yes. He's lying beside me, but he's unconscious--or dead." The last word +was almost inaudible, so faint was it; but the tightening of Ned's lips +showed that he had heard it, none the less. In a moment he stooped +again. + +"Keep up your courage, old fellow! We'll have you out of that soon." +Then he stepped aside and gave the signal for the men to fall to work +again. + +Rapidly, eagerly, but oh, so cautiously, they worked. At the next pause +the voice was nearer, so near that they could drop through a small hole +a rubber tube four feet long, lowering it until Spencer could put his +mouth to it. Through this tube he was given a stimulant, and a cup of +strong coffee. + +They learned then a little more of what had happened. The two men were +on the fourth floor when the crash came. They had been swept down and +had been caught between the timbers in such a way that as they lay where +they had been flung, a roof three feet above their heads supported the +crushing weight above. Spencer could remember nothing after the first +crash, until he regained consciousness long afterward, and heard the +workmen far above him. It was then that he had tapped his signal on the +projecting timber. He had tapped three times before he had been heard. +At first it was dark, he said, and he could not see, but he knew that +McGinnis was near him. McGinnis had spoken once, then had apparently +dropped into unconsciousness. At all events he had said nothing since. +Still, Spencer did not think he was dead. + +Once more the rescuers fell to work, and it was then that Ned Spencer +hurried away to send a message of hope and comfort to Mrs. Merideth, who +had long since left the great house on the hill and had come down to the +Mill House to be with Margaret. To Margaret Ned wrote the one word +"Come," and as he expected, he had not long to wait. + +"You have found him!" cried the girl, hurrying toward him. "Ned, he +isn't dead!" + +Ned smiled and put out a steadying hand. + +"We hope not--and we think not. But he is unconscious, Margaret. Don't +get your hopes too high. I had to send for you--I thought you ought to +know--what we know." + +"But where is he? Have you seen him?" + +Ned shook his head. + +"No; but Frank says----" + +"_Frank!_ But you said Frank was unconscious!" + +"No, no--they aren't both unconscious--it is only McGinnis. It is Frank +who told us the story. He--why, Margaret!" But Margaret was gone; and as +Ned watched her flying form disappear toward the Mill House, he wondered +if, after all, the last hours of horror had turned her brain. In no +other way could he account for her words, and for this most +extraordinary flight just at the critical moment when she might learn +the best--and the worst--of what had come to her lover. To Ned it seemed +that the girl must be mad. He could not know that in Margaret's little +room at the Mill House some minutes later, a girl went down on her knees +and sobbed: + +"To think that 'twasn't Bobby at all that I was thinking of--'twasn't +Bobby at all! 'Twas never Bobby that had my first thought. 'Twas +always----" Even to herself Margaret would not say the name, and only her +sobs finished the sentence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +Robert McGinnis was not dead when he was tenderly lifted from his +box-like prison, but he was still unconscious. In spite of their +marvelous escape from death, both he and his employer were suffering +from breaks and bruises that would call for the best of care and nursing +for weeks to come; and it seemed best for all concerned that this care +and nursing should be given at the Mill House. A removal to Hilcrest in +their present condition would not be wise, the physicians said, and the +little town hospital was already overflowing with patients. There was +really no place but the Mill House, and to the Mill House they were +carried. + +At the Mill House everything possible was done for their comfort. Two +large airy rooms were given up to their use, and the entire household +was devoted to their service. The children that had been brought there +the night of the fire were gone, and there was no one with whom the two +injured men must share the care and attention that were lavished upon +them. Trained nurses were promptly sent for, and installed in their +positions. Aside from these soft-stepping, whitecapped women, Margaret +and the little lame Arabella were the most frequently seen in the +sickrooms. + +"We're the ornamental part," Margaret would say brightly. "We do the +reading and the singing and the amusing." + +Arabella was a born nurse, so both the patients said. There was +something peculiarly soothing in the soft touch of her hands and in the +low tones of her voice. She was happy in it, too. Her eyes almost lost +their wistful look sometimes, so absorbed would she be in her +self-appointed task. + +As for Margaret--Margaret was a born nurse, too, and both the patients +said that; though one of the patients, it is true, complained sometimes +that she did not give him half a chance to know it. Margaret certainly +did not divide her time evenly. Any one could see that. No one, +however--not even Frank Spencer himself--could really question the +propriety of her devoting herself more exclusively to young McGinnis, +the man she had promised to marry. + +Margaret was particularly bright and cheerful these days; but to a close +observer there was something a