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margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1.2em; + padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2.4em; + padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 3.6em; + padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + +.tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding: .5em 1em .5em 1em; font-size: 80%;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Molly Brown of Kentucky, by Nell Speed</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Molly Brown of Kentucky</p> +<p>Author: Nell Speed</p> +<p>Release Date: July 15, 2011 [eBook #36736]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLLY BROWN OF KENTUCKY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="center">E-text prepared by<br /> + Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, eagkw,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcover"> +<img src="images/molly7cover.jpg" width="420" height="635" alt="cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> +<img src="images/molly7frontis.jpg" width="400" height="578" alt="One by one they emerged from their corner.—Page 237." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">One by one they emerged from their corner.—<i>Page <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</i></span> +</div> + + +<div class="bbox"><h1>MOLLY BROWN<br /> +OF KENTUCKY</h1> +<hr class="l4"/> + +<p class="tp"><span class="smcap">By</span> NELL SPEED</p> +<hr class="l6"/> + +<p class="tp2"><span class="smcap">Author of</span><br /> +“The Tucker Twins Series,” “The Carter<br /> +Girls Series,” etc.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/molly7title.png" width="113" height="228" alt="title page" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="l4"/> + +<p class="tp"><big>A. L. BURT COMPANY</big><br /> +<span class="lft">Publishers</span> <span class="rght">New York</span></p> + +<p class="tp c"><small>Printed in U. S. A.</small></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p class="tp2">Copyright, 1917,<br /> +BY<br /> +HURST & COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Inc.</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="tp2">Printed in U. S. A.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<hr class="l2"/> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="col1"><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td class="col2"> </td><td class="col3"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">I</td><td class="col2">A Letter</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">II</td><td class="col2">The Orchard Home</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">III</td><td class="col2">Kent Brown</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">IV</td><td class="col2">Afternoon Tea</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">V</td><td class="col2">Letters from Paris and Berlin</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VI</td><td class="col2">At the Tricots’</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VII</td><td class="col2">A Mother’s Faith</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VIII</td><td class="col2">Des Halles</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">IX</td><td class="col2">The American Mail</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">X</td><td class="col2">The Zeppelin Raid</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XI</td><td class="col2">“L’Hirondelle de Mer”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XII</td><td class="col2">Tutno</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XIII</td><td class="col2">The “Signy”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XIV</td><td class="col2">The Cablegram</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XV</td><td class="col2">Wellington Again</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_185">185</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XVI</td><td class="col2">Irishman’s Curtains</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XVII</td><td class="col2">Heroes and Hero Worshipers</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XVIII</td><td class="col2">Circumstantial Evidence</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XIX</td><td class="col2">Wasted Dye</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XX</td><td class="col2">A War Bride</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XXI</td><td class="col2">The Flight</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XXII</td><td class="col2">The Wedding Breakfast</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XXIII</td><td class="col2">The Star-Spangled Banner</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>Molly Brown of Kentucky.</h1> + + +<h2>CHAPTER I.<br /> + +<small>A LETTER.</small></h2> + + +<p>From Miss Julia Kean to Mrs. Edwin Green.</p> + +<p class="r2"> +<span class="rght3">Giverny, France,</span><br /> +<span class="rght2">August, 1914.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dearest old Molly Brown of Kentucky:</p> + +<p>You can marry a million Professor Edwin +Greens, B.A., M.A., Ph.D., L.D. (the last stands +for lucky dog), and you can also have a million +little Green Olive Branches, but you will still +be Molly Brown of Kentucky to all of your old +friends.</p> + +<p>I came up to Giverny last week with the Polly +Perkinses. They are great fun and, strange to +say, get on rather better than most married folks. +Jo is much meeker than we ever thought she +could be, now that she has made Polly cut his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +hair and has let her own grow out. Polly is +more manly, too, I think and asserts himself occasionally, +much to Jo’s delight. I should not +be at all astonished if his falsetto voice turned into +a baritone, if not a deep bass. He walks with +quite a swagger and talks about my wife this +and my wife that in such masculine pride that +you would not know him.</p> + +<p>Paris was rather excited when we came +through last week. I have been at Quimperle +all summer and only stopped in Paris long enough +to get some paints and canvas. I had actually +painted out. Jo had written me to join her in +this little housekeeping scheme at Giverny. I +wish you could see the house we have taken. It +is too wonderful that it is ours! Such peace and +quiet! Especially so, after the turmoil in Paris. +I have seen so few papers that I hardly know +what it is all about; no doubt you in Kentucky +with your <cite>Courier Journal</cite> know more than I do. +They talk of war, but of course that is nonsense. +Anyhow, if there is a war, I bet I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +going to be Johnny on the Spot. But of course +there won’t be one.</p> + +<p>I miss Kent,—but I need hardly tell you that. +I almost gave in and sailed with him, but it was +much best for me to wait in France for my +mother and father. They are now in Berlin +waiting for the powers that be to give some kind +of a permit for some kind of a road that Bobby +is to build from Constantinople to the interior; +that is, he is to build it if he can get the permission +of the Imperial Government. What the +Germans have to do with Turkey, you can search +me, but that is what Bobby writes me. He has +done a lot of work on it already in the way of +preliminary plans. I am to hang around until +I hear from them, so I am going to hang +around with the Polly Perkinses.</p> + +<p>No doubt Kent is home by this time. I envy +him, somehow. It is so wonderful to have a +home to go to. Now isn’t that a silly line of +talk for Judy Kean to be getting off, I, who have +always declared that a Gypsy van was my idea +of bliss? I never have had a home and I never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +have wanted one until lately. I fancy that winter +in Paris with your mother in the Rue Brea +was my undoing. Of course, if Bobby had been +anything but a civil engineer and Mamma had +been anything but so much married to Bobby that +she had to trot around with him from one end +of the earth to the other, why then, I might +have had a home. But Bobby is Bobby and he +wouldn’t have been himself doing anything but +building roads, and I certainly would not have +had Mamma let him build them all by his lonesome. +The truth of the matter is, I was a mistake. +I should either never have been born or +I should have been born a boy. Geewhillikins! +What a boy I would have been! Somehow, I’m +glad I’m not, though.</p> + +<p>I am wild to see little Mildred. It seems so +wonderful for you to be a mother. I know you +will make a great job of being one, too. Are you +going to have her be an old-fashioned baby with +the foregone conclusion that she must “eat her +peck of dirt,” or is she to be one of these infants +whose toys must be sterilized before she is allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +to play with them, and who is too easily +contaminated to be kissed unless the kisser gargles +first with corrosive sublimate? Please let +me know about this, because kiss her I must and +will, and if I have to be aseptic before I can do +it, I fancy I had better begin right now. Here +is Polly with the mail and Paris papers. Will +finish later.</p> + +<p>It has come! Actual war! We feel like fools +to have rushed off here to the country without +knowing more about the state France was in. I +can hardly believe it even now. They are asking +Americans to leave Paris, but I can’t leave. How +can I, with Mamma and Papa in Berlin? I am +going to stay right where I am until things settle +themselves a little. The peasants even now +do not believe it has come. We are not much +more than an hour from Paris, but there are +many persons living in this village who have +never been to Paris. The old men stand in +groups and talk politics, disagreeing on every +subject under the sun except the one great subject +and that is Germany. Hatred of Germany<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +is the one thing that there are no two minds +about. The women look big-eyed and awestruck. +There are no young men—all gone to war. They +went off singing and joking.</p> + +<p class="r2">What I long for most is news. We don’t get +any news to speak of. I am filled with concern +about Bobby and Mamma. It is foolish, as they +are able to take care of themselves, but Bobby is +so sassy. I am so afraid he might jaw back at +the Emperor. He is fully capable of calling him +to account for his behavior. Some one should, +but I hope it won’t be Bobby.</p> + +<p class="r2">Polly Perkins is going to drive a Red Cross +Ambulance. He is quite determined, so determined +that he has actually produced a chin from +somewhere (you remember he boasted none to +speak of). It is quite becoming to him, this determination +and chin, and Jo is beaming with +pride. I believe if Polly had wanted to run, it +would have killed Jo.</p> + +<p class="r2">Excuse the jerkiness of this, but I am so excited +that I can only jot down a little at a time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +Things are moving fast! The artists and near +artists at Madame Gaston’s Inn are piling out, +making for Paris, some to sail for United States +and others to try to get into England. Jo and I +had determined to sit tight in our little house +with its lovely walled garden that seems a kind +of protection to us—not that we are scared, bless +you no! We just felt we might as well be here +as anywhere else.</p> + +<p>This morning Jo came to breakfast looking kind +of different and yet kind of familiar—she had +cut off her hair!</p> + +<p>“I mean to follow Polly,” she remarked simply.</p> + +<p>“Follow him where?”</p> + +<p>“Wherever he goes.” And do you know, +Molly, the redoubtable Jo burst into tears?</p> + +<p>I was never more shocked in my life. If your +Aunt Sarah Clay had dissolved into tears, I would +not have been more at a loss how to conduct myself. +I patted her heartily on the back but the +poor girl wanted a shoulder to weep on and I +lent her one. I tell you when Jo gets started she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +is some bawler. I fancy she made up for all +the many years that crying has been out of her +ken.</p> + +<p>My neck is stiff from the wetting I got. +Nothing short of the plumber could have stopped +her. When she finally went dry, she began to +talk:</p> + +<p>“By I’b glad Bolly didn zee be bake zuch a vool +ob byself!”</p> + +<p>“Well, you had better look after your p’s and +s’s or you’ll be taken up as a German spy.” That +made her laugh and then she went on to tell me +what she meant to do, the p’s still too much for +her but her s’s improving.</p> + +<p>“What’s the use of my brofession now? I’d +like to know that. Miniature painting will be +no good for years to come. This war is going +to be something that’ll make everybody baint on +big canvasses. Who will want to look at anything +little? I tell you, Judy, the day of mastodons +is at hand! There’ll be no more lap-dogs, +no more pet canaries. The one time lap-dogs will +find themselves raging lions; and the pet canaries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +will grow to great eagles and burst the +silly wires of their cages with a snap of their +fingers——”</p> + +<p>“Whose fingers?” I demanded.</p> + +<p>“Never mind whose! Mixed metaphors are +perfectly permissible in war time.” I was glad +to see she could say such a word as permissible, +which meant that her storm of weeping had subsided.</p> + +<p>“Are you going as a Red Cross nurse?” I +asked.</p> + +<p>“Nurse your grandmother! I’m going to drive +an ambulance or maybe fly.”</p> + +<p>“But they won’t want a woman in the thick of +the fight!”</p> + +<p>“Well, who’s to know? When I get a good +hair-cut and put on some of Polly’s togs, I bet +I’ll make as good a man as Pol—no, I won’t say +that. I’ll never be as good a man as he is. I’m +going to try the aviation racket first. If they +won’t take me, I’ll get with the Red Cross, somehow. +I know I could fly like a bird. I have never +yet seen the wheels that I could not understand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +the turning of. I believe it is not so easy to get +aviators. It is so hazardous that men don’t +go in for it. I am light weight but awfully +strong.”</p> + +<p>“But, Jo, what are you going to do about your +feet?” You remember, Molly, what pretty little +feet Jo has.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll wear some of Polly’s shoes and stuff +out the toes. I bet I’ll walk like Charlie Chaplin, +but when one is flying, it doesn’t make much difference +about feet.”</p> + +<p>Nothing is going to stop her. She is to start +to Paris to-morrow, and I will go, too. I know +all of you think I should stay here in G—— until +I can get into communication with Bobby, +but Molly Brown, I can’t do it. When +history is being made, I simply can’t stand +aside and see it. I’ve got to get in it by hook or +crook.</p> + +<p>Don’t be scared—I am not going to fly! I +wish I could, but I promised Kent Brown I would +never fly with any man but him, and while it +was done in jest, in a way I still feel that a promise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +must be kept. I wish I were not made that +way. I’d like to dress up like Jo Bill Perkins +and pass as a man, and I could do it quite as well +as Jo, in spite of her having practiced being a +boy all her life, but I can’t help thinking what +Bobby has always said to me: “Just remember +you are a lady and you can’t go far wrong.” +Somehow, I am afraid if I cut off my hair and +discarded skirts, I might forget I am a lady. It +is an awful nuisance being one, anyhow.</p> + +<p>I don’t know just what I am going to do, but +I certainly can’t cross the Atlantic, with Bobby +and poor little Mamma somewhere in Germany, +maybe locked up in dungeons or something. I +know it won’t help them any for me to be in +France, but at least I will be nearer to them +geographically.</p> + +<p>My letter of credit on the Paris bankers will +put me on easy street financially, so as far as +money is concerned, Bobby will know I am all +right. I can’t think the war will last very long. +Surely all the neutral countries will just step in +and stop it. The French are looking to United<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +States. It is very amusing to hear the old +peasants talk about Lafayette. They seem to +think tit for tat: if they helped us out more than +a century ago, we will have to help them out +now.</p> + +<p>I can’t tell what I think just yet. Everything +is in too much of a turmoil. I wish I knew what +Bobby thinks. He is always so sane in his political +opinions. I get more and more uneasy +about them, Bobby and Mamma. Such terrible +tales of the Germans are coming to us. I don’t +believe them, at least not all of them. How could +a kindly, rather bovine race suddenly turn into +raging tigers? Why should any one want to do +anything to Bobby? I comfort myself with that +thought and then I remember how hot-headed and +impulsive he is, inherited directly from me, his +daughter, and I begin to tremble.</p> + +<p>Jo and I are settling up our affairs here. +Madame Gaston is to take charge of our few +belongings. I have a hunch it will be best to +lighten our luggage all we can. Jo is not going +to turn into a man until we get to Paris. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +is too funny in her envy of old Mère Gaspard +because of her big moustache. You know how +many of the French peasant women have quite +mannish beards and moustaches. Mother Gaspard +has the largest and most formidable one I +have ever seen, although she is a most motherly +old soul, not a bit fatherly.</p> + +<p>I will write from Paris again. I know Kent +is in a state of grouch with himself for sailing +when he did. I believe he feels as I do about +things happening. I don’t want houses to burn +down, but if they do burn, I want to see the fire; +I don’t want dogs to fight, but if there is a dog +fight going on, I am certainly going to stand on +my tiptoes and look over the crowd and see them +tear each other up; I certainly don’t want the +Nations to go to war, but if they will do it, I am +going to have experiences.</p> + +<p>Please give my best love to all the family and +a thoroughly sterilized kiss to that marvelous infant. +I verily believe if it had not been for +Kent’s overweening desire to behold that baby, +he would have waited over for another steamer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +and in that way found himself in the thick of +the fight. I am glad he went, however. If Polly +Perkins developed a chin and rushed off, what +might Kent have done with an overdevelopment +of chin already there?</p> + +<p> +<span class="rght3">Yours always,</span><br /> +<span class="rght1">Judy.</span><br /> +</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.<br /> + +<small>THE ORCHARD HOME.</small></h2> + + +<p>“R. F. D., late as usual,” laughed Molly, as +Mr. Bud Woodsmall’s very ramshackle Ford runabout +came careening through the lane and up +the hill to the yard gate. “I fancy he has had +to stop and talk war at every mail box on his +route.”</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll go meet him,” said Professor Edwin +Green, rather reluctantly arising from the +chaise longue that seemed to have been built +to fit his lack of curves, he declared. He had +been sitting on the porch of the bungalow, eyes +half closed to shut out everything from his vision +but the picture of Molly holding the sleeping baby +in her arms.</p> + +<p>“You know you want to gossip with him—now +’fess up!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I do like to hear his views of the situation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +in Europe. They are original, at least. He +says Yankee capitalists are the cause of it all. +Don’t you want me to put Mildred down? She +has been asleep for half an hour,” and the young +husband and father stood for a moment and +looked down on his treasures with what Judy +Kean always called his faithful-collie-dog eyes.</p> + +<p>“I know I oughtn’t to hold her while she is +asleep, but she seems so wonderful I can’t bear +to let her go. I think she is growing more like +you, Edwin.”</p> + +<p>“Like me! Nonsense! That would be a sad +thing to have wished on the poor innocent when +there are so many handsome folks in the Carmichael +and Brown family from whom she could +inherit real beauty.”</p> + +<p>“But Edwin, you are handsome, I think. You +are so noble looking.”</p> + +<p>“All right, honey, have it your own way,” and +he stooped and kissed her. “I will allow that the +baby has inherited my bald head if you like—Hi +there!” he called to Mr. Woodsmall, who was +preparing to unlock the mail box, “I’ll come get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +it,” and he sprinted down the walk where the garrulous +postman held him enthralled for a good +fifteen minutes. A blue envelope with a foreign +postmark told him there was a letter from Julia +Kean that would be eagerly welcomed by Molly, +but there was no stopping the flow of R. F. D.’s +eloquence. The causes of the war being thoroughly +threshed out, he finally took his reluctant +departure.</p> + +<p>“A letter from Judy Kean! Now you will have +to put the baby down!”</p> + +<p>So little Mildred was tenderly placed in her +basket on the porch and Molly opened the voluminous +epistle from the beloved Judy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Edwin, she is not coming home! I was +afraid she would want to do something Judyesque. +Only listen!” and Molly read the Giverny +letter to her husband.</p> + +<p>“What do you think Kent will say to this? I +know he is very uneasy about her anyhow since +the war broke out, and now—well, I’m glad I’m +not in his shoes. She is not very considerate of +him, I must say.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, you men folks!” laughed Molly. “I can’t +see how she could leave France until she knows +something about her mother and father, and after +all, I don’t believe Kent and Judy are engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Not engaged! What do you think Kent has +been doing this whole year in Paris if he wasn’t +getting engaged?”</p> + +<p>“Studying Architecture at the Beaux Arts. +Sometimes persons can know one another a long +time and be together a lot and not get engaged,” +she teased. It was a very well-known fact that +Professor Edwin Green had been in love with +Molly Brown for at least five years, and maybe +longer, before he put the all important question.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know, but then——”</p> + +<p>“Then what? My brother Kent is certainly +not able to support a wife yet, and maybe they +are opposed to long engagements.”</p> + +<p>“Well, all the same I am sorry for Kent. It +was bad enough when you went abroad and the +ocean was between us and I knew you were being +well taken care of by your dear mother,—but just +suppose it had been war time and you had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +alone! The news from France is very grave. +It looks as though the Germans would eat Christmas +dinner in Paris as they boast they will.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Edwin, no!” and Molly turned pale.</p> + +<p>“Well, look at these head lines in to-day’s paper. +It looks very ominous. When did you say +you were expecting Kent home?”</p> + +<p>“By to-morrow at latest. He wrote Mother +he was to stay some time in New York to try +to land a job that looked very promising.”</p> + +<p>“Here she comes now!” he exclaimed, his face +lighting up with joy as it always did when his +mother-in-law appeared on the scene.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown was coming through the orchard +from Chatsworth. Her hair had turned a little +greyer since Molly’s marriage, but not much; +her step was still light and active; her grey eyes +as full of life; and in her heart the same eternal +youth.</p> + +<p>“Well, children! Did you get any mail? How +is my precious little granddaughter? I’ve a letter +from Kent. It just did beat him home. Paul +’phoned from Louisville that he is in town now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +just arrived and will be here with him this afternoon. +I am so excited!”</p> + +<p>Dear Mrs. Brown’s life was made up of such +excitements now: her children always going and +returning. Mildred, Mrs. Crittenden Rutledge, +had left for Iowa only two days before, having +spent two months with her little family at Chatsworth; +now Kent was almost home; and in less +than a month the Greens would make their annual +move to Wellington. Sue, the eldest daughter, +married to young Cyrus Clay, lived within a +few miles of Chatsworth and seemed the only +one who was a fixture. Paul’s newspaper work +kept him in Louisville most of the time and John, +the doctor, made flying visits to his home but +had to make his headquarters in the city for fear +of missing patients. Ernest, the eldest son, was +threatening to come home and settle at Chatsworth, +but that was still an uncertainty.</p> + +<p>“I must read you Judy’s letter, Mother. I +know you will feel as uneasy as we do about her. +Edwin thinks she should come home, but I think +she could hardly leave, not knowing something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +more definite about her mother and father, who +may be bottled up in Germany indefinitely.”</p> + +<p>“Only think of the sizzle Mr. Kean will make +when they finally draw the cork,” laughed +Mrs. Brown; but when Molly read the +whole of Judy’s letter to her, the laughter +left her countenance and she looked very solemn +and disturbed.</p> + +<p>“Poor Kent!” she sighed.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what he will do,” from Molly.</p> + +<p>“Do? Why, he will do what the men of his +blood should do!” Mrs. Brown held her head +very high and her delicate nostrils quivered in +the way her family knew meant either anger or +high resolve. “He will go to France and either +stay and protect Judy or bring her back to his +mother.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mother, are you going to ask this of +him? Maybe he won’t think it is the right thing +to do.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I am not going to ask it of him. +I just know the ‘mettle of his pasture.’”</p> + +<p>“But the expense!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Expense! Molly, you don’t sound like yourself. +What is expense when your loved ones are +in danger?”</p> + +<p>“But I can’t think that Judy could be in real +danger.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t think anything else. You surely have +not read the morning paper. The Germans are +advancing so rapidly.... The atrocities in Belgium! +Ugh! I can’t contemplate our Judy being +anywhere in their reach.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mother, they must be exaggerated! People +could not do what they say they have done, +not good, kind German soldiers.”</p> + +<p>“Molly! Molly! Your goodness will even let +you love the Germans. I am not made that way. +The Anglo Saxon in me is so uppermost and I +feel such a boiling and bubbling in my veins that +nothing but my grey hairs keeps me from joining +the Red Cross myself and helping the Allies!”</p> + +<p>“Well, then you don’t blame Miss Judy +Kean,” laughed Professor Green, who never +loved his mother-in-law more than when, as old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +Aunt Mary expressed it, “her nose was a-wuckin’.”</p> + +<p>“Blame her! No, indeed! If I were her age, +I’d do exactly what she is doing, but I should +certainly have expected Molly’s father to come +over and protect me while I was being so foolhardy.”</p> + +<p>“Judy doesn’t say she is going as a nurse,” said +Molly, referring to the letter. “Jo Williams is +to fly and Judy seems uncertain what she is going +to do,—just see the fight, as far as I can +make out. I know Judy so well I just can’t feel +uneasy about her. You mustn’t think I am mercenary, +Mother, or careless of my friend. Judy +always lands on her feet and is as much of an +adept in getting out of scrapes as she is in getting +in them.”</p> + +<p>“My darling, of course I didn’t mean you were +mercenary,” cried Mrs. Brown, seeing in Molly’s +blue eyes a little hurt look at the vigorous tone +she had taken when Molly merely suggested expense. +“I just think in your desire to think well +of every one, nations as well as individuals, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +you are blind to the terrors of this war. If Judy +will only go to Sally Bolling, she will be taken +care of. I fancy Sally is at La Roche Craie +now.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I had forgotten to think of what this +must mean to Cousin Sally!” exclaimed Molly. +“The truth of the matter is that it is so peaceful +here my imagination cannot picture what it is +over there. I am growing selfish with contentment. +Of course Philippe d’Ochtè will join his +regiment and poor Cousin Sally and the Marquis +will suffer agonies over him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes and over France!” said Edwin solemnly. +“I remember so well a conversation I had with +the Marquis d’Ochtè on the subject of his country. +I believe he really and truly puts his country +above even his adored wife and son. That +is more patriotism than I could be capable +of——”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it, my dear Edwin,” broke in Mrs. +Brown.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0b">“‘I could not love thee half so well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loved I not honour more.’<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<p>“Molly and your little baby Mildred are but a +part of your country, and if the time should come +and your country called you, you would answer +the call just as I hope my own sons would.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother, you are a Spartan! I am not +so brave, I am afraid,” said Molly. “Even now +at the thought of war, I am thanking God my +Mildred baby is a girl.”</p> + +<p>Little Mildred, at mention of her name, although +it would be many a day before she would +know what her name was, awakened and gave an +inarticulate gurgle. Mrs. Brown dropped the +rôle of Spartan Mother and turned into a doting +grandmother in the twinkling of an eye.</p> + +<p>“And was um little tootsie wootsies cold? +Come to your Granny and let her warm them. +Molly, this baby has grown a foot, I do believe, +and look what a fine, strong, straight back she +has! And does oo want your Granny to rub +your back? Only look, her eyes have brown lights +in them! I said all the time she would have brown +eyes.”</p> + +<p>“And not Molly’s blue eyes! Oh, Mother, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +is very bad news to me. Why, the baby’s eyes are +as blue as the sea now. They could not change,” +and Edwin Green peered into his offspring’s face +with such intentness that the little thing began +to whimper.</p> + +<p>The proper indignation being expressed by the +females and the baby dangled until smiles came +and a crow, Mrs. Brown informed the ignorant +father that all young animals have blue eyes and +there is no determining the actual colour of a +baby’s eyes until it is several months old, but that +the minute brown or golden lights begin to appear +in blue eyes, you can get ready to declare +for a brown-eyed youngster.</p> + +<p>“Well, she will surely have Molly’s hair,” he +insisted.</p> + +<p>“That we can’t tell, either,” said the all-knowing +grandmother. “You see, she is almost bald +now except for this tiny fringe that is rapidly +being worn off in the back. That does seem a +little pinkish.”</p> + +<p>“Pinkish! Oh, Mother-in-law, what a word to +express my Molly’s hair!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Can’t you see she is getting even with you +for making Mildred almost cry?” laughed Molly. +“I know she is going to have my hair because +when you slip a little bit of blue under that little +lock that is on the side, where it hasn’t rubbed +off, the ‘pink’ comes out quite plainly. My Mildred +will be a belle. I have always heard it said +that a girl with brown eyes and golden hair is +born to be a belle. Oh, yes, I will call the baby’s +hair golden although I have always called my +own red.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether I want her to be a belle +or not,” objected Edwin. “She might be frivolous.”</p> + +<p>“Frivolous with your eyes! Heavens, Daddy, +she couldn’t be!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown contentedly smiled and rocked the +baby, who crowed and cooed and kicked her +pretty pink tootsies. The sun shone on the orchard +home and a particularly obliging mocking +bird burst into song from one of the gnarled old +apple trees, heavy with its luscious fruit. Mocking +birds are supposed not to sing in August, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +sometimes they do, and when they do, their song +is as wonderful and welcome as an unlooked-for +legacy.</p> + +<p>Molly looked over the fields of waving blue +grass to the dark beech woods that bordered the +pasture, a feeling of great happiness and contentment +in her heart. How peaceful and sweet was +life! She leaned against her husband, who put +an ever-ready arm around her, and together they +gazed on the fruitful landscape. Mrs. Brown +crooned to the baby a song ever dear to her own +children and one that had been sung to her by her +own negro mammy.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“Mammy went away—she tol’ me ter stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An’ tek good keer er de baby,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She tol’ me ter stay an’ sing dis away:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, go ter sleep! sleepy little baby,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kaze when yer wake, yo’ll git some cake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An’ ride a little white horsey!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We’ll stop up de cracks an’ sew up de seams—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">De Booger Man never shall ketch you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, go ter sleep an’ dream sweet dreams—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">De Booger Man never shall ketch you!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, go ter sleep! sleepy little baby,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, go ter sleepy, little baby,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kaze when you wake, you’ll git some cake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An’ lots er nice sugar candy!”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>How could whole countries be at war and such +peace reign in any spot on the globe?</p> + +<p>The whirr of an approaching motor awoke +them from their musings and stopped the delightful +song before one-third of the stanzas had been +sung. It was Kent with John in the doctor’s little +runabout.</p> + +<p>“My boy! my boy!” and Mrs. Brown dropped +the baby in her basket and flew across the grass +to greet the long-absent Kent.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t wait for Paul but had to get old Dr. +John to bring me out. Mumsy, how plump and +pink you are. I declare you look almost as young +as the new baby,” said Kent after the first raptures +of greeting were over. “And Molly, you +look great! And ’Fessor Green, I declare you are +getting fat. I bet you have gained at least three-quarters +of a pound since you got married. Positively +obese!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You haven’t said much about the baby,” objected +Molly.</p> + +<p>“Well, there’s not much to say, is there? She +is an omnivorous biped, I gather, from the two +feet I can see and her evident endeavor to eat +them, at least, I fancy that is why she is kicking +so high. She has got Edwin’s er—er—well—his +high forehead——”</p> + +<p>“She is not nearly so bald-headed as you were +yourself,” declared his mother. “You were such +a lovely baby, Kent, the loveliest of all my babies, +I believe. I always adored a bald-headed +baby and you had a head like a little billiard ball.”</p> + +<p>They all laughed at this and Kent confessed +that if he had been bald-headed himself, he believed +the little Mildred must be, after all, very +charming.</p> + +<p>“Any letters for me?” he asked, and Molly +thought she detected a note of anxiety below all +the nonsense he had been talking.</p> + +<p>“No, I have not seen any.”</p> + +<p>“Well, have you heard from—from Judy +Kean?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” confessed Molly. “I got a letter to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Please may I see it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course you may.”</p> + +<p>But Molly felt a great reluctance to show +Julia Kean’s letter to her brother. She knew very +well he was uneasy already about their friend +and was certain this letter would only heighten +his concern. Kent was looking brown and +sturdy; he seemed to her to have grown even +taller than the six feet one he already measured +when he went abroad. His boyish countenance +had taken on more purpose and his jaw had an +added squareness. His deep set grey eyes had a +slight cloud in them that Molly and her mother +hated to see.</p> + +<p>“It is Judy, of course,” they said to themselves.</p> + +<p>“I landed my job in New York,” he said, as he +opened the little blue envelope.</p> + +<p>“Splendid!” exclaimed Molly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown tried to say splendid, too, but the +thought came to her: “Another one going away +from home!” and she could only put her arm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +around her boy’s neck and press a kiss on his +brown head.</p> + +<p>They were all very quiet while Kent read the +letter. Dr. John, alone, seemed disinterested. +He very professionally poked the infant in the +ribs to see how fat she had grown and, also, much +to the indignation of Molly, went through some +tests for idiocy, which, of course, the tiny baby +could not pass.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.<br /> + +<small>KENT BROWN.</small></h2> + + +<p>“Mother, will you come and take a little walk +with me?” asked Kent as he finished Judy’s letter. +With his hand trembling, although his eyes +were very steady and his mouth very firm, he +tucked the many thin blue sheets back in their +envelope.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my son!” Mrs. Brown held her head very +high and in her expression one could very well +read: “I told you so! Did I not know the ‘mettle +of his pasture’?”</p> + +<p>“Mother,” he said, as he drew her arm in his +and they took their way through the orchard to +the garden of Chatsworth, “I must go get Judy!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my son, of course you must.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother, you think it is the only thing to +do?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, I know it is the only thing to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +I told Molly and Edwin only a few minutes ago +that you would want to do it.”</p> + +<p>“And what a mother! I—well, you know, +Mother, I am not engaged to Judy—not exactly, +that is. She knows how I feel about her and +somehow—I can’t say for sure—but I almost +know she feels the same way about me, at least, +feels somehow about me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course she does! How could she help it?”</p> + +<p>“You see, I knew it would be some time before +I could make a decent living, and it did not seem +fair to Judy to tie her down when maybe she +might strike some fellow who would be so much +more worth while than I am——”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!”</p> + +<p>“I used to think maybe Pierce Kinsella would +be her choice, when they painted together so +much.”</p> + +<p>“That boy! Why, Kent, how could you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he was a very handsome and brilliant +boy and is pretty well fixed by his uncle’s generosity +and bids fair to make one of the leading +portrait painters of the day. His portrait of you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +has made every lady who has seen it want him to +do one of her. Of course, he can’t make all of +’em look like you, but he does his best.”</p> + +<p>“It may have been wise of you not to settle this +little matter with Judy, son, but somehow—I +wish you had.”</p> + +<p>“It was hard not to, but I felt she was so far +away from her parents. I thought she would be +back in America in a month, at least. I wanted +her to come with me, but she felt she must wait +for them, and of course, I had to hurry back because +of the possible job in New York. I am +afraid that I will lose that now, but there will be +others, and I just can’t think of the things that +might happen to my Judy—she is my Judy, +whether we are engaged or not.”</p> + +<p>“When will you start, son?”</p> + +<p>“Why, to-night, if you don’t mind.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly to-night! I have money for +you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother, the money part is the only thing +worrying me. I have a little left, but not enough +to get me over and back. I must have enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +bring Judy back, too. You see, a letter of credit +now in Paris is not worth the paper it is on.”</p> + +<p>“No, I did not know. That is the one part of +Judy’s letter that put me at ease about her. I +thought she had plenty of money, and money certainly +does help out.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that is the part of her letter that made +me know I must go get her. The Americans who +are abroad simply can’t get checks cashed. She +might even be hungry, poor little Judy.”</p> + +<p>“Thank goodness, I have some money—all +owing to Judy’s father, too! If he had not seen +the bubbles on that puddle in the rocky pasture, +we would never have known there was oil there. +What better could we do with the money that Mr. +Kean got for us than use it to succor his +daughter?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother, you are so—so—bully! I know +no other word to express what you are. I am +going to pay back every cent I borrow from you. +Thank goodness, I saved a little from the money +I made on the architectural sketches I did for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +article Dickson wrote on the French country +homes. I’m going over steerage.”</p> + +<p>“You are going over in the first class cabin! +Steerage, indeed! I lend no money for such a +trip.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Mother! You are the boss. And +now, don’t you think I’ll have time to go see Aunt +Mary a few minutes?”</p> + +<p>“Of course you must go see the poor old +woman. She has been afraid she would not live +until you got home. She is very feeble. Dear +old Aunt Mary!”</p> + +<p>They had reached the Chatsworth garden and +Kent noticed with delight the hollyhocks that had +flourished wonderfully since he had dug them up +that moonlight night more than three years ago +and transplanted them from the chicken yard, +where no one ever saw them, to the beds in the +garden, and all because Miss Julia Kean had regretted +that they were not there to make a background +for the bridal party, after they had determined +to have Mildred’s wedding out of +doors.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Haven’t they come on wonderfully? I know +Judy would like to see how well they have done. +I think hollyhocks are the most decorative of all +flowers. I wonder we never had them in the garden +before, Mother.”</p> + +<p>Both of them were thinking of Mildred’s wedding +on that rare day in June. Kent remembered +with some satisfaction that in the general confusion +that ensued after Mildred and Crit were pronounced, +by Dr. Peters, to be man and wife, and +everybody was kissing everybody else, he had had +presence of mind to take advantage of the license +accorded on the occasion of a family wedding +and had kissed his sister Molly’s college friend, +Miss Julia Kean.</p> + +<p>“By Jove! I think war ought to give a fellow +some privilege, too,” he declared to himself. “I +think I’ll do the same when I see the young lady +in France.”</p> + +<p>They found Aunt Mary lying in state in a +great four poster bed, while her meek half-sister, +Sukey Jourdan, administered to her wants, which +were many and frequent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Lawsamussy, if that ain’t that there Kent! +Whar you come from, son? I done got so old an’ +feeble I can’t say mister ter nobody. You alls is +all Ernest and Sue and Paul and John and Mildred +and Kent and Molly ter me. Cepn Molly is +Molly Baby. I still got strenth fer that. Law, +Miss Milly, ain’t he growed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Aunt Mary, he is looking so well, and +now he is going to turn right around and go back +to France to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say it! Lawsamussy, Miss Milly, did +he fergit somethin’?”</p> + +<p>“Well, not exactly,” laughed Kent, “but I +didn’t bring something with me that I should +have.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you be sho ter make a cross an’ spit in +it. If’n you fergits somethin’ er fin’s you has ter +tu’n aroun’ an’ go back ’thout res’in’ a piece, if’n +you makes a cross an’ spits in it, you is sho ter +have good luck. Here you, Sukey, set a better +cheer for Miss Milly. Wherfo’ you done give +her sich a straight up’n down cheer?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, this will do very well, Sukey,” said Mrs. +Brown.</p> + +<p>“You bring another, Sukey. I don’ see what +makes you so keerless. I low if’n ’twar that no +count Buck Jourdan, you’d be drawin’ up the sofy +fer his triflin’ bones.”</p> + +<p>Poor Sukey had no easy job to keep Aunt Mary +satisfied. The old woman, having been a most +energetic and tireless person in her day, could not +understand that the whole world of darkeys could +not be as she had been. Sukey’s son Buck, the +apple of her mild eye, was the bane of Aunt +Mary’s existence. She never missed a chance to +make her younger half-sister miserable on his +account. Indeed, Sukey, mild as she was, would +not have stayed with Aunt Mary except for the +fact that Aunt Mary had insured her life for her +with the understanding that she was to minister +to her to the end. It was dearly paid for, this +service, as the old woman was most exacting. +Lenient to a degree of softness with white folks, +she was adamant with those of her own race.</p> + +<p>“How do you feel, Aunt Mary?” asked Kent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +looking with sorrow on the wasted features of the +beloved old woman.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m a feelin’ tolerable peart this mornin’ +although endurin’ of the night I thought my hour +had struck. I got ter dreamin’ ’bout my fun’ral, +an’ I got so mad cause Sis Ria Bowles done +brought a fun’ral zine like one she done tuck ter +Brer Jackson’s orgies! An’ dead or not, I wa’nt +gonter stan’ fer no sich monkey shines over me.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what did she take to Brother Jackson’s +funeral?” laughed Kent.