little forced about it. No one seemed to +notice it, however, except McGinnis. He watched her sometimes with +somber eyes; but even he said nothing--until the day before he was to +leave the Mill House. Then he spoke. + +"Margaret," he began gently, "there is something I want to say to you. I +am going to be quite frank with you, and I want you to be so with me. +Will you?" + +"Why, of--of course," faltered Margaret, nervously, her eyes carefully +avoiding his steady gaze. Then, hopefully: "But, Bobby, really I don't +think you should talk to-day; not--not about anything that--that needs +that tone of voice. Let's--let's read something!" + +Bobby shook his head decidedly. + +"No. I'm quite strong enough to talk to-day. In fact, I've wanted to say +this for some time, but I've waited until to-day so I could say it. +Margaret, you--you don't love me any longer." + +"Oh--Bobby! Why, _Bobby_!" There was dismayed distress in Margaret's +voice. When one has for some weeks been trying to lash one's self into a +certain state of mind and heart for the express sake of some other one, +it is distressing to have that other one so abruptly and so positively +show that one's labor has been worse than useless. + +"You do not, Margaret--you know that you do not." + +"Why, Bobby, what--what makes you say such a dreadful thing," cried the +girl, reaching blindly out for some support that would not fail. "As +if--I didn't know my own mind!" + +Bobby was silent. When he spoke again his voice shook a little. + +"I will tell you what makes me say it. For some time I've suspected +it--that you did not love me; but after the fire I--I knew it." + +"You knew it!" + +"Yes. When a girl loves a man, and that man has come back almost from +the dead, she goes to him first--if she loves him. When Frank Spencer and +I were brought into the hall down-stairs that Wednesday morning, the jar +or something brought back my senses for a moment, just long enough for +me to hear your cry of 'Frank,' and to see you hurry to his side." + +Margaret caught her breath sharply. Her face grew white. + +"But, Bobby, you--you were unconscious, I supposed," she stammered +faintly. "I didn't think you could answer me if--if I did go to you." + +"But you did not--come--to--see." The words were spoken gently, tenderly, +sorrowfully. + +Margaret gave a low cry and covered her face with her hands. A look that +was almost relief came to the man's face. + +"There," he sighed. "Now you admit it. We can talk sensibly and +reasonably. Margaret, why have you tried to keep it up all these weeks, +when it was just killing you?" + +"I wanted to make--you--happy," came miserably from behind the hands. + +"And did you think I could be made happy that way--by your wretchedness?" + +There was no answer. + +"I've seen it coming for a long time," he went on gently, "and I did not +blame you. I could never have made you happy, and I knew it almost from +the first. I wasn't happy, either--because I couldn't make you so. +Perhaps now I--I shall be happier; who knows?" he asked, with a wan +little smile. + +Margaret sobbed. It was so like Bobby--to belittle his own grief, just to +make it easier for her! + +"You see, it was for only the work that you cared for me," resumed the +man after a minute. "You loved that, and you thought you loved me. But +it was only the work all the time, dear. I understand that now. You see +I watched you--and I watched him." + +"Him!" Margaret's hands were down, and she was looking at Bobby with +startled eyes. + +"Yes. I used to think he loved you even then, but after the fire, and I +heard your cry of 'Frank'----" + +Margaret sprang to her feet. + +"Bobby, Bobby, you don't know what you are saying," she cried +agitatedly. "Mr. Spencer does not love me, and he never loved me. Why, +Bobby, he couldn't! He even pleaded with me to marry another man." + +"He pleaded with you!" Bobby's eyes were puzzled. + +"Yes. Now, Bobby, surely you understand that he doesn't love me. Surely +you must see!" + +Bobby threw a quick look into the flushed, quivering face; then hastily +turned his eyes away. + +"Yes, I see," he said almost savagely. And he did see--more than he +wanted to. But he did not understand: how a man _could_ have the love of +Margaret Kendall and not want it, was beyond the wildest flights of his +fancy. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +Frank Spencer had already left the Mill House and gone to Hilcrest when +McGinnis was well enough to go back to his place in the mills. The +mills, in spite of the loss of the two buildings (which were being +rapidly rebuilt) were running full time, and needed him greatly, +particularly as the senior member of the firm had not entirely regained +his old health and strength. + +For some time after McGinnis went away, Margaret remained at the Mill +House; but she was restless and unhappy in the position in which she +found herself. McGinnis taught an evening class at the Mill House, and +she knew that it could not be easy for him to see her so frequently now +that the engagement was broken. Margaret blamed herself bitterly, not +for the broken engagement, but for the fact that there had ever been any +engagement at all. She told herself that she ought to have known that +the feeling she had for Bobby was not love--and she asked herself +scornfully what she thought of a young woman who could give that love +all unsought to a man who was