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you heard tel er that? She cut a cross +outn that there sticky tangle yo’ foot fly paper en’ +she kivered it all over with daisy haids an’ call +herse’f bringing a zine. I riz up an’ spoke my +mind in my dream an’ I let all these here niggers +in Jeff’son County know that if they +don’t see that I gits a fust class fun’ral, I gonter +rise up when I ain’t a dreamin’ an’ speak +my min’.”</p> + +<p>Sukey Jourdan listened to this tirade with her +eyes bulging out of her head, much to Aunt +Mary’s satisfaction, as she very well knew that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +the way to manage her race was to intimidate +them.</p> + +<p>“I done been carryin’ insuriance in two clubs +an’ a comp’ny, an’ betwixt ’em I’s entitled ter seventeen +hacks. I’m a trustin’ ter Miss Milly an’ +that there Paul ter make ’em treat me proper. +Paul done say he will black list ’em in his newspaper +if’n they leave off one tit or jottle from the +’greement. I sho would like ter see my fun’ral. +I low it’s a goin’ ter be pretty stylish. I done +pinted my pall buriers an’ bought they gloves an’ +I low ter be laid out myself in my best black silk +what Miss Milly done gimme goin’ on sixteen +year, come nex’ Christmas. I ain’t a wo’ it much, +as I had in min’ ter save it fer my buryin’. Some +of the mimbers gits buried in palls made er white +silk. They do look right han’some laid out in +’em, but then palls is made ’thout a piece er back +an’ I has a notion that when Gabrel blows his +trump on that great an’ turrerble day that ole +Mary Morton ain’t a goin’ ter be caught without +no back ter her grabe clothes. It mought make +no diffrunce if’n Peter will let me pass on in,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +’cause I low that the shining robes will be a +waitin’ fer me—but sposin’—jes’ sposin’——” +and the dear old woman’s face clouded over with +anguish, “jes’ sposin’ Peter’ll say: ‘You, Mary +Morton, g’long from this here portcullis. You +blongs in the tother d’rection,’ an’ I’ll hab ter tun +’roun’ an’ take the broad road ter hell! What’ll I +feel like, if’n I ain’t got no back ter my frock? +No, sir! I’s a goin’ ter have on a dress complete. +It mought be that Peter’ll think better er me if I +shows him sech a spectful back.”</p> + +<p>“You not get in Heaven!” exclaimed Kent. +“Why, Aunt Mary, there wouldn’t be any Heaven +for all of us bad Brown boys if you weren’t +there.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now them is words of comfort what +beats the preacher’s. I done always been b’lievin’ +in ’fluence an’ I mought er knowed my white +folks would look arfter me on the las’ day jes as +much as ever. I kin git in as Miss Milly’s cook +if’n th’aint no other way. I been a ’lowing whin +I gits ter Heaven I wouldn’t have ter work no +more, but sence I been a laid up in the baid so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +long I gin ter think that work would tas’e +right sweet. Cookin’ in Heaven wouldn’t be so +hard with plenty of ’gredients ter han’ and no +scrimpin’ and scrougin’ of ’terials. A lan’ +flowin’ with milk an’ honey mus’ have aigs an’ +butter. Here you, Sukey Jourdan! Whar +you hidin’?”</p> + +<p>“Here I is, Sis Ma’y, I jes’ stepped in the shed +room ter men’ the fire ginst ’twas time ter knock +up a bite er dinner fer you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, while I’s a thinkin’ of it, I want you to +git my bes’ linen apron outn the chist—the one +with the insertioning let in ’bove the hem, an’ put +it in the highboy drawer with my bes’ black silk. +I low I’ll be laid out in a apron, ’cause if’n I can’t +git inter Heaven no other way, I am a thinkin’ +with a clean white apron on I kin slip in as a good +cook.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Aunt Mary, you have been as good as +gold all your life,” declared Mrs. Brown, wiping +a tear from her eye, but smiling in spite of herself +at Aunt Mary’s quaint idea of a way to gain an +entrance through the pearly gates.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Aunt Mary had had many doubts about her being +saved and had spent many weary nights, terrified +at the thought of dying and perhaps not being +fit for Heaven, but now that she had thought of +wearing the apron, all doubts of her desirability +were set at rest; indeed, her last days were filled +with peace since she felt now that even Peter +could not turn back a good cook.</p> + +<p>“I must be going, Aunt Mary,” said Kent, taking +the old woman’s withered hand in his strong +grasp. “I’ll be home again in a few weeks, I +fancy, maybe sooner.”</p> + +<p>“They’s one thing I ain’t arsked you yit: whar’s +that there Judy gal? I been a dreamin’ you +would bring her back with you.”</p> + +<p>“She is the thing I am going back to France +for, Aunt Mary.”</p> + +<p>“Sho nuf? Well, well! They do tell me +they’s fightin’ goin’ on in some er them furren +parts. Sholy Miss Judy ain’t nigh the fightin’ +an’ fussin’?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am afraid she is. That’s the reason I +must go for her.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Kent son! Don’t you git into no scrap +yo’sef. It’s moughty hard fer young folks ter +look on at a scrap ’thout gittin’ mixed up in it. +Don’t you git too clost, whin you is lookin’, either. +Them what looks on sometimes gits the deepes’ +razor cuts with the back han’ licks. You pick up +that gal an’ bring her back ter you’ maw jes’ as +fas’ as yo’ legs kin carry you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try to,” laughed Kent.</p> + +<p>“Don’t try! Jes’ do it! That there Judy gal +is sho nice an’ ’ristocratic, considerin’ she ain’t +never had no home. She done tell me whin she +was here to little Miss Milly’s weddin’ that she +an’ her folks ain’t never lived in nothin’ but +rented houses. That’s moughty queer to me, but +’cose niggers don’t understan’ ev’y thing. Well, +you tell her that ole Mary Morton say she better +pick up an’ come back to Chatswuth.”</p> + +<p>“I certainly will, Aunt Mary, and good-by!”</p> + +<p>The old woman put her hand on his bowed +head for a moment, and while she said nothing, +Kent took it for a benediction.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.<br /> + +<small>AFTERNOON TEA.</small></h2> + + +<p>Molly had established the custom of afternoon +tea in her orchard home, and while she had been +greatly teased by her brothers for introducing +this English custom into Kentucky country life, +they one and all turned up on her porch for tea if +they were in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>“It is one place where a fellow can always find +some talk and a place to air his views,” declared +John, as he reached for another slice of bread and +butter. “It isn’t the food so much as the being +gathered together.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you are gathering a good deal of food +together in spite of your contempt for it,” put in +Paul. “That’s the sixth slice! I have kept tab +on you.”</p> + +<p>“Why not? I always think plain bread and +butter is about the best thing there is.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, why not?” asked Molly, calling her little +cook Kizzie to prepare another plate of the desirable +article. “Aunt Clay, you had better change +your mind and have some tea and bread and +butter.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sarah Clay had driven over in state from +her home when she heard Kent had arrived. She +wanted to hear the latest news, also to tender her +advice as to what he was to do now. She presented +the same uncompromising front as of yore, +although her back had given way somewhat to +the weight of years. Judy Kean always said she +had a hard face and a soft figure. This soft figure +she poured into tight basques, evidently determined +to try to make it live up to her face.</p> + +<p>“Tea!” she exclaimed indignantly. “I never +eat between meals.”</p> + +<p>“But this is a meal, in a way,” said Molly hospitably +bent, as was her wont, on feeding people.</p> + +<p>“A meal! Whoever heard of tea and bread +and butter comprising a meal?” and the stern +aunt stalked to the end of the porch where the +baby lay in her basket, kicking her pink heels in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +the air in an ecstasy of joy over being in the +world.</p> + +<p>“Molly, this baby has on too few clothes. +What can you be thinking of, having the child +barefooted and nothing on but this muslin slip +over her arms? She is positively blue with +cold.”</p> + +<p>Molly flew to her darling but found her glowing +and warm. “Why, Aunt Clay, only feel her +hands and feet! She is as warm as toast. The +doctor cautioned me against wrapping her up too +much. He says little babies are much warmer +than we are.”</p> + +<p>“Well, have your own way! Of course, although +I am older than your mother, I know +nothing at all.”</p> + +<p>“But, Aunt Clay——”</p> + +<p>“Never mind!”</p> + +<p>Poor Molly! She could never do or say anything +to suit her Aunt Clay. She looked regretfully +at the old lady’s indignant back as she left +her and joined Kent, who was sitting on a settle +with his mother, holding her hand, both of them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +very quiet amidst the chatter around the tea table. +They made room for their relative, who +immediately began her catechism of Kent.</p> + +<p>“Why did you not come home sooner?”</p> + +<p>“Because I had some work to do, sketches illustrating +an article on French country houses.”</p> + +<p>“Humph! Did you get paid for them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Aunt Clay!”</p> + +<p>“Now, what are your plans?”</p> + +<p>“I have landed a job in New York with a firm +of architects, that is, I had landed it, but I am not +so sure now since——”</p> + +<p>“Good! You feel that you had better stay at +home and look after Chatsworth.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! I am sure I could not be much of a +farmer.”</p> + +<p>“Could not because you would not! If I were +your mother, I would insist on one of you staying +at home and running the place.”</p> + +<p>“Ernest is thinking of coming back, giving up +engineering and trying intensive farming on +Chatsworth.”</p> + +<p>“Ernest, indeed! And why should he have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +wasted all these years in some other profession +if he means to farm?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see,” said Kent very patiently because +of the pressure he felt from his mother’s +gentle hand, “farming takes money and there +wasn’t any money. Ernest always did want to +farm, but it was necessary for him to make some +money first. Now he has saved and invested and +has something to put in the land, and he is +devoutly hoping to get out more than he +puts in.”</p> + +<p>“If putting something in the land means expensive +machinery, I can tell him now that he +will waste money buying it. But there is no use +in telling Ernest anything—he is exactly like +Sue: very quiet, does not answer back when his +elders and betters address him, but, like Sue, goes +his own way. Sue is very headstrong and simply +twists my husband’s nephew around her finger. +I was very much disappointed in Cyrus +Clay. I thought he had more backbone.”</p> + +<p>Sue Brown, now Mrs. Cyrus Clay, had been +the one member of the Brown family who always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +got on with the stern Aunt Clay; and Kent and +his mother were sorry to hear the old lady express +any criticism of Sue. It seemed that Sue +had done nothing more serious than to persuade +Cyrus to join the Country Club, but it was +against Mrs. Sarah Clay’s wishes, and anything +that opposed her was headstrong and consequently +wicked.</p> + +<p>“But to return to you——” Kent let a sigh escape +him as he had hoped he had eluded further +catechism, “what are you going to do now?”</p> + +<p>“Well, to-night I go back to New York, and +day after to-morrow I take a French steamer for +Havre.”</p> + +<p>“Havre! Are you crazy?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do in France with this +war going on?”</p> + +<p>“I am not quite sure.”</p> + +<p>This was too much for the irate old lady, so +without making any adieux, she took her departure, +scorning the polite assistance of her three +nephews. Professor Green called her coachman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +and helped her into the great carriage she still +held to, the kind seen now-a-days only in +museums.</p> + +<p>“Kent, how could you?” laughed Mrs. Brown, +in spite of her attempt to look shocked.</p> + +<p>“I think Kent was right,” declared Molly. +“How could he tell Aunt Clay he was going to +France to get Judy? She would never have let +up on it. I’m glad she has gone, anyhow! We +were having a very nice time without her.”</p> + +<p>“Molly!” and Mrs. Brown looked shocked. +She always exacted a show of respect from her +children to this very difficult elder sister Sarah.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mumsy, we have to break loose sometimes!” +exclaimed Molly. “The idea of her saying +Mildred was blue with cold! Criticising poor +Sue, too! Goodness, I’d hate to be the one that +Aunt Clay had taken a shine to. I’d almost +rather have her despise me as she does.”</p> + +<p>“Not despise you, Molly,—you don’t understand +your Aunt Clay.”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps not, but she puts up a mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +good imitation of despising. I think it is because +I look so like Cousin Sally Bolling and she never +forgave the present Marquise d’Ochtè for making +fun of her long years ago. And then to +crown it all, Cousin Sally got the inheritance +from Greataunt Sarah Carmichael and married +the Marquis, at least she married the Marquis +and then got the inheritance. It was too much +for Aunt Clay.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown looked so pained that Molly +stopped her tirade. Aunt Clay was the one person +whom Molly could not love. She had a heart +as big as all out doors but it was not big enough +to hold Aunt Clay.</p> + +<p>“Here comes Sue! How glad I am! She +’phoned she would be here before so very long. +What a blessing she missed Aunt Clay! See, she +is running the car herself and isn’t it a beauty? +Cyrus just got it for her and Sue runs it wonderfully +well already. I forgot to write you about +it, Kent. But best of all! What do you think? +Cyrus has had the muddy lane that was the cause +of Sue’s hesitating whether to take him or not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +all drained and macadamized. The approach to +Maxton is simply perfect now.”</p> + +<p>“Good for Cyrus!” said Kent, jumping up to +meet his sister, who drove her big car through the +gate and up the driveway as though she had been +running an automobile all her life.</p> + +<p>“Only think, five Browns together again!” exclaimed +Paul, as they seated themselves on the +porch of the bungalow after duly admiring the +new car. Molly had Kizzie brew a fresh pot of +tea and John was persuaded to eat some more +thin slices of bread and butter.</p> + +<p>“Yes, five of you together again,” said Mrs. +Brown wistfully. “Ah, me! I wish I could get +all seven of you at Chatsworth once more. Indeed, +I wish I had all of you back in the nursery +again.”</p> + +<p>“But where would I come in then?” said Edwin +Green whimsically.</p> + +<p>“And little Mildred?” from Molly, hugging +her infant.</p> + +<p>“And Sue’s new car, not to mention Cyrus?” +teased Kent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You are right, children. I should be more of +a philosopher.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0b">“‘The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.’”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Molly stood over Kent with a cup of steaming +tea and taking her cue from her mother’s quotation +from the Rubaiyat and prompted by his +knownothing attitude with his Aunt Clay, she got +off the stanza:</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“Yesterday This Day’s Madness did prepare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow’s Silence, Triumph, or Despair:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drink! for you know not whence you came nor why:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER V.<br /> + +<small>LETTERS FROM PARIS AND BERLIN.</small></h2> + + +<p>From Miss Julia Kean to Mrs. Edwin Green.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Paris, and no idea of the date.<br /> +No fixed address, but the American<br /> +Club might reach me.<br /> +</p> + +<p>Molly darling:</p> + +<p>Things are moving so fast that even I can’t +quite catch on, and you know I am some mover +myself. Jo and I came to Paris as I wrote you +we would, but I haven’t seen her since. She told +me in as polite words as she could command that +she couldn’t be bothered with me any more. At +least that was the trend of her remarks. She has +the business before her of making up to look as +much like a man as possible and then of being +taken into the aviation school.</p> + +<p>I met an art student from Carlo Rossi’s on the +street and he told me Polly was already the proud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +driver of an ambulance. Lots of the American +art students have enlisted or joined the Red +Cross. If I liked sick folks or nursing, I think +I’d join myself. I feel that I should be doing +something while I wait to hear from Bobby. I +hope to see the American Ambassador next week. +He is simply floored under with duties just now. +I don’t want any help from him, but just to find +out something about Bobby and Mamma.</p> + +<p>If you could see Paris now! Oh, Molly, our +gay, beautiful, eternally youthful city has grown +suddenly sad and middle-aged. There is no +gaiety or frivolity now. Her step has changed +from a dance to a march. Her laughter has +turned to weeping, but silent weeping—she makes +no outcry but one knows the tears are there. +Her beautiful festive clothes are laid away and +now there is nothing but khaki and mourning. +The gallant little soldier is to discard his flaming +red trousers and blue coat for khaki. The German +finds him too easy a mark.</p> + +<p>I begin to tremble for Paris, but strange to say +I have no fear for myself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>I have seen the Ambassador! He was very +grave when I told him about Bobby. There was +some English capital involved in the railroad that +Bobby was to build in Turkey, and for that reason +there may be some complication. He is to +communicate with Gerard immediately. In the +meantime, he advises me to go home. I told him +I had no home, but would wait here until I found +out something. He asked me if I had plenty of +money and I told him yes, indeed, my letter of +credit was good for almost any amount. I had +not had to draw on it as I had stocked up before +I went to G—— to keep house with the Polly +Perkinses. The Ambassador actually laughed at +me. Do you know, I can’t get any more money? +What a fool I have been! I have been so taken +up with Paris and the sights and sounds that +money has never entered my head. I have quite +a little left, though, and I intend to live on next +to nothing.</p> + +<p>The Bents have left for America and have +given me their key to use their studio as I see fit. +Mrs. Bent wanted me to go with them, but I can’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +go until we hear from Gerard. Now I am back +in the Rue Brea! It seems strange to be there +again where we had such a glorious winter. The +studio where Kent and Pierce Kinsella lived all +last year is vacant. I don’t know where Pierce +is. Gone to war, perhaps!</p> + +<p>I spend the days on the streets, walking up and +down, listening to the talk and watching the regiments +as they move away. I ran across some old +friends yesterday. You remember a wedding +party I butted in on at St. Cloud that day I scared +all of you so when I took the wrong train from +Versailles and landed at Chartres? Well, I ran +plump against the bride on Montparnasse (only +she is no longer a bride but had a rosy infant over +her shoulder). She came out of a little delicatessen +shop and her husband in war togs followed +her, and there I witnessed their parting. I seem +fated to be present at every crisis in their lives. +The girl did not recognize me but the young man +did. I had danced with him in too mad a whirl +for him to forget me. Then came the old father +and his wife who looked like a member of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +Commune. They keep the little shop, it seems. +I shook hands with them and together we waited +for the young man’s regiment to come swinging +down the street. With another embrace all +around, even me, he caught step with his comrades +and was gone. The bonnemère clasped her +daughter-in-law to her grenadier-like bosom and +they mingled their tears, the rosy baby gasping +for breath between the two. The old father +turned to me:</p> + +<p>“This is different from the last time we met, +ma’mselle!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, so different!”</p> + +<p>“Come in and have a bite and sup with us. +There is still something to eat in Paris besides +horse flesh.” His wife and daughter-in-law +joined him in the invitation and so I went in. I +enjoyed the meal more than I can tell you. The +grenadier is some cook and although the fare was +simple, it was so well seasoned and appetizing +that I ate as I have not done since I got back to +Paris. The truth of the matter is, I am living +so cheap for fear of getting out of money and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +am afraid I have been neglecting my inner man. +I can’t cook a thing myself, which is certainly +trifling of me, and so have depended on restaurants +for sustenance. I dressed the salad (you +remember it is my one accomplishment) and it +met with the approval of host and hostess.</p> + +<p>I told them of my trouble and how I felt I must +wait until I heard something definite of my +mother and father, and they were all sympathy. +I have promised to come to them if I get into +difficulty, and you don’t know the comfortable +feeling I have now that I have some adopted +folks.</p> + +<p>I might go to the Marquise d’Ochtè, but I know +she has all on her hands and mind that she can +attend to. I don’t need anything but just companionship. +I am such a gregarious animal that +I must have folks.</p> + +<p>I am dying to hear from you and to know if +Kent landed his job. Is he—well, angry with me +for staying over? I would not have missed staying +for anything, even if he should be put out. +I can’t believe he is, though. I had rather hoped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +for letters when the American mail came in this +morning, but the man at the bank was very unfeeling +and had nothing. Nobody seems to be +getting any mail. I wonder if they are stopping +it for some reason or other. I have a great mind +to take this to some American who is fleeing and +have it mailed in New York. I will do that very +thing. Good by, Molly—don’t be uneasy about +me. You know my catlike nature of lighting on +my feet.</p> + +<p> +<span class="rght3">Your own,</span><br /> +<span class="rght1">Judy.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="r3">From Mr. Robert Kean to his Daughter Julia.</p> + +<p><span class="rght2">Berlin.