so very indifferent as to beg her favor +for another! Those long hours of misery when the mills burned had opened +Margaret's eyes; and now that her eyes were opened, she was frightened +and ashamed. + +It seemed to Margaret, as she thought of it, that there was no way for +her to turn but to leave both the Mill House and Hilcrest for a time. +Bobby would be happier with her away, and the Mill House did not need +her--Clarabella had come from New York, and had materially strengthened +the teaching force. As for Hilcrest--she certainly would not stay at +Hilcrest anyway--now. Later, when she had come to her senses, perhaps--but +not now. + +It did not take much persuasion on the part of Margaret to convince Mrs. +Merideth that a winter abroad would be delightful--just they two +together. The news of Margaret's broken engagement had been received at +Hilcrest with a joyous relief that was nevertheless carefully subdued in +the presence of Margaret herself; but Mrs. Merideth could not conceal +her joy that she was to take Margaret away from the "whole unfortunate +affair," as she expressed it to her brothers. Frank Spencer, however, +was not so pleased at the proposed absence. He could see no reason for +Margaret's going, and one evening when they were alone together in the +library he spoke of it. + +"But, Margaret, I don't see why you must go," he protested. + +For a moment the girl was silent; then she turned swiftly and faced him. + +"Frank, Bobby McGinnis was my good friend. From the time when I was a +tiny little girl he has been that. He is good and true and noble, but I +have brought him nothing but sorrow. He will be happier now if I am +quite out of his sight at present. I am going away." + +Frank Spencer stirred uneasily. + +"But you will be away--from him--if you are here," he suggested. + +"Oh, but if I'm here I shall be there," contested Margaret with a haste +that refused to consider logic; then, as she saw the whimsical smile +come into the man's eyes, she added brokenly: "Besides, I want to get +away--quite away from my work." + +Spencer grew sober instantly. The whimsical look in his eyes gave place +to one of tender sympathy. + +"You poor child, of course you do, and no wonder! You are worn out with +the strain, Margaret." + +She raised a protesting hand. + +"No, no, you do not understand. I--I have made a failure of it." + +"A failure of it!" + +"Yes. I want to get away--to look at it from a distance, and see if I +can't find out what is the trouble with it, just as--as artists do, you +know, when they paint a picture." There was a feverishness in Margaret's +manner and a tremulousness in her voice that came perilously near to +tears. + +"But, my dear Margaret," argued the man, "there's nothing the matter +with it. It's no failure at all. You've done wonders down there at the +Mill House." + +Margaret shook her head slowly. + +"It's so little--so very little compared to what ought to be done," she +sighed. "The Mill House is good and does good, I acknowledge; but it's +so puny after all. It's like a tiny little oasis in a huge desert of +poverty and distress." + +"But what--what more could you do?" ventured the man. + +Margaret rose, and moved restlessly around the room. + +"I don't know," she said at last. "That's what I mean to find out." She +stopped suddenly, facing him. "Don't you see? I touch only the surface. +The great cause behind things I never reach. Sometimes it seems as if it +were like that old picture--where was it? in Pilgrim's Progress?--of the +fire. On one side is the man trying to put it out; on the other, is the +evil one pouring on oil. My two hands are the two men. With one I feed a +hungry child, or nurse a sick woman; with the other I make more children +hungry and more women sick." + +"Margaret, are you mad? What can you mean?" + +"Merely this. It is very simple, after all. With one hand I relieve the +children's suffering; with the other I take dividends from the very +mills that make the children suffer. A long time ago I wanted to 'divvy +up' with Patty, and Bobby and the rest. I have even thought lately that +I would still like to 'divvy up'; and--well, you can see the way I am +'divvying up' now with my people down there at the mills!" And her voice +rang with self-scorn. + +The man frowned. He, too, got to his feet and walked nervously up and +down the room. When he came back the girl had sat down again. Her elbows +were on the table, and her linked fingers were shielding her eyes. +Involuntarily the man reached his hand toward the bowed head. But he +drew it back before it had touched a thread of the bronze-gold hair. + +"I do see, Margaret," he began gently, "and you are right. It is at the +mills themselves that the first start must be made--the first beginning +of the 'divvying up.' Perhaps, if there were some one to show us"--he +paused, then went on unsteadily: "I suppose it's useless to say again +what I said that day months ago: that if you stayed here, and showed +him--the man who loves you--the better way----" + +Margaret started. She gave a nervous little laugh and picked up a bit of +paper from the floor. + +"Of course it is useless," she retorted in what she hoped was a merry +voice. "And he doesn't even love me now, besides." + +"He doesn't love you!" Frank Spencer's eyes and voice were amazed. + +"Of course not! He never did, for that matter. 