</span><br /></p> + +<p>My dear Judy:</p> + +<p>I know you are intensely uneasy about us, but +down in your heart you also know that we never +get into scrapes we can’t get out of, and we will +get out of this. This letter will probably be postmarked +Sweden but that does not mean I am +there. In fact, I am in durance vile here in Berlin. +I am allowed to walk around the streets and +to pay my own living expenses but leave Berlin I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +cannot. Your mother can’t leave, either—not +that she would. You know how she thinks that +she protects me and so she insists that she will +stay. I am allowed to write no letters and can +receive none. I am getting this off to you by a +clever device of your mother’s, which I shall not +divulge now for fear it might be seized and thus +get an innocent person in bad with this remarkable +Government.</p> + +<p>I am kept here all because I know too much +about the geography and topography of Turkey. +Of course I have made careful maps of the proposed +railroad from Constantinople, the one we +have been trying to get the concessions for. +Well, they have naturally seized the maps. But +before I dreamed of the possibility of this war, +for, like all of us fool Anglo Saxons, I have been +nosing along like a mole, I had a talk with a high +Prussian Muckamuck at dinner one evening +about this proposed road and I drew the blame +thing on the table cloth, and with bits of bread +and salt cellars and what not I explained the +whole topography of the country and the benefit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +it would be to mankind to have this particular +railroad built, financed by my particular company. +That was where I “broke my ’lasses pitcher.” Of +course, having surveyed the country and made +the maps, at least, having had a finger in the pie +from the beginning, I can reproduce those maps +from memory, if not very accurately, at least, accurately +enough to get the Germans going if that +particular information should be needed by the +Allies.</p> + +<p>Do you know what I see in this? Why, Turkey +will be in this war before so very long.</p> + +<p>I am hungry for news. I feel that I will go +mad if I can’t get some information besides what +is printed in these boot licking newspapers of +Berlin. They speak of their soldiers as though +they were avenging angels—avenging what? +Avenging the insult Belgium offered them for not +lying down and making a road of herself for them +to walk over. Avenging France for not opening +wide her gates and getting ready the Christmas +dinner the Kaiser meant to eat in Paris. I’d like +to prepare his Christmas dinner, and surely I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +would serve a hors-d’œuvre of rough-on-rats, an +entrée of ptomaines, and finish off with a dessert +of hanging, which would be too sweet for him. +Now just suppose this letter is seized and they see +this above remark—what then? I must not be +allowed to write my opinion of their ruler to my +own daughter, but these Prussians who go to +United States and get all they can from our country, +feel at perfect liberty to publish newspapers +vilifying our President and to burst into print at +any moment about our men who are high in +authority.</p> + +<p>Berlin is wild with enthusiasm and joy over her +victories. Every Belgian village that is razed to +the ground makes them think it is cause for a +torch-light procession. I can’t understand them. +They can hardly be the same kindly folk we have +so often stayed among. They are still kind, kind +to each other and kind in a way to us and to all +the strangers within their gates, but how they can +rejoice over the reports of their victories I cannot +see.</p> + +<p>They one and all believe that they were forced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +to fight. They say France was marching to Berlin +for the President to eat Christmas dinner +here, and that Belgium had promised they should +go straight through her gates unmolested and +did not regard the agreement of neutrality. I +say nonsense to such statements. At least I +think nonsense. I really say very little for one +who has so much to say. I am bubbling over to +talk politics with some one. Your poor little +mumsy listens to me but she never jaws back. I +want some one to jaw back. I have promised her +to keep off the subject with these Prussians. +They are so violent and so on the lookout for +treason. There is one thing I am sure of and +that is that no Frenchman would want to eat +Christmas dinner or any other kind of dinner +here if he could eat it in Paris. I am sick of raw +goose and blood pudding and Limburger cheese.</p> + +<p>As I write this tirade, I am wondering, my dear +daughter, where you are. Did you go back to +America with Kent Brown, who, you wrote me +in your last letter, was sailing in a week, or are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +you in Paris? I hope not there! Since I see the +transports of joy these law-abiding, home-loving +citizens, women and men, can get in over an account +of what seems to me mere massacre, I +tremble to think what the soldiers are capable of +in the lust of bloodshed.</p> + +<p>From the last bulletin, the Germans are certainly +coming closer and closer to Paris. I hope +they are lying in their report. They are capable +of falsifying anything.</p> + +<p>I am trying to get hold of our Ambassador to +get me out of this mess, but he is so busy it is hard +to see him. I think he is doing excellent work +and I feel it is best for me to wait and let the +Americans who are in more urgent need get first +aid. I have enough money to tide us over for a +few weeks with very careful expenditure. Of +course I can get no more, just like all the rest of, +the Americans who are stranded here.</p> + +<p>I feel terribly restless for work. I don’t know +how to loaf, never did. I’d go to work here at +something, but I feel if I did, it would just mean +that these Prussians could then spare one more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +man for their butchery, and I will at least not +help them that much. Your mother and I are on +the street a great deal. We walk up and down +and go in and out of shops and sit in the parks. +I keep moving as much as possible, not only because +I am so restless but because I like to keep +the stupid spy who is set to watch over me as busy +as possible. He has some weird notion that I do +not know he is ever near me. I keep up the farce +and I give him many anxious moments. Yesterday +I wrote limericks and nonsense verses on letter +paper and made little boats of them and sent +them sailing on the lake in the park. If you +could have seen this man’s excitement. He +called in an accomplice and they fished out the +boats and carefully concealing them, they got +hold of a third spy to take them to the chief. I +wonder what they made of:</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“The Window has Four little Panes:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But One have I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Window Panes are in its Sash,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wonder why!”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>or this:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“I wish that my Room had a Floor—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don’t so much care for a Door,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But this walking around<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Without touching the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is getting to be quite a bore!”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>I only wish I could see the translations of these +foolish rhymes that must have been made before +they could decide whether or not I had a bomb up +my sleeve to put the Kaiser out with. Fancy this +in German:</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“The poor benighted Hindoo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He does the best he kindo;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">He sticks to caste<br /></span> +<span class="i6">From first to last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For pants he makes his skindo.”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Some of the ships sank and they had to get a +boat hook and raise them. My nonsense seems +to have had its effect. I saw in this morning’s +paper that some of the foreigners held in Berlin +have gone crazy. I believe they mean me. I +must think up some more foolishness. I feel that +the more I occupy this spy who has me in charge, +the better it is for the Allies. I try to be neutral +but my stomach is rebelling at German food,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +and who can be neutral with a prejudiced +stomach?</p> + +<p>We are trying to cook in our room. You +know what a wonder your little mumsy is at +knocking up an omelette and making coffee and +what not, and we also find it is much more economical +to eat there all we can. When we are +there, we are out of sight of the spy, who, of +course, can’t help his job, but neither can I help +wanting to kick his broad bean. He is such a +block-head. He reminds me of the Mechanician +Man, in our comic papers: “Brains he has nix.” +He is evidently doing just exactly what he has +been wound up and set to do. I can’t quite see +why I should be such an important person that I +should need a whole spy to myself. I can’t get +out of Berlin unless I fly out and I see no chance +of that.</p> + +<p class="star">*******</p> + +<p>I have had my interview with the Ambassador. +He sent for me, and the wonderful thing was +that it was because of the ball you had set rolling +in Paris. When one Ambassador gets in communication<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +with another Ambassador, even when +it is about as unimportant a thing as I am, there +is something doing immediately. You must have +made a hit, honey, with the powers in France, +they got busy so fast. It seems that the Imperial +Government is very leary about me. My +being an American is the only thing that keeps +me out of prison. They are kind of scared to +put me there, but they won’t let me go. I had +to wait an hour even after I got sent for, and +I enjoyed it thoroughly because it was raining +hard and blowing like blazes and I knew that my +bodyguard was having to take it. Indeed I +could see him all the time across the strasse looking +anxiously at the door where he had seen me +disappear. I also had the delight of reading a +two weeks old American newspaper that a very +nice young clerk slipped to me. I suppose the +American Legation gets its newspaper, war or +no.</p> + +<p>Nothing can be done for me as yet. I have +been very imprudent in my behaviour, reprehensible, +in fact. The paper boats were most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +ill advised, especially the one that goes: “My +Window has Four little Panes.” That is something +to do with maps and a signal, it seems. +“The Window Panes are in its Sash,” is most +suggestive of information. Ah, well! They +can’t do more than just keep us here, and if our +money gives out, it will be up to them to feed us. +The time may come when I will be glad to get +even blood pudding, but I can’t think it.</p> + +<p>Your poor little mumsy, in spite of the years +she has spent with me roughing it, still has a +dainty appetite, and I believe she would as soon +eat a live rat, as blood pudding or raw goose. She +makes out with eggs and salad and coffee and +toast. So far, provisions are plentiful. It is +only our small purse that makes us go easy on +everything. But if the war goes on (which, God +willing, it will do, as a short war will mean the +Germans are victorious), I can’t see how provisions +will remain plentiful. What is England +doing, anyhow? She must be doing something, +but she is doing it very slowly.</p> + +<p>Your being in Paris is a source of much uneasiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +to us, but I can’t say that I blame you. +You are too much like me to want to get out +of excitement. I feel sure you will take care +of yourself and now that the French are waltzing +in at such a rate, I have no idea that the +Germans will ever reach Paris. After all, this +letter is to be taken by a lady who is at the +American Legation and mailed to Mrs. Edwin +Green and through her sent to you. They could +not get it directly to you in France, but no doubt +it will finally reach you through your friend, +Molly. I am trusting her to do it and I know +she will do it if any one can, because she is certainly +to be depended on to get her friends out of +trouble. In the meantime, the Ambassador here +is to communicate formally with the Ambassador +in Paris, and he is to let you know that all is +well with your innocent if imprudent parents. +Of course, your mother could go home if she +would, but you know her well enough to know +she won’t. In fact, there is some talk of making +her go home, and she says if they start any +such thing she is going to swear she can draw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +any map of Turkey that ever was known to +man, and can do it with her eyes shut and her +hands tied behind her.</p> + +<p>We both of us wish you were safe in Kentucky +with your friends. We spend many nights +talking of you and reproaching ourselves that we +have left you so much to yourself. I don’t see +how we could help it in a way, but maybe I should +have given up engineering and taken up preaching +or been a tailor or something. Then I might +have made a settled habitation for all of us. +Your mumsy is writing you a long letter, too, +so I must stop. She is quite disappointed not +to use her clever scheme for getting the letter +to you, and rather resents the lady at the Legation.</p> + +<p> +<span class="rght3">Yours,</span><br /> +<span class="rght1">Bobby.</span><br /> +</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.<br /> + +<small>AT THE TRICOTS’.</small></h2> + + +<p>It took one month and three days for Judy +to get the above letter, but her mind was set somewhat +at rest long before that time by the Ambassador +himself, who had learned through his +confrère in Berlin that Mr. and Mrs. Kean were +safe and at large, although not allowed to leave +Berlin.</p> + +<p>The daughter was so accustomed to her parents +being in dangerous places that she did not +feel so concerned about them as an ordinary girl +would have felt for ordinary parents. Ever since +she could remember, they had been camping in +out-of-the-way places and making hair-breadth +escapes from mountain wild cats and native uprisings +and what not. She could not believe the +Germans, whom she had always thought of as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +rather bovine, could turn into raging lions so +completely.</p> + +<p>“Bobby will light on his feet!” she kept saying +to herself until it became almost like a prayer. +“No one could hurt Mamma. She will be protected +just as children will be!” And then came +terrible, exaggerated accounts of the murder in +cold blood of little children, and then the grim +truth of the destruction of Louvain and Rheims, +and anything seemed possible.</p> + +<p>“A nation that could glory in the destruction +of such beautiful things as these cathedrals will +stop at nothing.” But still she kept on saying: +“Bobby will light on his feet! Bobby will light +on his feet!” She no longer trusted the Germans, +but she had infinite faith in the sagacity and +cleverness of her father. He always had got +himself out of difficult and tight places and he +always would.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, money was getting very low. +Try as she would to economize, excitement made +her hungry and she must eat and eat three times +a day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>“If I only had Molly Brown’s skill and could +cook for myself!” she would groan as she tried +to choke down the muddy concoction that she +had just succeeded in brewing and was endeavoring +to persuade herself tasted a little like coffee. +She remembered with swimming eyes the beautiful +little repasts they had had in the Bents’ studio +during that memorable winter.</p> + +<p>“Judy Kean, you big boob! I believe my soul +you are going to bawl about a small matter of +food. If the destruction of Louvain did not make +you weep, surely muddy coffee ought not to bring +tears to your eyes, unless maybe they are tears +of shame.”</p> + +<p>The truth of the matter was, Judy was lonesome +and idle. She could not make up her mind +to paint. Things were moving too fast and there +was too much reality in the air. Art seemed +unreal and unnecessary, somehow. “Great things +will be painted after the war but not now,” she +would say. She carried her camera with her +wherever she went and snapped up groups of +women and children, soldiers kissing their old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +fathers, great ladies stopping to converse with +the gamin of the street; anything and everything +went into her camera. She spent more money +on films than on food, in spite of her healthy +hunger.</p> + +<p>On that morning in September as she cleared +away the scraps from her meager breakfast, her +eyes swimming from lonesomeness, appetite unappeased +and a kind of nameless longing, she +almost determined to throw herself on the mercy +of the American Legation for funds to return to +New York. The Americans had cleared out of +Paris until there were very few left. Judy would +occasionally see the familiar face of some art +student she had known in the class, but those +familiar faces grew less and less frequent.</p> + +<p>“There’s the Marquise! I can always go to +her, but I know she is taken up with her grief +over Philippe’s going a soldiering,” she thought +as she put her plate and cup back on the shelf +where the Bents kept their assortment of china.</p> + +<p>A knock at the door! Who could it be? No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +mail came to her and no friends were left to +come.</p> + +<p>“Mam’selle!” and bowing low before her was +the lean old partner of St. Cloud, Père Tricot. +“Mam’selle, my good wife and I, as well as our +poor little daughter-in-law, we all want you to +come and make one of our humble menage.”</p> + +<p>“Want me!” exclaimed Judy, her eyes shining.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mam’selle,” he said simply. “We have +talked it over and we think you are too young +to be so much alone and then if—the—the—well, +I have too much respect for Mam’selle to call +their name,—if they do get in Paris, I can protect +you with my own women. I am not so old +that I cannot hit many a lick yet—indeed, I would +enlist again if they would have me; but my good +wife says they may need me more here in Paris +and I must rest tranquilly here and do the work +for France that I can best do. Will you come, +Mam’selle?”</p> + +<p>“Come! Oh, Père Tricot, I’ll be too glad to +come. When?”</p> + +<p>“Immediately!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<p>Judy’s valise was soon packed and the studio +carefully locked, the key handed over to the concierge, +and she was arm in arm with her old +friend on her way to her new home in the little +shop on the Boulevarde Montparnasse.</p> + +<p>Mère Tricot, who looked like a member of the +Commune but acted like a dear, kindly old Granny, +took the girl to her bosom.</p> + +<p>“What did I tell you? I knew she would come,” +she cried to her husband, who had hurried into +the shop to wait on a customer. It was a delicatessen +shop and very appetizing did the food +look to poor Judy, who felt as though she had +never eaten in her life.</p> + +<p>“Tell me!” he exclaimed as he weighed out +cooked spinach to a small child who wanted two +sous’ worth. “Tell me, indeed! You said +Mam’selle would not walk on the street with an +old peasant in a faded blouse if she would come +at all, and I—I said Mam’selle was what the +Americans call a good sport and would walk on +the street with an old peasant, if she liked him, +in any kind of clothes he happened to be in, rags<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +even. Bah! You were wrong and I was right.”</p> + +<p>The old Tricots were forever wrangling but +it was always in a semi-humorous manner, and +their great devotion to each other was always +apparent. Judy found it was better never to +take sides with either one as the moment she did +both of them were against her.</p> + +<p>How homelike the little apartment was behind +the shops! It consisted of two bed rooms, a living +room which opened into the shop and a tiny +tiled kitchen about the size of a kitchen on a +dining car—so tiny that it seemed a miracle that +all the food displayed so appetizingly in the windows +and glass cases of the shop should have +been prepared there.</p> + +<p>“It is so good of you to have me and I want +to come more than I can say, but you must let me +board with you. I couldn’t stay unless you do.”</p> + +<p>“That is as you choose, Mam’selle,” said the +old woman. “We do not want to make money +on you, but you can pay for your keep if you +want to.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Mother, but I must help some, help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +in the shop or mind the baby, clean up the apartment, +anything! I can’t cook a little bit, but I +can do other things.”</p> + +<p>“No woman can cook,” asserted old Tricot. +“They lack the touch.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Braggart! If I lay thee out with this +pastry board, I’ll not lack the touch,” laughed +the wife. She was making wonderful little tarts +with crimped edges to be filled with assortments +of confiture.</p> + +<p>“Let me mind the shop, then. I know I can +do that.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that will not be bad,” agreed old Tricot. +“While Marie (the daughter-in-law) washes the +linen and you make the tarts, Mam’selle can keep +the shop, but no board must she pay. I’ll be +bound new customers will flock to us to buy of +the pretty face.” Judy blushed with pleasure at +the old peasant’s compliment.</p> + +<p>“And thou, laggard and sloth! What will thou +do while the women slave?”</p> + +<p>“I—Oh, I will go to the Tabac’s to see what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +news there is, and later to see if Jean is to the +front.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we cannot hear from Jean to-day and +Paris can still stand without thy political opinion,” +but she laughed and shoved him from the +shop, a very tender expression on her lined old +face.</p> + +<p>“These men! They think themselves of much +importance,” she said as she resumed her pastry +making.</p> + +<p>Having tied a great linen apron around Judy’s +slender waist (much slenderer in the last month +from her economical living), and having instructed +her in the prices of the cooked food displayed +in the show cases, Mère Tricot turned +over the shop to her care. The rosy baby was +lying in a wooden cradle in the back of the little +shop and the grandmother was in plain view in +the tiny kitchen to be seen beyond the living +room.</p> + +<p>“Well, I fancy I am almost domesticated,” +thought Judy. “What an interior this would +make—baby in foreground and old Mother Tricot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +on through with her rolling pin. Light fine! +I’ve a great mind to paint while I am keeping +shop, sketch, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>She whipped out her sketch book and sketched +in her motive with sure and clever strokes, but +art is long and shops must be kept. Customers +began to pile in. The spinach was very popular +and Judy became quite an adept in dishing +it out and weighing it. Potato salad was +next in demand and cooked tongue and rosbif +disappeared rapidly. Many soldiers lounged +in, eating their sandwiches in the shop. Judy +enjoyed her morning greatly but she could +not remember ever in her life having worked +harder.</p> + +<p>When the tarts were finished and displayed +temptingly in the window, swarms of children arrived. +It seemed that Mère Tricot’s tarts were +famous in the Quarter. More soldiers came, too. +Among them was a face strangely familiar to +the amateur shop girl. Who could it be? It +was the face of a typical Boulevardier: dissipated, +ogling eyes; black moustache and beard waxed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +until they looked like sharp spikes; a face not +homely but rather handsome, except for its expression +of infinite conceit and impertinence.</p> + +<p>“I have never seen him before, I fancy. It +is just the type that is familiar to me,” she +thought. “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mais quel type!”</i></p> + +<p>Judy was looking very pretty, with her cheeks +flushed from the excitement of weighing out +spinach and salad, making change where sous +were thought of as though they were gold and +following the patois of the peasants that came +to buy and the argot of the gamin. She had +donned a white cap of Marie’s which was most +becoming. Judy, always ready to act a part, +with an instinctive dramatic spirit had entered +into the rôle of shop keeper with a vim that bade +fair to make the Tricots’ the most popular place +on Boulevarde Montparnasse. Her French had +fortunately improved greatly since her arrival +in Paris more than two years before and now +she flattered herself that one could not tell she +was not Parisienne.</p> + +<p>The soldier with the ogling eyes and waxed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +moustache lingered in the shop when his companions +had made their purchases and departed. +He insisted upon knowing the price of every ware +displayed. He asked her to name the various +confitures in the tarts, which she did rather wearily +as his persistence was most annoying. She +went through the test, however, with as good a +grace as possible. Shop girls must not be squeamish, +she realized.</p> + +<p>One particularly inviting gooseberry tart was +left on the tray. Judy had had her eye on it +from the first and trembled every time a purchaser +came for tarts. She meant to ask Mère +Tricot for it, if only no one bought it. And now +this particularly objectionable customer with his +rolling black eyes and waxed moustache was asking +her what kind it was! Why did he not buy +what he wanted and leave?</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eh? Qu’est-ce que c’est?”</i> he demanded with +an amused leer as he pointed a much manicured +forefinger at that particularly desirable tart.</p> + +<p>Judy was tired and the French for gooseberry +left her as is the way with an acquired language.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +Instead of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">groseille</i> which was the word she +wanted, she blurted out in plain English:</p> + +<p>“Gooseberry jam!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I have bean pensè so mooch. You may +spick ze Eengleesh with me, Mees. Gueseberry +jaam! Ha, ha! An’ now, Mees, there iss wan +question I should lak a demandè of the so beootifool +demoiselle: what iss the prize of wan leetle +kees made in a so lufly tart?” He leaned over the +counter, his eyes rolling in a fine frenzy.</p> + +<p>Where was Mère Tricot now? What a fine +time to brandish her pastry board! Gone to the +innermost recesses of the apartment with the rosy +baby! Suddenly Judy remembered exactly where +she had seen that silly face before.</p> + +<p>“At Versailles, the day I got on the wrong +train!” flashed through her mind. She remembered +well the hateful creature who had sat on +the bench by her and insulted her with his attentions. +She remembered how she had jumped +up from the bench and hurried off, forgetting her +package of gingerbread, bought at St. Cloud, +and how the would-be masher had run after her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +with it, saying in his insinuating manner: “You +have forgot your <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gouter, cherie</i>. Do you like +puddeen very much, my dear?”</p> + +<p>It was certainly the same man. His soldier’s +uniform made him somewhat less of a dandy +than his patent leather boots and lemon coloured +gloves had done on that occasion, but the dude +was there in spite of the change of clothes. On +that day at Versailles she had seized the gingerbread +and jammed it in her mouth, thereby disgusting +the fastidious Frenchman. She had often +told the story and her amused hearers had always +declared that her presence of mind was +much to be commended.</p> + +<p>The soldier leaned farther and farther over +the counter still demanding: “A leetle kees made +in so lufly a tart.”</p> + +<p>Ha! An inspiration! Judy grasped the desired +gooseberry tart and thrust the whole thing +into her mouth. There was no time to ask the +leave of Mère Tricot.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah quelle betise!”</i> exclaimed the dandy, and +at the same moment he, too, remembered the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +young English demoiselle at Versailles. He +straightened up and into his ogling eyes came +a spark of shame. With a smile that changed +his whole countenance he saluted Judy.</p> + +<p>“Pardon, Mademoiselle!”</p> + +<p>Judy’s mouth was too full to attempt French +but she managed to say in her mother tongue:</p> + +<p>“Why do you come in a respectable place like +this and behave just like a Prussian?”</p> + +<p>“Prussian! Ah, Mademoiselle, excuse, excuse. +I—the beauty of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">boutiquier</i> made me forget +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la Patrie</i>. I have been a roué, a fool. I am henceforth +a Frenchman. Mademoiselle iss wan noble +ladee. She efen mar her so great beauty to protec +her dignitee. I remember ze <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pain d’epice</i> at Versailles +and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la grande bouchée</i>. Mademoiselle has +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le bel esprit</i>, what you call Mericanhumor. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Au +revoir, Mademoiselle</i>,” and with a very humble +bow he departed, without buying anything at all.</p> + +<p>The Tricots laughed very heartily when Judy +told them her experience.</p> + +<p>“I see you can take care of yourself,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +Père Tricot with a nod of approval. “If the Prussians +come, they had better look out.”</p> + +<p>“Do you forgive me for eating the last gooseberry +tart?” she asked of Mère Tricot. “I was +very glad of the excuse to get it before some one +bought it from under my very nose.”</p> + +<p>Mother Tricot not only forgave her but produced +another one for her that she had kept back +for the guest she seemed to delight to honour.</p> + +<p>“Our <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">boutiquier</i> has sold out the shop,” declared +the old man. “I shall have to go to market +very early in the morning to get more provisions +cooked.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, another excuse for absenting thyself!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please, may I go with you?” begged Judy.</p> + +<p>“It will mean very early rising, but I shall be +so pleased,” said the delighted old man, and his +wife smiled approval.</p> + +<p>It was arranged that Judy was to sleep on a +couch in the living room. This suited her exactly, +as she was able after the family had retired to +rise stealthily and open a window. The French +peasant and even the middle class Parisian is as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +afraid of air in a bedroom as we would be of +a rattlesnake. They sleep as a rule in hermetically +sealed chambers and there is a superstition +even among the enlightened of that city that night +air will give one some peculiar affection of the +eyes. How they keep as healthy as they do is a +wonder to those brought up on fresh air. Judy +had feared that her sleeping would have to be +done in the great bed with Marie and the baby +and welcomed the proposition of the couch in the +living room with joy. There was a smell of +delicatessen wares but it was not unpleasing to +one who had been economizing in food for so +many days.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather smell spinach than American Beauties,” +she said to herself, “and potato salad beats +potpourri.”</p> + +<p>Her couch was clean and the sheets smelled of +lavender. Marie, the little daughter-in-law, had +been a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blanchisseuse de fin</i> before she became the +bride of Jean Tricot. She still plied her trade on +the family linen and everything she touched was +snow white and beautifully ironed. The clothes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +were carried by her to the public laundry; there +she washed them and then brought them home +to iron.</p> + +<p>As Judy lay on the soft, clean couch, sniffing +the mingled smells of shop and kitchen and fresh +sheets, she thanked her stars that she was not +alone in the Bents’ studio, wondering what she +was to do about breakfast and a little nervous at +every sound heard during the night.</p> + +<p>Even the bravest feels a little squeamish when +absolutely alone through the long night. Judy +was brave, her father’s own daughter, but those +nights alone in the studio in Rue Brea had got +on her nerves. It was just so much harder because +of the gay, jolly winter spent in the place.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“I feel like one who treads alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some banquet hall, deserted,”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>expressed her sentiments exactly. Once she +dreamed that Molly Brown was standing over +her with a cup of hot coffee, which was one of +Molly’s ways. She was always spoiling people +and often would appear at the bed side with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +matutinal coffee. The dream came after a particularly +lonesome evening. She thought that +as Molly stood over her, her hand shook and some +of the coffee splashed on her face. She awoke +with a start to find her face wet with hot tears.</p> + +<p>Here at the Tricots, life was quite different. +Mère and Père Tricot were playing a happy duet +through the night with comfortable snores. +Marie could be heard cooing to her baby as she +nursed it and the baby making inarticulate gurgles +of joy at being nourished. The feeling of +having human beings near by was most soothing. +Judy did not mind the snores, but rejoiced +in them. Even when the baby cried, as it did +once in the night, she smiled happily.</p> + +<p>“I am one of a family!” she exclaimed.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br /> + +<small>A MOTHER’S FAITH.</small></h2> + + +<p>“Edwin, Kent has been gone over two weeks +now and not one word from him,” announced +Molly when Mr. Bud Woodsmall had come and +gone, leaving no mail of any great importance. +“I can see Mother is very uneasy, although she +doesn’t say a word.”</p> + +<p>“What was the name of his steamer?” asked +the professor as he opened his newspaper. “I +wouldn’t worry. Mail is pretty slow and it would +take a very fast boat to land him at Havre and +have a letter back this soon.”</p> + +<p>Edwin spoke a little absent-mindedly for the +Greens were very busy getting ready for their +yearly move to Wellington College and time for +newspaper reading was at a premium.</p> + +<p>“But he was to cable.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! And what was the name of the +steamer?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>“<cite>L’Hirondelle de Mer</cite>, swallow of the sea. I +fancy it must mean flying fish. Paul says it is +a small merchantman, carrying a few passengers.”</p> + +<p>“<cite>L’Hirondelle de Mer?”</cite> Edwin’s voice sounded +so faint that Molly stopped packing books and +looked up, startled.</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“It may be a mistake,” he faltered.</p> + +<p>Molly jumped up from the box of books and +read over her husband’s shoulder the terrible +headlines announcing the sinking of the small +merchantman <cite>L’Hirondelle de Mer</cite> by a German +submarine. No warning was given and it was +not known how many of the crew or passengers +had escaped. The news was got from a boat-load +of half-drowned seamen picked up by an +English fishing smack. The cargo was composed +of pork and beef.</p> + +<p>Molly read as long as her filling eyes would +permit, and then she sank on her knees by her +husband’s chair and gave way to the grief that +overcame her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Molly darling! It may be all right. Kent +is not the kind to get lost if there is any way +out of it.”</p> + +<p>“But he would be saving others and forget +himself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but see—or let me see for you—it says +no women or children on board.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God for that!—And now I must go to +Mother.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and I will go with you—but we must go +with the idea of making your mother feel it is +all right—that Kent is saved.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—and I truly believe he is! I couldn’t +have been as happy for the last few days as I +have been if—if—Kent——” She could say no +more.</p> + +<p>Edwin held her for a moment in his arms and +then called to Kizzie to look after little Mildred, +who lay peacefully sleeping in her basket, blissfully +ignorant of the trouble in the atmosphere.</p> + +<p>“Look! There’s Mother coming through the +garden! She knows! I can tell by the way she +holds her head.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + +<p>“My children! You were coming to me. You +know, then?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother! But Edwin and I think Kent +is too strong and active to—to——”</p> + +<p>“I know he is safe,” declared the intrepid +mother. “I am as sure of it as though he were +here in the garden of Chatsworth standing by +me. One of my children could not have passed +away without my being conscious of it.” She +spoke in an even, clear tone and her countenance +was as one inspired.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother! That is what I felt, too. I +could not have been so—so happy if anything +awful had happened to Kent.”</p> + +<p>Edwin Green was very thankful that the +women in his family could take this view of the +matter, but not feeling himself to be gifted with +second sight, he determined to find out for sure +as soon as possible what had become of his favorite +brother-in-law. He accordingly telegraphed +a night letter to Jimmy Lufton in New +York to get busy as quickly as possible, sparing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +no expense, and find out if the Americans on +board the vessel were saved.</p> + +<p>No doubt my readers will remember that Jimmy +Lufton was the young newspaper man whom +Edwin Green had feared as a rival, and now that +he had won the prize himself, his feeling for that +young man was one of kindliness and pity.</p> + +<p>Answer came: a stray sailor had reported that +he had seen the submarine take on board two +of the passengers who were battling with the +heavy sea. Whether Kent was one of them, he +could not tell.</p> + +<p>There were days of anxious waiting. Molly +and Edwin went on with the preparations for +their flitting, but could not leave Mrs. Brown +until she had assurance of the safety of her beloved +son. That lady continued in the belief that +all was well with him, in spite of no news.</p> + +<p>Aunt Clay came over to Chatsworth to remonstrate +with her younger sister over what she +called her obstinacy.</p> + +<p>“Why should you persist in the assertion that +you would know if anything had happened to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +your son? We all know that things happen all +the time and persons near to them go on in ignorance +of the accidents. For my part, I think +it is indecent for you and your daughters to be +flaunting colours as you are. You should order +your mourning and have services for those lost +at sea.”</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Brown’s flaunting of colors consisted +of one lavender scarf that Nance Oldham had +knitted for her, this was, to say the least, unnecessary +of Sister Clay.</p> + +<p>Molly, who was present when the above unfeeling +remarks were made, trembled with rage +and wept with misery; but not so Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>“I don’t agree with you,” she said with a +calmness that astonished her daughter.</p> + +<p>“Well, if Kent is alive, why does he not communicate +with you? He is certainly careless of +you to leave you in ignorance for all of this +time.”</p> + +<p>Molly noticed with a kind of fierce joy that her +mother’s head was now held very high and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +sensitive nostrils were a-quiver. “Her nose was +a-wuckin’,” as Aunt Mary put it.</p> + +<p>“Careless of <em>me!</em> Kent! Sister Sarah, you +are simply speaking with neither sense nor feeling. +It has been your own fault that you have +not obtained the love and affection of my children +and so you wish to insinuate that they are +careless of me. My son will let me know where +he is as soon as he can. I already know he is +alive and safe. You ask me how I know it! I +can only say I know it.” This was said with so +much fire that Aunt Clay actually seemed to +shrink up. She bullied Mrs. Brown up to a certain +point, but when that point reached criticism +of one of her children, woe betide Aunt Clay.</p> + +<p>Molly, whose certainty of Kent’s being alive +was beginning to grow weak and dim with the +weary days, felt new strength from her mother’s +brave words. Edwin Green was forced to leave +for the opening of Wellington, but Molly closed +the bungalow and brought little Mildred over to +Chatsworth, there to wait with her mother for +some definite news.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Aunt Mary was a great comfort to them. +She shared in their belief that their dear boy +was alive.</p> + +<p>“Cose nothin’ ain’t happened ter that there +Kent. Didn’t he tell me he was a goin’ ter Parus +ter bring home that Judy gal? The Dutch ain’t +a goin’ ter do nothin’ ter a kind faceded pusson +like our Kent. As fer drowndin’! Shoo! I +done hear Lewis say that Kent kin outswim de +whole er Jeff’son County. He kin swim to Indiany +an’ back thout ever touchin’ lan’, right +over yander by the water wucks whar the riber +is mo’n a mile. An’ waves! Why, Lewis say +whin the big stern wheelers is a jes’ churnin’ up +the riber till it looks like the yawnin’ er grabes +at Jedgement Day that Kent would jes’ laff at +them an’ plunge right through jes’ lak a feesh. +An’ I do hear tell that the waters er the mighty +deep is salty an’ that makes me know that Kent +ain’t goin’ ter sink. Don’t we tes’ the brine fer +pickles wif a aig? An’ don’t the aig float? An’ +if’n the mighty deep is called the briny deep don’t +that mean it kin float a aig? What kin float a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +aig kin float a young man what already knows +how ter swim crost an’ back on the ’Hier Riber.”</p> + +<p>Julia Kean’s second letter came, also the one +from her father in Molly’s care. Molly immediately +sent it to the American Club in Paris. +Judy’s letter certainly had nothing in it to reassure +them as to her safety, except the meeting +with the old man with whom she had danced at +St. Cloud.</p> + +<p>“It means that Judy is able to make friends +wherever she goes, and as she says, she can always +light on her feet, somehow,” sighed Molly. +She did not add what was in her mind: “If she +had only come home with Kent!”</p> + +<p>“Mother, I must write to Judy now that I +have some kind of address. Must I tell her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear, tell her all we know, but tell +her of our conviction that all is well. I will write +to her myself, on second thought.”</p> + +<p>John and Paul both spent every night at Chatsworth +now, although it meant very early rising +for both of them and often a midnight arrival +or departure for Dr. John, whose practice was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +growing but seemed to be restricted to persons +who persisted in being taken very ill in the night.</p> + +<p>“It is because so many of them are charity +patients or semi-charity and they always want +to get all they can,” he would declare. “Of +course, a doctor’s night rates are higher than day +rates, and when they are getting something for +nothing, if they call me up at two a. m. they are +getting more for nothing than they would be if +they had their toe aches in the day time.”</p> + +<p>Ten days had passed since the half-drowned +sailors had been picked up by the English fishing +smack, and still no message from Kent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown wrote and dispatched her letter +to Judy Kean. It was a hard letter to write, much +harder than it would have been had there been +an engagement between the two. The good lady +felt that Judy was almost like a daughter and +still it required something more than existed to +address her as one. She must convey to Judy +the news that Kent was shipwrecked, and still +she wanted to put in the girl’s heart the faith +she had in his safety.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Poor Judy! If she is alone in Paris, think +what it will mean for this news to reach her!” +Molly agonized to herself. “She may and may +not care for Kent enough to marry him, but she +certainly is devoted to him as a friend. She will +feel it just so much more keenly because he was +on his way to her.”</p> + +<p>Molly could not sleep in her great anxiety, and +her faith and the certainty of Kent’s safety left +her. “I must keep up for Mildred’s sake,” she +would cry as she tried to choke down food. Her +every endeavor was to hide this loss of faith from +her mother, whose belief in her son’s being alive +and well never seemed to falter.</p> + +<p>Daily letters from Edwin were Molly’s one +comfort. He was back in the grind of lectures at +Wellington and was missing sorely his wife and +child.</p> + +<p>“Molly darling, you mustn’t wait any longer +in Kentucky,” her mother said at breakfast one +morning. Molly was trying to dispose of a glass +of milk and a soft boiled egg, although her throat +seemed to close at the thought of food.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But, Mother, I wouldn’t leave you for anything +in the world,” she declared, making a successful +gulp which got rid of the milk, at least.</p> + +<p>“Your husband needs you, child, and I know +it would be best for you. There is no use in +waiting.”</p> + +<p>Molly looked up, startled. Had her mother, +too, lost heart? Her face had grown thinner in +those days of waiting and her hair was quite +grey, in fact, silvery about the temples; but her +eyes still held the light of faith and high resolve.</p> + +<p>“She still has faith! And you, Molly Brown +Green! Oh, ye of little faith! What right have +you to be a clog and burden? Take another glass +of milk this minute and keep up your health and +your baby’s health.” This to herself, and aloud: +“Why, Mumsy, I want to stay right here. Little +Mildred is thriving and Edwin is doing very +well at Wellington. Every one is asking him +out to dine, now that he is untrammelled with a +wife. He reports a big gain in attendance on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +last semestre and is as cheerful as can be. Caroline, +please bring me another glass of milk, and +I think I’ll get you to soft boil another egg for +me!”