'Twas only the fancy of a +moment. Why, Frank, Ned never cared for me--that way!" + +"_Ned!_" The tone and the one word were enough. For one moment Margaret +gazed into the man's face with startled eyes; then she turned and +covered her own telltale face with her hands--and because it was a +telltale face, Spencer took a long stride toward her. + +"Margaret! And did you think it was Ned I was pleading for, when all the +while it was I who was hungering for you with a love that sent me across +the seas to rid myself of it? Did you, Margaret?" + +There was no answer. + +"Margaret, look at me--let me see your eyes!" There was a note of +triumphant joy in his voice now. + +Still no answer. + +"Margaret, it did not go--that love. It stayed with me day after day, and +month after month, and it only grew stronger and deeper until there was +nothing left me in all this world but you--just you. And now--Margaret, my +Margaret," he said softly and very tenderly. "You _are_ my Margaret!" +And his arms closed about her. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +In spite of protests and pleadings Margaret spent the winter abroad. + +"As if I'd stay here and flaunt my happiness in poor Bobby's face!" she +said indignantly to her lover. Neither would she consent to a formal +engagement. Even Mrs. Merideth and Ned were not to know. + +"It is to be just as it was before," she had declared decidedly, +"only--well, you may write to me," she had conceded. "I refuse to stay +here and--and be just happy--_yet_! I've been unkind and thoughtless, and +have brought sorrow to my dear good friend. I'm going away. I deserve +it--and Bobby deserves it, too!" And in spite of Frank Spencer's efforts +to make her see matters in a different light, she still adhered to her +purpose. + +All through the long winter Frank contented himself with writing +voluminous letters, and telling her of the plans he was making to "divvy +up" at the mills, as he always called it. + +"I shall make mistakes, of course, dear," he wrote. "It is a big +problem--altogether more so than perhaps you realize. Of course the mills +must still be a business--not a philanthropy; otherwise we should defeat +our own ends. But I shall have your clear head and warm heart to aid me, +and little by little we shall win success. + +"Already I have introduced two or three small changes to prepare the way +for the larger ones later on. Even Ned is getting interested, and seems +to approve of my work, somewhat to my surprise, I will own. I'm +thinking, however, that I'm not the only one in the house, sweetheart, +to whom you and your unselfishness have shown the 'better way.'" + +Month by month the winter passed, and spring came, bringing Mrs. +Merideth, but no Margaret. + +"She has stopped to visit friends in New York," explained Mrs. Merideth, +in reply to her brother's anxious questions. "She may go on west with +them. She said she would write you." + +Margaret did "go on west," and it was while she was still in the west +that she received a letter from Patty, a portion of which ran thus: + +"Mebbe youd like to know about Bobby McGinnis. Bobby is goin to get +married. She seemed to comfort him lots after you went. Shes that pretty +and sympathizing in her ways you know. I think he was kind of surprised +hisself, but the first thing he knew he was in love with her. I think he +felt kind of bad at first on account of you. But I told him that was all +nonsense, and that I knew youd want him to do it. I think his feelins +for you was more worship than love, anyhow. He didn't never seem happy +even when he was engaged to you. But hes happy now, and Arabella thinks +hes jest perfect. Oh, I told you twas Arabella didn't I? Well, tis. And +say its her thats been learnin me to spell. Ain't it jest grand?" + + * * * * * + +Not very many days later Frank Spencer at Hilcrest received a small card +on which had been written: + +"Mrs. Patty Durgin announces the engagement of her sister, Arabella +Murphy, to Mr. Robert McGinnis." + +Beneath, in very fine letters was: "I'm coming home the eighteenth. +Please tell Della; and--you may tell her anything else that you like. +Margaret." + +For a moment the man stared at the card with puzzled eyes; then he +suddenly understood. + +"Della," he cried joyously, a minute later, "Della, she's coming the +eighteenth!" + +"Who's coming the eighteenth?" + +Frank hesitated. A light that was half serious, half whimsical, and +wholly tender, came into his eyes. + +"My wife," he said. + +"Your _wife_!" + +"Oh, you know her as Margaret Kendall," retorted Frank with an airiness +that was intended to hide the shake in his voice. "But she will be my +wife before she leaves here again." + +"Frank!" cried Mrs. Merideth, joyfully, "you don't mean----" But Frank was +gone. Over his shoulder, however, he had tossed a smile and a reassuring +nod. + +Mrs. Merideth sank back with a sigh of content. + +"It's exactly what I always hoped would happen," she said. + + + THE END + + + + + Popular Copyright Novels + _AT MODERATE PRICES_ + + Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of + A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction + + Abner Daniel. By Will N. Harben. + Adventures of Gerard. By A. Conan Doyle. + Adventures of a Modest Man. By Robert W. Chambers. + Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. + Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. 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