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> + +<small>DES HALLES.</small></h2> + + +<p>Mère Tricot called Judy just at dawn. The +kindly old grenadier stood over her, and this was +no dream—she held a real cup of coffee.</p> + +<p>“The good man is ready. I hate to wake you, +but if you want to go to market with him, it is +time.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! It won’t take me a minute.”</p> + +<p>Judy gulped the coffee and dived into her +clothes. There seemed to be no question of baths +with the good Tricots, and Judy made a mental +note that she would go every day to the Bents’ +studio for her cold plunge. A bathroom is the +exception and not the rule in the poorer class +of apartments in Paris. In New York, any apartment +worthy of the name boasts a bathroom, but +not so in the French city.</p> + +<p>Père Tricot was waiting for her with his little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +green push cart to bring home the purchases to +be made in market. He was dressed in a stiff, +clean, blue blouse and his kindly, lank old face +was freshly shaven.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Mam’selle! So you will go with the old +man?”</p> + +<p>“Go with you! Of course I will! I love the +early morning, and the market will be beautiful.”</p> + +<p>The streets were very quiet and misty. Paris +never gets up very early, and as the cold weather +comes, she lies abed later and later. The Gardens +of the Luxembourg were showing signs of +frost, or was it heavy dew? The leaves had begun +to drop and some of them had turned.</p> + +<p>There was a delightful nip in the air and as +Judy and the old man trudged along, the girl felt +really happy, happier than she had for many a +day. “It must be having a home that is doing +it,” she thought. “Maybe I am a domestic person, +after all.</p> + +<p>“Père Tricot, don’t you love your home?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>“My home! You don’t think that that shop +in Boulevard Montparnasse is my home, eh?”</p> + +<p>“But where is your home then?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, in Normandy, near Roche Craie! That +is where I was born and hope to die. We are +saving for our old age now and will go back +home some day, the good wife and I. Jean and +Marie can run the shop, that is, if——”</p> + +<p>Judy knew he meant if Jean came through the +war alive.</p> + +<p>“The city is not for me, but it seemed best to +bring Jean here when he was little. There seemed +no chance to do more than exist in the country, +and here we have prospered.”</p> + +<p>“I have visited at Roche Craie. I think it is +beautiful country. No wonder you want to go +back. The d’Ochtès were my friends there.”</p> + +<p>“The Marquis d’Ochtè! Oh, Mam’selle, and +to think of your being their guest and then mine!” +Judy could have bitten out her tongue for saying +she had visited those great folk. She could +see now that the dear old man had lost his ease<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +in her presence. “They are the greatest landowners +of the whole department.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they are quite simple and very kind. +I got to know them through some friends of mine +who were related to the Marquise. She, you +know, was an American.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and a kind, great lady she is. Why, it +was only day before yesterday she was in our +shop. She makes a rule to get what she can from +us for her household. She has a chef who can +make every known sauce, but he cannot make a +tart like my good wife’s. We furnish all the +tarts of the d’Ochtès when they are in Paris. +Madame, the Marquise, is also pleased to say that +my <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pouree d’epinard</i> is smoother and better than +Gaston’s, and only yesterday she bought a tray +of it for their <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner a la fourchette</i>. Her son +Philippe is flying. The Marquis, too, is with his +regiment.”</p> + +<p>“How I wish I could have seen her!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then, Mam’selle would not be ashamed +for the Marquise to see her waiting in the shop +of poor Tricot?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ashamed! Why, Père Tricot, what do you +take me for? I am only too glad to help some +and to feel that I can do something besides look +on,” and Judy, who had been walking on the +sidewalk while her companion pushed his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petite +voiture</i> along the street, stepped down into the +gutter and with her hand on the shaft went the +rest of the way, helping to push the cart.</p> + +<p>As they approached the market, they were +joined by more and more pedestrians, many of +them with little carts, similar to Père Tricot’s +and many of them with huge baskets. War +seemed to be forgotten for the time being, so bent +were all of them on the business of feeding and +being fed.</p> + +<p>“One must eat!” declared a pleasant fat woman +in a high stiff white cap. “If Paris is to be entered +to-morrow by the Prussians, I say we must +be fed and full. There is no more pleasure in +dying for your country empty than full.”</p> + +<p>“Listen to the voice of the Halles, Mam’selle. +Can’t you hear it roaring? Ah! and there is the +bell of St. Eustache.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>The peal of bells rose above the hum of the +market.</p> + +<p>“St. Eustache! Can’t we go into the church +a little while first?”</p> + +<p>And so, hand in hand with the old Normandy +peasant, Judy Kean walked into the great old +church, and together they knelt on the flagged +floor and prayed. Judy never did anything by +halves, not even praying. When she prayed, +she did it with a fervor and earnestness St. +Anthony himself would have envied. When +they rose from their knees, they both looked happier. +Old Tricot had prayed for his boy, so soon +to be in the trenches, and Judy offered an impassioned +petition for the safety of her beloved +parents.</p> + +<p>When they emerged from the church, the sun +was up and the market was almost like a carnival, +except for the fact that the color was subdued +somewhat by the mourning that many of the +women wore.</p> + +<p>“Already so many in mourning!” thought the +girl. “What will it be later?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>“First the butter and eggs and cheese! This +way, Mam’selle!”</p> + +<p>They wormed their way between the great yellow +wagons unloading huge crates of eggs and +giant cheeses. The smell of butter made Judy +think of Chatsworth and the dairy where she +had helped Caroline churn on her memorable +visit to the Browns. Ah me! How glad she +would be to see them again. And Kent! She +had not let herself think of Kent lately. He must +be angry with her for not taking his advice and +listening to his entreaties to go back to the United +States with him. He had not written at all and +he must have been home several weeks. Maybe +the letter had miscarried, but other letters had +come lately; and he might even have cabled her. +He certainly seemed indifferent to her welfare, +as now that the war had broken out, he had not +even inquired as to her safety or her whereabouts; +not even let her know whether or not the job +in New York had materialized.</p> + +<p>She was awakened from her musings by her +old friend, who had completed his bargaining for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +cheese, butter and eggs and now was proceeding +to the fish market.</p> + +<p>“I must buy much fish. It is Friday, you remember, +and since the war started, religion has +become the style again in France, and now fish, +and only fish, must be eaten on Friday. There +are those that say that the war will help the +country by making us good again.”</p> + +<p>And so, in a far corner of the cart, well away +from the susceptible butter and cheese, many fish +were piled up, fenced off from the rest of the +produce by a wall of huge black mussels in a +tangle of sea weed.</p> + +<p>“Well, there are fish enough in this market +to regenerate the whole world, I should think,” +laughed Judy.</p> + +<p>The stalls were laden with them and row after +row of scaly monsters hung from huge hooks +in the walls. Men, women and boys were scaling +and cleaning fish all along the curbings.</p> + +<p>“Soon there will be only women and boys for +the work,” thought Judy sadly, “and maybe it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +will not be so very long before there will be only +women.”</p> + +<p>Cabbages and cauliflowers were bought next +(cauliflowers that Puddenhead Wilson says are +only cabbages been to college); Brussels sprouts, +too; and spinach enough to furnish red blood +for the whole army, Judy thought; then chickens, +turkeys and grouse; a great smoked beef tongue, +and a hog head for souse. The little green wagon +was running over now and its rather rickety +wheels creaked complainingly.</p> + +<p>Old Tricot and Judy started homeward at as +rapid a rate as the load would allow. Judy insisted +upon helping push, and indeed her services +were quite necessary over the rough cobbles. +When they reached the smooth asphalt, she told +Père Tricot she would leave him for a moment +and stop at the American Club in the hope of +letters awaiting there for her.</p> + +<p>How sweet and fresh she looked as she waved +her hand at the old man! Her cheeks were rosy, +her eyes shining, and her expression so naïve +and happy that she looked like a little child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ah, gentile, gentile!” he murmured. His old +heart had gone out to this brave, charming American +girl. “And to think of her being friends +with Madame the Marquise!” he thought. “That +will be a nut for the good wife and Marie to +crack.”</p> + +<p>He pushed his cart slowly along the asphalt, +rather missing the sturdy strength that Judy +had put into the work. Then he sat on a bench to +rest awhile, one of those nice benches that Paris +dots her thoroughfares with and one misses so +on coming back to United States.</p> + +<p>Paris was well awake now and bustling. The +streets were full of soldiers. Old women with +their carts laden with chrysanthemums were +trudging along to take their stands at the corners. +The air was filled with the pungent odors of +their wares. Old Tricot stretched himself:</p> + +<p>“I must be moving! There is much food to +be cooked to-day. It is time my Mam’selle was +coming along. Ah, there she is!” He recognized +the jaunty blue serge jacket and pretty +little velour sport hat that Judy always knew at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +which angle to place on her fluffy brown hair. +“But how slowly she is walking! And where +are her roses? Her head is bent down like some +poor French woman who has bad news from the +trenches.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER IX.<br /> + +<small>THE AMERICAN MAIL.</small></h2> + + +<p>Judy had, clasped in her arms, a package of +mail, unopened except for the letter on top, which +was the one that poor, brave Mrs. Brown had +written her. She had kept throughout the letter +the same gallant spirit of belief in her son’s +safety, but Judy could not take that view.</p> + +<p>“Gone! Gone! and all because of poor miserable, +no-account me!” her heart cried out in its +anguish, but she shed no tear and made no sound. +Her face, glowing with health and spirits only +a few minutes ago, was now as pale as a ghost +and her eyes had lost their sparkle.</p> + +<p>Père Tricot hastened towards her as she came +slowly down the street.</p> + +<p>“My dear little girl, what is it?”</p> + +<p>“He is drowned and all for me—just my stubbornness!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Who? Your father?”</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>“Your brother, then?”</p> + +<p>“I have no brother.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then, your sweetheart? Your fiancé?”</p> + +<p>“I—I—sometime he might—that is, we were +not fiancéd, not exactly.”</p> + +<p>The old man drew her down on the bench beside +him:</p> + +<p>“Now tell me all about it, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ma pauvre petite</i>.”</p> + +<p>And Judy told him of her friends in Kentucky. +Of Molly Brown and her brother Kent; of her +own stubbornness in not leaving France when the +war broke out; and then she translated Mrs. +Brown’s letter for him.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but the good lady does not think he is +drowned!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but she is so wonderful, so brave.”</p> + +<p>“Well, are you not wonderful and brave, too? +You must go on with your courage. If a mother +can write as she has done and have faith in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le +bon Dieu</i>, then you must try, too—that will make +you worthy of such a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">belle mère</i>. Does she not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +say that two passengers were seen to be saved +by the enemy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Père Tricot, you are good, good! I will +try—if Kent’s own mother can be so brave, why +surely I must be calm, too, I, who am nothing to +him.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing? Ah, my dear Mam’selle, one who +is nothing does not have young men take trips +across the ocean for her. But look at the spinach +wilting in the sun! We must hasten to get the +cooking done.”</p> + +<p>Poor Judy! All zest had gone out of the morning +for her. She put her package of mail in the +cart, not at all caring if it got at the fishy end, +and wearily began to push. Père Tricot, well +knowing that work was a panacea for sorrow, +let her take her share of the burden, and together +the old peasant in his stiff blue blouse +and the sad young American girl trundled the +provisions down the boulevard.</p> + +<p>“You have more letters, my daughter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have not read them yet. I was afraid +of more bad news.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Perhaps there is something from the mother +and father.”</p> + +<p>“No, the big one is from Molly and the others +are just from various friends.”</p> + +<p>When they reached the shop, of course Mère +Tricot started in with her usual badinage directed +against her life partner, but he soon tipped her +a wink to give her to understand that Judy was +in distress, and the kind old grenadier ceased +her vituperation and went quietly to work washing +spinach and making ready the fowls for the +spit.</p> + +<p>Judy took her letters to a green bench in the +diminutive court behind the apartment which +passed for garden, with its one oleander tree +and pots of geraniums. Her heart seemed to +be up in her throat; at least, there was a strange +pulsation there that must be heart. So this was +sorrow! Strange to have lived as long as she +had and never to have known what sorrow was +before! The nearest she had ever come to sorrow +was telling her mother and father good-by +when they started on some perilous trip—but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +they had always come back, and she was used to +parting with them.</p> + +<p>But Kent—maybe he would never come back! +It was all very well for Mrs. Brown to refuse +to believe in his being gone forever, but why +should he be the one to be saved, after all? No +doubt the passengers who were lost had mothers +and—and what? Sweethearts—there she would +say it! She was his sweetheart even though they +were not really engaged. She knew it now for +a certainty. Kent did not have to tell her what +he felt for her, and now that it was too late, she +knew what she felt for him. She knew now why +she had been so lonesome. It was not merely +the fact that war was going on and her friends +were out of Paris—it was that she was longing +for Kent. She understood now why she felt so +homeless just at this time. She was no more +homeless than she had always been, but now she +wanted a home and she wanted it to be Kent’s +home, too. Fool! fool that she had been! Why +hadn’t she gone home like all the sensible Americans +when war was declared? The Browns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +would never forgive her and she would never +forgive herself. She read again Mrs. Brown’s +letter. How good she was to have been willing +to have Kent turn right around and go back to +Paris for that worthless Julia Kean. And now he +was gone, and it was all her fault! Ah, me! +Well, life must be lived, if all the color had gone +out of it.</p> + +<p>She wearily opened the letter addressed in +Molly’s handwriting. It was from her father, +and in it another from her mother, forwarded by +Molly. At last she had heard from them. They, +too, hoped she had gone back to America. Had +taken for granted she had, since they had sent +the letters to Molly. She read them over and +over. The love they had for her was to be seen +in every word. Never again would she part +from them. How she longed for them! They +would understand about Kent, even though she +was not engaged to him. And now she knew +what Bobby would advise her to do were he there +in Paris: “Work! Work until you drop from +it, but work!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Already the great range, that stretched the entire +length of the tiny tiled kitchen, was filled +with copper vessels, and appetizing odors were +permeating the living room and the little shop +beyond.</p> + +<p>“Let me help,” said Judy bravely. “Must I +mind the shop or do you need me here? I can’t +cook, but I can wash spinach and peel potatoes.”</p> + +<p>“Marie can look after the shop this morning, +my dear child, so you go rest yourself,” said the +good wife.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to rest! I want to work!”</p> + +<p>“Let her work, Mother! Let her work! It +is best so,” and Judy’s old partner got the blue +bowl, sacred to mayonnaise, and Judy sat on the +bench in the court and stirred and stirred as she +dropped the oil into the beaten egg. Her arm +ached as the great smooth yellow mass grew +thicker and thicker, but the more her arm ached, +the less her heart ached. When the bowl was +quite full, she started in on a great basket of potatoes +that must be peeled, some for Saratoga +chips and some for potato salad. Onions must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +be peeled, too, and then the spinach cleaned and +chopped in a colander until it was a purée.</p> + +<p>The Tricots worked with a precision and ease +that delighted Judy. She never tired of watching +the grenadier turn out the wonderful little +tarts. On that morning a double quantity was +to be made as Marie was to carry a basket of +them to “the regiment”; that, of course, meant +Jean Tricot’s regiment. They had not yet been +ordered to the front, but were ready to go at any +moment.</p> + +<p>The old woman put batch after batch in the +great oven. They came out all done to a turn +and all exactly alike, as though made by machinery. +Then they were put in the show cases +in the shop; and more were rolled out, filled and +baked.</p> + +<p>“Sometime may I try to do some?”</p> + +<p>The old woman smiled indulgently at Judy’s +pale face.</p> + +<p>“You may try right now.”</p> + +<p>Judy made a rather deformed batch but Mère +Tricot declared the children would not know the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +difference, and they could be sold to them. “The +soldats must have the prettiest and another time +you can make them well enough for them.”</p> + +<p>So far, Judy had not shed a tear. Her eyes +felt dry and feverish and her heart was still beating +in her throat in some mysterious way. Suddenly +without a bit of warning the tears came. +Splash! Splash! they dropped right on the tarts.</p> + +<p>“Never mind the tarts!” exclaimed the kindly +grenadier. “Those must go to Jean’s regiment. +They will understand.”</p> + +<p>“I could not help it,” sobbed poor Judy. “I +was thinking how proud Kent would be of me +when he knew I could make tarts and wondering +how many he could eat, when all of a sudden it +came to me that he never would know—and—and—Oh, +Mother Tricot!” and she buried her +face on the bosom of the good old woman, who +patted her with one hand and held her close while +she adroitly whisked a pan of tarts from the oven +with the other.</p> + +<p>“Tarts must not burn, no matter if hearts are +broken!”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER X.<br /> + +<small>THE ZEPPELIN RAID.</small></h2> + + +<p>Judy’s cry did her good, although it left her +in such a swollen state she was not fit to keep +shop, which was what she had planned to do +for the afternoon.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll go round to the studio in Rue Brea +for a little while. I want to get some things.”</p> + +<p>What she really wanted was to get a bath and +to be alone for a few hours. Her kind hosts +thought it would be wise to let her do whatever +she wanted, so they gave her God-speed but +begged her not to be out late.</p> + +<p>Judy now longed for solitude with the same +eagerness she had before longed for companionship. +She knew it would be unwise for her to +give up to this desire to any extent and determined +to get back to her kind friends before +dark, but be alone she must for a while. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +got the key from the concierge and entered the +studio. All was as she had left it. Windows and +doors opened wide soon dispelled the close odor. +A cold bath in the very attractive white porcelain +tub, the pride of the Bents, made poor Judy feel +better in spite of herself.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to feel better. I’ve been brave +and noble all morning and now I want to be weak +and miserable. I don’t care whether school keeps +or not. I am a poor, forlorn, broken-hearted girl, +without any friends in all the world except some +Normandy peasants. The Browns will all hate +me, and my mother and father I may never see +again. Oh, Kent! Kent! Why didn’t you just +pick me up and make me go with you? If you +had been very, very firm, I’d have gone.”</p> + +<p>Judy remembered with a grim smile how in +old days at college she had longed to wear mourning +and how absurd she had made herself by +dyeing her hair and draping herself in black. “I’m +going into mourning now. It is about all I can +do for Kent. It won’t cost much and somehow +I’d feel better.” Judy, ever visualizing, pictured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +herself in black with organdy collar and cuffs +and a mournful, patient look. “I’ll just go on selling +tarts. It will help the Tricots and give me +my board.” She counted out her money, dwindled +somewhat, but now that she was working +she felt she might indulge her grief to the extent +of a black waist and some white collars and cuffs. +“I’ve got a black skirt and I’ll get my blue suit +dyed to-morrow. I’ll line my black sport hat with +white crêpe. That will make it do.” In pity for +herself, she wept again.</p> + +<p>She slipped out of the studio and made her +few purchases at a little shop around the corner. +Madame, the proprietaire, was all sympathy. +She had laid in an especial stock of cheap mourning, +she told Judy, as there was much demand +for it now.</p> + +<p>It took nimble fingers to turn the jaunty sport +hat into a sad little mourning bonnet, but Judy +was ever clever at hat making, and when she +finished just before the sun set, she viewed her +handiwork with pardonable pride. She slipped +into her cheap black silk waist and pinned on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +collar and cuffs. The hat was very becoming, +so much so that Judy had another burst of tears.</p> + +<p>“I can’t bear for it to be becoming. I want +to look as ugly and forlorn as possible.”</p> + +<p>She determined to leave her serge suit in the +studio and come on the following day to take +it to a dye shop. As she was to do this, she decided +not to leave the key with the concierge but +take it with her.</p> + +<p>Her kind friends looked sadly at the mourning. +They realized when they saw it that Judy had +given up all hope of her friend.</p> + +<p>“Ah, the pity of it! The pity of it!” exclaimed +the old grenadier.</p> + +<p>Marie, whose apple-like countenance was not +very expressive of anything but health, looked as +sympathetic as the shape of her face would allow. +Round rosy cheeks, round black eyes, and +a round red mouth are not easy to mold into +tragic lines, but Judy knew that Marie was feeling +deeply for her. She was thinking of her +Jean and the possibility of turning her bridal +finery into mourning. There was so much mourning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +now and according to the <cite>Temps</cite>, the war +was hardly begun.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have my serge suit dyed to-morrow,” Judy +confided to her.</p> + +<p>“Ah, no! Do not have it dyed! Mère Tricot +and I can do it here and do it beautifully. The +butcher’s wife over the way is dyeing to-morrow +and she will give us some of her mixture. It is +her little brother who fell only yesterday.”</p> + +<p>That night there was great excitement in the +Montparnasse quarter. A fleet of air ships circled +over the city, dropping bombs as they flew. +The explosions were terrific. The people +cowered in their homes at first and then came +rushing out on the streets as the noise subsided.</p> + +<p>Père Tricot came back with the news that no +great harm had been done, but it was his opinion +that the Prussians had been after the Luxembourg.</p> + +<p>“They know full well that our art treasures +are much to us, and they would take great pleasure +in destroying them. The beasts!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Where did the bombs strike?” asked Judy +from her couch in the living room. She had +wept until her pillow had to be turned over and +then had at last sunk into a sleep of exhaustion +only to be awakened by the ear-splitting explosions.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know exactly, but it was somewhere +over towards the Gardens of the Luxembourg. I +thank the good God you were here with us, my +child.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.<br /> + +<small>“L’HIRONDELLE DE MER.”</small></h2> + + +<p>Kent Brown, when he reached New York on +his return trip to Paris in quest of the rather +wilful, very irritating, and wholly fascinating +Judy, got his money changed into gold, which +he placed in a belt worn under his shirt.</p> + +<p>“There is no telling what may happen,” he +said to the young Kentuckian, Jim Castleman, +with whom he had struck up an acquaintance on +the train. “Gold won’t melt in the water if we +do get torpedoed, and if I have it next me, whoever +wants it will have to do some tearing off of +clothes to get it. And what will I be doing while +they are tearing off my clothes?”</p> + +<p>“Good idea! I reckon I’ll do the same—not +that I have enough to weigh myself down with.” +Castleman was on his way to France to fight.</p> + +<p>“I don’t give a hang whether I fight with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +English, French, Serbs or Russians, just so I +get in a few licks on the Prussians.” He was +a strapping youth of six feet three with no more +idea of what he was going up against than a +baby. War was to him a huge football game +and he simply meant to get into the game.</p> + +<p>The <cite>Hirondelle</cite> was a slow boat but sailing +immediately, so Kent and his new friend determined +to take it, since its destination, Havre, +suited them.</p> + +<p>“I like the name, too,” declared Kent, who +shared with his mother and Molly a certain poetic +sentiment in spite of his disclaimer of any such +foolishness.</p> + +<p>There were very few passengers, the boat being +a merchantman. Kent and Jim were thrown +more and more together and soon were as confidential +as two school girls. Kent had been +rather noncommittal in his replies at first to +Jim’s questions as to what his business was in +the war zone at such a time if it were not fighting. +As their friendship grew and deepened, +as a friendship can on shipboard in an astonishingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +short time, Kent was glad enough to talk +about Judy and his mission in Paris.</p> + +<p>“She sounds like a corker! When is it to be?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that it is to be, at all,” blushed +Kent. “You see, we are not what you might call +engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Your fault or hers?”</p> + +<p>“Why, we have just drifted along. Somehow +I didn’t like to tie her down until I could make +good—and she—well, I believe she felt the same +way; but of course I can’t say. She knows perfectly +well that I have never looked at another +girl since I saw her at Wellington when she and +my sister graduated there. She has—well,—browsed +a little, but I don’t think she ever meant +anything by it. We get along like a house afire,—like +the same things,—think the same way,—we +have never talked out yet.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think you were +an ass not to settle the matter long before +this.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think so? Do you think it would +have been fair? Why, man, I owed some money<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +to my mother for my education in Paris and did +not even have a job in sight!”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw! What difference does that make? +Don’t you reckon girls have as much spunk about +such things as men have? If I ever see the girl +I want bad enough to go all the way to Paris to +get her, I’ll tell her so and have an answer if I +haven’t a coat to my back.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you are right. I just didn’t want +to be selfish.”</p> + +<p>“Selfish! Why, they like us selfish.”</p> + +<p>Kent laughed at the wisdom of the young +Hercules. No doubt they (whoever “they” might +be) did like Castleman selfish or any other way. +He looked like a young god as he sprawled on +deck, his great muscular white arm thrown over +his head to keep the warm rays of the sun out +of his eyes. His features were large and well +cut, his hair yellow and curly in spite of the vigorous +efforts he made to brush it straight. His +eyes were blue and childlike with long dark +lashes, the kind of eyes girls always resent having +been portioned out to men. There was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +great mentality expressed in his countenance but +absolute honesty and good nature. One felt +he was to be trusted.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it seem strange to be loafing around +here on this deck with no thought of war and +of the turmoil we shall soon be in?” said Jim +one evening at sunset when they were nearing +their port. “We have only a day, or two days +at most, before we will be in Paris, and still it +is so quiet and peaceful out here that I can hardly +believe there is any other life.”</p> + +<p>“Me, too! I feel as though I had been born +and bred on this boat. All the other things that +have happened to me are like a dream and this +life here on the good old <cite>Hirondelle de Mer</cite> is +the only real thing. I wonder if all the passengers +feel this way.”</p> + +<p>There were no women on board but the other +passengers were Frenchmen, mostly waiters from +New York, going home to fight for <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la France</i>. +The cargo was pork and beef, destined to feed +the army of France.</p> + +<p>“What’s that thing sticking up in the water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +out yonder?” exclaimed Kent. “It looks like +the top of a mast just disappearing.”</p> + +<p>“A wreck, I reckon!” exclaimed Jim.</p> + +<p>Kent smiled at his countryman’s “reckon.” +Having been away from the South for many +months, it sounded sweet to his ears. The “guess” +of the Northerner and “fancy” of the Englishman +did not mean the same to him.</p> + +<p>The lookout saw the mast-like object at the +same time they noted it, and suddenly there +was a hurrying and scurrying over the whole +ship.</p> + +<p>“Look, it’s sunk entirely out of sight! Jim +Castleman, that’s a German submarine!”</p> + +<p>The shock that followed only a moment afterwards +was indescribable. It threw both of the +Kentuckians down. They had hastened to the +side of the vessel, the better to view the strange +“thing sticking up out of the water.”</p> + +<p>The boats were lowered very rapidly and filled +by the crazed passengers and crew. The poor +waiters had not expected to serve their country +by drowning like rats. As for the crew,—they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +were noncombatants and not employed to serve +any country in any way. They were of various +nationality, many of them being Portuguese with +a sprinkling of Scandinavians.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a life preserver, Brown! Better put +it on. This ain’t the Ohio.”</p> + +<p>“Good! I’ll take my chances in the water any +day rather than in one of those boats. Can you +swim?”</p> + +<p>“Sure! I can do three miles without knowing +it. And you?”</p> + +<p>“Hump! Brought up within a mile of the Ohio +River and been going over to Indiana and back +without landing ever since I was in pants.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let’s dive now and get clear of the sinking +boat. If anything happens to me and you +get clear, you write my sister in Lexington—she’s +all I have left.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Jim! Let’s shake. If I give out +and you get through, please go get Judy and +take her back to my mother.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a go! But see here, there is nothing +going to happen to us if endurance will count<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +for anything. Have you got on your money +belt?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and you?” said Kent, feeling for the +gold he carried around his waist.</p> + +<p>“I’m all ready then.”</p> + +<p>The boats, loaded to their guards, were putting +off. Our young men felt it was much safer +to trust to themselves than to the crazy manning +of the already overloaded boats. They were +singularly calm in their preparations as they +strapped on the life preservers.</p> + +<p>“Jim, throw away the papers you have, recommending +you to that French general. We may +get picked up by the submarine, and as plain, +pleasure-seeking Americans we have a much better +chance of being treated properly than if one +of us was going to join the Allies.” Kent had +inherited from his mother the faculty of keeping +his head in time of peril.</p> + +<p>“Good eye, old man! They are in my grip and +can just stay there. I reckon I’m a—a—book +agent. That won’t compromise me any.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>“All right, stick to it! And here goes! We +must stay together.”</p> + +<p>The Kentuckians dived as well as the bulky +life preservers would permit and then they swam +quietly along side by side. The ship was rapidly +settling. The last boat was off, so full that every +little wave splashed over its panic-stricken passengers.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XII.<br /> + +<small>TUTNO.</small></h2> + + +<p>The sea was comparatively calm and quite +warm. If it had been anything but a shipwreck, +our young men would have enjoyed the experience. +They congratulated themselves that they +had trusted to their own endurance and the life +preservers rather than to the crazy boats when +they saw one of the overloaded vessels come +within an ace of turning turtle.</p> + +<p>The submarine was now on top of the water +and was slowly steaming towards the scene of disaster. +The boats made for the opposite direction +as fast as the oarsmen could pull. They +had not realized that all the submarine wanted +was to destroy the pork and beef cargo. The +hungrier the French army got the sooner they +would be conquered by the Germans.</p> + +<p>“Well, my friend the book agent, what do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +think about swimming in the direction of the +enemy? Remember we are Americans, just plain +Americans with no desire to do anything in the +way of swatting Prussians.—Neutral noncombatants!” +said Kent, swimming easily, the life +preserver lifting him so far out of the water +that he declared he felt like a bell buoy.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ll remember! My line is family albums +and de luxe copies of Ruskin. I hope those poor +devils in the boats will make land or get picked +up or something.”</p> + +<p>“Me, too! If the sea only stays so smooth they +can make a port in less than a day, if they don’t +come a cropper. We are almost in the English +Channel, I should say, due south of the Scilly +Islands.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I feel as though I belonged on them—here +we are shipwrecked and floating around like +a beach party, conversing as quietly as though it +were the most ordinary occurrence to book agents +and damsel seekers!”</p> + +<p>“There is no use in getting in a stew. I have +a feeling that the Germans are going to pick us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +up. They are heading this way and I don’t +reckon they will let us sink before their eyes. If +they don’t pick us up, we are good for many +hours of this play. I feel as fresh as a daisy.”</p> + +<p>“Same here!”</p> + +<p>“Thank God, there weren’t any women and +children on board!” said Kent fervently.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was feeling that all the time. I’d hate +to think of their being in those crazy boats.”</p> + +<p>The German boat was quite close to them now. +The deck was filled with men, all of them evidently +in great good humour with themselves and +Fate because of the terrible havoc they had played +with the poor <cite>Hirondelle de Mer</cite>, who was now +at her last gasp, the waves washing over her upper +decks.</p> + +<p>“<cite>Wei gehts?”</cite> shouted Jim, raising himself up +far in the water and wigwagging violently at the +death dealing vessel.</p> + +<p>It was only a short time before the efficient +crew had Kent and Jim on board, in dry clothes +and before an officer. The fact that they were +Americans was beyond dispute, but their business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +on the other side was evidently taken with +a grain of salt by the very keen looking, alert +young man who questioned them in excellent +English.</p> + +<p>Jim was quite glib with his book agent tale. +He got off a line of talk about the albums that +almost convulsed Kent.</p> + +<p>“Why were you going to Paris to sell such +things? Would a country at war be a good field +for such an industry?”</p> + +<p>“But the country will not be at war long. We +expect the Germans to have conquered in a short +time, and then they will want many albums for +the snapshots they have taken during the campaign. +I have been sent as an especial favor by +my company, who wish to honor me. I hate +to think of all my beautiful books being sunk in +the <cite>Hirondelle</cite>.” Jim looked so sad and depressed +that the young officer offered him a mug of beer +and urged him to try the Bologna sausage that +was among the viands waiting for them.</p> + +<p>Kent’s reason for going to Paris was received +with open doubt. It was very amusing in a way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +that they should be completely taken in by Jim’s +ingenuous tale of albums while Kent, telling the +truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, +should be doubted.</p> + +<p>“Going to Paris to bring home a young lady? +Is she your sister?”</p> + +<p>“No, she is a friend of my sister,” answered +Kent, feeling very much as though he were saying +a lesson.</p> + +<p>“Do you know Paris?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I studied architecture at the Beaux Arts +last winter.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then your sympathies are with France!”</p> + +<p>“I am an American and my nation is remaining +neutral on the war.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, your nation but not the individuals! +What were your intentions after finding the +young lady?”</p> + +<p>“To take her back to United States as fast as +we could go.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well! I am afraid the young lady +will have to content herself in Paris for some +weeks yet, as we are bound for other ports now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +Make yourselves at home,” and with a salute the +officer left them to the welcome meal which had +immediately been furnished them after their +ducking.</p> + +<p>If the Kentuckians had had nothing to do but +enjoy life on that submarine, no doubt they +could have done it. They were treated most +courteously by officers and men. The food was +plentiful and wholesome, the life was interesting +and conversation with the sailors most instructive, +but Jim was eager to strike that blow against +Prussia and it was extremely irksome to him +to have to keep up the farce of being a book agent. +Kent was more and more uneasy about Judy, +realizing, from the sample of Germans he now +came in contact with, that ruthlessness was the +keynote of their character. They were fighting +to win, and win they would or die in the attempt; +by fair means or foul, they meant to conquer +the whole world who did not side with +them.</p> + +<p>“Gee, if I don’t believe they can do it,” sighed +Jim, as he and his friend were having one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +their rare tete-a-tetes. “They have such belief +in their powers.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they seem much more stable, somehow, +than the French. Did you ever imagine anything +like the clockwork precision with which this monster +is run?”</p> + +<p>“When do you reckon we will get off of her? +We have been on a week now and I see no signs +of landing us. I am always asking that human +question mark, Captain von Husser, what he is +going to do with us, and he just smiles until his +moustache ends stick into his eyes, and looks +wise. I feel like Hansel and Gretel and think +maybe they are fattening us to eat later on. I +am getting terribly flabby and fat,” and Jim felt +his muscles and patted his stomach with disapproval.</p> + +<p>“I’d certainly like to know where we are. You +notice they never tell us a thing, and since we +are allowed only in the cabin and on a certain +part of the deck, we never have a chance at the +chart. I wish they would let us bunk alone and +not have that fat head in with us. This is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +first time they have let us talk together since +we got hauled in, and I bet some one is to blame +for this.”</p> + +<p>Kent had hardly spoken before a flushed lieutenant +came hurriedly up and with ill-concealed +perturbation entered into conversation with +them.</p> + +<p>“Gee whiz!” thought Kent. “I wish Jim Castleman +and I knew some kind of a language that +these butchers did not know. But the trouble +is they are so terribly well educated they know +all we know and three times as much besides.” +Suddenly there flashed into his mind a childish +habit the Browns used to have of speaking in a +gibberish called Tutno. “I wonder if Jim knows +it! I’ve a great mind to try him.” Putting his +hand on his friend’s arm, he said quite solemnly: +“Jug i mum, sank a nun tut, yack o u, tut a lul +kuk, Tutno.”</p> + +<p>“Sus u rur e!” exclaimed Jim, delightedly.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant looked quite startled, wigwagged +to a brother officer who was passing and +spoke hurriedly to him in German. As German<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +was worse than Greek to Kent and Jim (they +had studied some Greek at school but knew no +German) they did not know for sure what they +were saying, but from the evident excitement of +the two officers they gathered they had quite upset +the calculations of their under-sea hosts.</p> + +<p>“Gug o tot, ’e mum, gug o i nun gug, sus o +mum e!” exclaimed Kent with such a mischievous +twinkle in his eye that the two officers bristled +their moustaches in a fury of curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Yack o u, bub e tut!” was Jim’s cryptic rejoinder.</p> + +<p>For the benefit of my readers who have never +whiled away the golden hours of childhood with +Tutno or who have perchance forgotten it, I +reckon (being a Southerner myself, I shall say +reckon) I had better explain the intricacies of +the language. Tutno is a language which is +spoken by spelling and every letter sounds like +a word. The vowels remain the same as in English +but the consonants are formed by adding u +and then the same consonant again. For instance: +M is mum; N is nun; T is tut; R is rur.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +There are a few exceptions which vary in different +localities making the language slightly different +in the states. In Kentucky, C is sank; Y +is yack; J is jug. Now when Jim exclaimed: +“Yack o u bub e tut!” he conveyed the simple +remark: “You bet!” to Kent’s knowing +ears.</p> + +<p>Kent had opened the conversation by the brilliant +remark: “Jim, can you speak Tutno?” and +Jim had answered: “Sure!” Then Kent had +come back with: “Got ’em going some!”</p> + +<p>The Kentuckians were in great distress when +they realized that no doubt the sinking of the +<cite>Hirondelle de Mer</cite> had been reported in the +United States and that their families must be in +a state of doubt as to their whereabouts. They +had requested the Captain to let them send a +message if possible, and he had told them with +great frankness that in war time the women must +expect to be uncertain. Two more ships had been +sunk since they had been taken on board, but they +were kept in ignorance as to what ships they +were or what had been the fate of the crew or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +passengers. They knew that some men had been +added to the number of prisoners on board, but as +they were kept in a compartment to themselves, +they never saw them.</p> + +<p>Between operations, when the submarine came +up on top of the water and all on board swarmed +on deck to smoke and enjoy the fresh air and +sunshine, Kent and Jim were politely conducted +down into the cabin after they were deemed to +have had enough, and then the other prisoners, +whoever they were, were evidently given an airing.</p> + +<p>After our young men started their Tutno game +they were never left alone one minute. Such a +powwowing as went on after it was reported +was never beheld. It was evidently considered +of grave international importance. Once they +found their keeper taking furtive notes. Evidently +they hoped to gain something by finding +out what the Americans were saying.</p> + +<p>The plentiful food that had at first been served +to them was growing more meagre and less +choice. There was nothing but a small portion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +of black bread with very bad butter and a cup +of coffee for breakfast; a stew of a nondescript +canned meat and more black bread for dinner, +and for supper nothing but black bread with a +smearing of marmalade.</p> + +<p>Jim’s superfluous flesh began to go and Kent +got as lean as a grey hound.</p> + +<p>“Pup rur o vuv i sus i o nun sus, lul o wuv, I +rur e sack kuk o nun!” said Jim, tightening his +belt.</p> + +<p>It had been more than two weeks since the sinking +of the <cite>Hirondelle</cite> and the young men were +growing very weary of the life. Their misery +was increasing because of the uncertainty they +knew their families must be in. No respite was +in sight. They could tell by the balmy air when +they were allowed on deck that they were further +south than they had been when they were struck, +but where, they had not the slightest idea.</p> + +<p>“The water looks as it does around Burmuda, +but surely we are not over there,” said Kent in +Tutno.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The Lord knows where we are!” answered +Jim in the same language.</p> + +<p>“I wish the brutes would let us telegraph our +folks, somehow. They could do it if they chose. +They can do anything, these Prussians.” When +Kent said Prussians in Tutno: “Pup rur u sus +sus i nun sus,” the young officer whose turn it +was to guard them whipped out his note book +and examined it closely.</p> + +<p>“Sus often repeated!” he muttered.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> + +<small>THE “SIGNY.”</small></h2> + + +<p>“The orders of the Commander are for the +Americans to disembark!”</p> + +<p>A lieutenant clicked his heels in front of our +friends and saluted.</p> + +<p>“Bub u lul lul yack!” shouted Jim. “Where? +When?”</p> + +<p>“Immediately!”</p> + +<p>The submarine was on the surface of the +water, but Jim and Kent had been ushered below, +evidently to give their mysterious fellow prisoners +a turn at the deck. They were never allowed +to see them, and to this day are absolutely ignorant +as to who they were or how many or of +what nationality.</p> + +<p>It turned out that a Swedish vessel, the <cite>Signy</cite>, +had been sighted thirteen miles off the Spanish +port of Camariñas. She was signaled and ordered +to take aboard the Kentuckians and land<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +them. Explicit commands were given the captain +of the <cite>Signy</cite> that she was to land the young +men immediately.</p> + +<p>Kent and Jim were too glad to get off the submarine +to care where they were being landed. +They only hoped it was not in South America.</p> + +<p>“Gug o o dud bub yack!” shouted Jim to the +grinning crew of the German vessel.</p> + +<p>The young lieutenant of the inquisitive mind +made another note in his little book as the life +boat from the Swedish ship bore the young men +away.</p> + +<p>They were very cordially received on board the +<cite>Signy</cite> but not allowed to stay a moment longer +than was necessary. The ship steamed to within +a few miles of the Spanish port, all the time being +followed up by the submarine, then the boats +were lowered again and Kent and Jim rowed to +shore. They were given a good meal in the interim, +however, one that they were most pleased +to get, too, as black bread and canned stew had +begun to pall on these favored sons of Kentucky.</p> + +<p>“Where in the thunder is Camariñas?” queried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +Kent. “I know it is Spain, but is it north, south, +east or west?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I reckon it isn’t east and that’s about all +I know.”</p> + +<p>It proved to be in the northwest corner and +after some mix-ups, a person was found who +could speak English. The American Consul was +tracked, cablegrams were sent to Kentucky apprising +their families of their safety, and at last +our friends were on the train en route for Paris.</p> + +<p>It was a long and circuitous journey, over and +under and around mountains. They would have +enjoyed it at any other time, but Kent was too +uneasy about Judy to enjoy anything, and Jim +was too eager to get in line to swat the Prussians, +as he expressed it, to be interested in Spanish +scenery. They traveled third class as they +had no intention of drawing too recklessly on +their hoarded gold.</p> + +<p>After many hours of travel by day and night, +they finally arrived in Paris. It was eleven at +night and our young men were weary, indeed. +The hard benches of the third class coaches had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +made their impression and they longed for sheets +and made-up beds.</p> + +<p>“A shave! A shave! My kingdom for a shave!” +exclaimed Kent, as they stretched their stiffened +limbs after tumbling out of the coach in the Gare +de Sud.</p> + +<p>“Don’t forget I am a stranger in a strange +land, so put me wise,” begged Jim.</p> + +<p>“I know a terribly cheap little hotel on Montparnasse +and Raspail where we can put up, without +even the comforts of a bum home, but we can +make out there and it is cheap. The <cite>Haute +Loire</cite> is its high sounding name, but it is not high, +I can tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let’s do it. I hope there is some kind of +a bath there.”</p> + +<p>“I trust so, but if there isn’t, we can go to a +public bath.”</p> + +<p>The Kentuckians were a very much dishevelled +pair. They had purchased the necessary toilet +articles at Camariñas, but sleeping for nights in +suits in which they had already had quite a +lengthy swim did not improve their appearance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +The submariners had pressed their clothes after +their ducking, but Jim’s trousers had shrunk +lengthways until he said he felt like Buster +Brown, and Kent’s had dried up the other way, +so that in walking two splits had arrived across +his knees.</p> + +<p>“We look like tramps, but the <cite>Haute Loire</cite> is +used to our type. I don’t believe we could get +into a good hotel.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to look up your girl—excuse +me, I mean Miss Kean, before you replenish your +wardrobe?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, I must not wait a minute. I would +like to do it to-night.”</p> + +<p>“To-night! Man, you are crazy! Get that +alfalfa off your face first. One night can’t get +her into much trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you are right. I am worn out, too, +and a night’s rest and a shave will do wonders +for both of us.”</p> + +<p>Paris looked very changed to Kent. The +streets were so dark and everything looked so sad, +very different from the gay city he had left only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +a few weeks before. The <cite>Haute Loire</cite> had not +changed, though. It was the same little hospitable +fifth class joint. The madame received the +exceedingly doubtful looking guests with as much +cordiality as she would had they been the President +of the Republic and General Joffre.</p> + +<p>There were no baths that night, but tumbling +into bed, our Kentuckians were lost to the world +until the next day. What if the Prussians did +fly over the city, dropping bombs on helpless noncombatants? +Two young men who had been torpedoed; +had floated around indefinitely in the Atlantic +Ocean; had been finally picked up by the +submarine that had done the damage; had remained +in durance vile for several weeks on the +submarine, resorting to Tutno to have any private +conversation at all; and at last been transferred +to a Swedish vessel and dumped by them +on the northwest coast of Spain—those young +men cared little whether school kept or not. The +bombs that dropped that night were nothing more +than pop crackers to them. The excitement in +the streets did not reach their tired ears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>Kent dreamed of Chatsworth and of taking +Judy down to Aunt Mary’s cabin so the old +woman could see “that Judy gal” once more. +Jim Castleman dreamed he swatted ten thousand +Prussians, which was a sweet and peaceful dream +to one who considered swatting the Prussians a +privilege.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> + +<small>THE CABLEGRAM.</small></h2> + + +<p>“Tingaling, aling, aling! Phome a ringin’ +agin! I bet that’s Mr. Paul,” declared Caroline, +the present queen of the Chatsworth kitchen. “I +kin tell his ring ev’y time. I’m a goin’ ter answer +it, Miss Molly.”</p> + +<p>Molly, who was ironing the baby’s cap strings +and bibs (work she never trusted any one to do), +smiled. It was one of Caroline’s notions that +each person had a particular way of ringing the +telephone. She was always on the alert to answer +the “phome,” and would stop anything she +was doing and tear to be first to take down the +receiver, although it always meant that some +member of the family must come and receive the +message which usually was perfectly unintelligible +to the willing girl.</p> + +<p>The telephone was in the great old dining room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +because, as Mrs. Brown said, every one would +call up at meal time and if you were there, you +were there. Molly followed Caroline to the dining +room, knowing full well that she would be +needed when once the preliminaries were over. +She gathered the cap strings and bibs, now neatly +ironed and ready for the trip to Wellington that +she would sooner or later have to take.</p> + +<p>Still no news from the <cite>Hirondelle de Mer</cite>, that +is, no news from Kent. The last boat load of +sailors and passengers had been taken up, but +none of them could say for sure whether the two +Kentuckians had been saved or not. One man +insisted he had seen the submarine stop and take +something or some one on board, but when closely +questioned he was quite hazy as to his announcement. +Jimmy Lufton had kept the cables hot +trying to find out something. The Browns and +Jim Castleman’s sister had communicated with +each other on the subject of the shipwrecked boys.</p> + +<p>“‘Low!” she heard Caroline mutter with that +peculiarly muffled tone that members of her race +always seem to think they must assume when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +speaking through the telephone. “This here is +Mrs. Brown’s res-i-d-e-n-c-e! Yessir! This here +is Ca’line at the phome. Yessir! Miss Molly +done made yo’ maw eat her breakfus’ in the baid. +No, sir, not to say sick in the baid—yessir, kinder +sick on the baid. Yessir! Miss Molly is a launderin’ +of the cap ties fer the baby. We is all +well, sir, yessir. I’ll call Miss Molly.”</p> + +<p>Of course she hung up the receiver before +Molly could drop her cap strings and reach the +telephone.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Caroline, why did you hang it up? Was +it Mr. Paul?”</p> + +<p>“Yassum! It were him. I done tole you I +could tell his ring. I hung up the reception cause +I didn’t know you was so handy, an’ I thought if +I kep it down, it might was’e the phome somehow, +while I went out to fetch you.”</p> + +<p>Molly couldn’t help laughing, although it was +very irritating for Caroline to be so intensely stupid +about telephoning. Paul, knowing Caroline’s +ways, rang up again in a moment and Molly was +there ready to get the message herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Molly, honey, are you well? Is Mother well? +How is the baby?”</p> + +<p>“All well, Paul! Any news?”</p> + +<p>“Good news, Molly!” Molly dropped all the +freshly ironed finery and leaned against the wall +for support. “A cablegram from Spain! Kent +was landed there by the German submarine.”</p> + +<p>“Kent! Are you sure?”</p> + +<p>“As sure as shootin’! Let me read it to you—‘Safe—well, +Kent.’ Tell Mother as soon as you +can, Molly, but go easy with it. Good news +might knock her out as much as bad news. I’ll +be out with John as fast as his tin Lizzie can buzz +us.”</p> + +<p>“Safe! Kent alive and well!”</p> + +<p>Molly’s knees were trembling so she could +hardly get to her mother’s room, where that good +lady had been pretending to eat her breakfast in +bed. Old Shep, standing by her bedside, had a +suspiciously greasy expression around his mouth +and was very busy licking his lips, which imparted +the information to the knowing Molly that +her mother’s dainty breakfast had disappeared to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +a spot to which it was not destined by the two +anxious cooks, Molly and Caroline.</p> + +<p>“Molly, what is it? I heard the ’phone ring. +Was it Paul?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother! Good news!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown closed her eyes and lay back on her +pillows, looking so pale that Molly was scared. +How fragile the good lady was! Her profile was +more cameo-like than ever. These few weeks of +waiting, in spite of the brave front she had shown +to the world, had told on her. Could she stand +good news any better than she could bad?</p> + +<p>“Kent?” she murmured faintly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother, a cablegram! ‘Safe, well, +Kent.’”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“Spain, I don’t know what part.”</p> + +<p>And then the long pent-up flood gates were +opened and Mrs. Brown and Molly had such a +cry as was never seen or heard of. The cap +strings that Molly had dropped on the floor when +she heard that there was news, she had gathered +up in one wild swoop on the way to her mother’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +room, and these were first brought into requisition +to weep on, and then the sheets and the napkin +from the breakfast tray, and at last even old +Shep had to get damp.</p> + +<p>“I bus’ stop ad gall up Zue ad Ad Zarah. Oh, +Bother, Bother, how good God is!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, darling, He is good whether our Kent +was spared to us or not,” said Mrs. Brown, showing +much more command of her consonants than +poor Molly.</p> + +<p>Caroline appeared, one big grin, bearing little +Mildred in her arms.</p> + +<p>“She done woke up an’ say ter me: ‘Ca’line, +what all dis here rumpus ’bout?’”</p> + +<p>As Mildred had as yet said nothing more than +“Goo! Goo!” that brought the smiles to Molly and +Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>“Lawd Gawd a mussy! Is Mr. Kent daid? +Is that what Mr. Paul done phomed? I mus’ run +tell Aunt Mary. I boun’ ter be the fust one.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Caroline! Mr. Kent is alive and +well.”</p> + +<p>“‘Live an’ well! Well, Gawd be praised!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +When I come in an’ foun’ you all a actin’ lak what +the preacher says will be in the las’ day er jedgment, +a weepin’ an’ wailin’ an’ snatchin’ er teeth, +I say ter myse’f: ‘Ca’line, that there dream you +had ’bout gittin’ ma’id was sho’ sign er death, +drownin’ referred.’ Well, Miss Molly, if’n you’ll +hol’ the baby, I’ll go tell Aunt Mary the good +news, too. Cose ’tain’t quite so scrumptious to +be the fust ter carry good news as ’tis bad, but +then news is news.”</p> + +<p>Sue was telephoned to immediately and joined +in the general rejoicing. Aunt Sarah Clay was +quite nonplussed for a moment because of the attitude +she had taken about the family mourning, +but her affection for her sister, which was really +very sincere in spite of her successful manner of +concealing it, came to the fore and she, too, rejoiced. +Of course she had to suggest, to keep in +character, that Kent might have communicated +with his family sooner if he only would have exerted +himself, but Molly was too happy to get +angry and only laughed.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Clay can no more help her ways than a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +chestnut can its burr.” And then she remembered +how as children they would take sticks and +beat the chestnut burrs open and she wondered +if a good beating administered on Aunt Clay +might not help matters. She voiced this sentiment +to her mother, who said:</p> + +<p>“My dear Molly, Life has administered the +beating on your Aunt Clay long ago. It is being +childless that makes her so bitter. I know that +and that is the reason I am so patient, at least, I +try to be patient with her. Of course, she always +asserts she is glad she has no children, that my +children have been a never ending anxiety to me +and she is glad she is spared a similar worry.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mother, we are not a never-ending anxiety, +are we?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my darling, but an anxiety I would not +be without for all the wealth of the Indies. +Aren’t you a little bit anxious all the time about +your baby?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, just a teensy weensy bit, but then +I haven’t got used to her yet.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, when you get used to her, she will be +just that much more precious.”</p> + +<p>“But then I have just one, and you have +seven.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think you love her seven times as +much as I love you, or Kent or Milly or any of +them?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mother, of course I don’t. I know you +love all of us just as much as I love my little +Mildred, only I just don’t see how you can.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you will have to have seven children to +understand how I can, but when you realize what +it means to have Mildred, maybe you can understand +what it has meant always to poor Sister +Sarah never to have had any children.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it is hard on her but, Mother dear, +if she had had the seven and you had never had +any, do you think for a minute you would have +been as porcupinish and cactus-like in your attitude +toward the world and especially toward +Aunt Clay’s seven as she is toward yours? +Never!”</p> + +<p>Molly’s statement was not to be combatted, although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +Mrs. Brown was not sure what she would +have been like without her seven anxieties; but +Molly knew that she would have been the same +lovely person, no matter how many or how few +children she had had.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to try to feel differently toward +Aunt Clay,” she whispered into her baby’s ear, as +she cuddled her up to her after the great rite of +bathing her was completed that morning. “Just +think what it must be never to hold your own +baby like this! Poor Aunt Clay! No wonder +she is hard and cold—but goodness me, I’m glad +I did not draw her for a parent.” The baby +looked up into her mother’s eyes with a gurgle +and crow, as though she, too, were pleased that +her Granny was as she was and not as Aunt Clay +was.</p> + +<p>“We are going to see Daddy soon, do you know +that, honey baby?” And Molly clasped her rosy +infant to her breast with a heart full of thanksgiving +that now there was no dire reason for her +remaining in Kentucky longer.</p> + +<p>A farewell visit must be paid to Aunt Mary.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +The baby was dressed in one of her very best +slips and Molly put on her new blue suit for the +occasion, as she well knew how flattered the old +woman was by such an attention.</p> + +<p>“Well, bless Gawd, if here ain’t my Molly baby +and the little Miss Milly all dressed up in they +best bibantucker! I been a lyin’ here a dreamin’ +you was all back in the carstle, that there apple +tree what you youngsters done built a house up’n +an’ Miss Milly done sent me to say you mus’ come +an wash yo’ faceanhans fer dinner, jes’ lak she +done a millium times, an’ who should be up in the +tree with you an’ that there Kent but yo’ teacher +an’ that there Judy gal.”</p> + +<p>Molly laughed as she always did when Aunt +Mary called Professor Edwin Green, her teacher.</p> + +<p>“Yes, chile, they was up there with you an’ +Kent up’n had the imprence to tell me to go tell +his maw that he warn’t comin’ ter no dinner, +’cause he an’ that there Judy gal was a keepin’ +house up the tree.” The old woman chuckled +with delight at Kent’s “imprence.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t be astonished if they did go to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +housekeeping soon, Aunt Mary, but I don’t fancy +it will be up a tree.”</p> + +<p>“An’ what I done say all the time ’bout that +there Kent not being drownded? When the niggers +came a whining ’roun’ me a sayin’ he was +sho’ daid ’cause they done had signs an’ omens, I +say ter them I done had mo’ ter do with that there +Kent than all of ’em put together an’ I lak ter +know what they be havin’ omens ’bout him when +I ain’t had none. If’n they was any omens a +floatin’ ’roun’ they would a lit on me an’ not on +that triflin’ Buck Jourdan. He say he dream er +teeth an’ ’twas sho sign er death. I tell him +mebbeso but ’twas mo’n likely he done overworked +his teeth a eatin’ er my victuals, a settin’ +’roun’ here dayanight a strummin’ on his gittah, +an’ what’s mo’ I done tole him he better git the +blacksmith ter pull out one er his jaw teeth what +ain’t mo’n a snaggle. Sukey low she goin’ ter +send him in ter Lou’ville ter one er these here +tooth dentists, but I say the blacksmith is jes’ as +good a han’ at drawin’ teeth as they is, an’ he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +chawge the same as ter shoe a mule, an’ that ain’t +much.”</p> + +<p>“But Aunt Mary, I should think if there is +anything serious the matter with Buck’s teeth he +had better see a dentist. The blacksmith might +break his tooth off.”</p> + +<p>“Who? This here blacksmith? Lawsamussy, +honey, why he’s that strong an’ survigorous that +he would bust Buck’s jaw long befo’ he break his +tooth. He’ll grab hol’ the tooth and put his knee +in Buck’s chist an’ he gonter hol’ on till either +Buck or the tooth comes.”</p> + +<p>A groan from the next room, the lean-to +kitchen, gave evidence that Buck was in there, an +unwilling eavesdropper since the method of the +blacksmith on his suffering molar was the topic.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think the baby has grown, Aunt +Mary?” asked Molly, mercifully changing the +subject.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she done growed some an’ she done +growed prettier. I seed all the time she were +gonter be pretty, an’ when that there Paul came +down here an’ give it to me that the new baby<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +looked lak a pink mummy—I done tol’ him that I +didn’t know what a mummy were, but what ever +it were, the new baby didn’t look no mo’ lak one +than he did when he was born, ’cause of all the +wrinkly, scarlet little Injuns he would a fetched +the cake. That done dried that there Paul up an +he ain’t been so bombast since bout the looks er no +new babies.” The old woman chuckled with delight +in remembrance of her repartee.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Mary, I think you are feeling better, +aren’t you? You seem much more lively than +when I saw you last.”</p> + +<p>“’Cose I is feelin’ better. Ain’t we done heard +good news from that there Kent?”</p> + +<p>“But I thought you knew all the time he was +all right.”</p> + +<p>“Well now, so I did, so fur as I knew anything, +but they was times when I doubted, an’ those +times pulled me back right smart. Why, honey, +I used ter pray the Almighty if he lacked a soul +ter jes’ tak me. I is a no ’count ole nigger on the +outside but mebbe my soul is some good yit. If I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +could give up my life fur one er Miss Milly’s chillun, +I’d be proud ter do it!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Aunt Mary, you have been so good to us +always!”</p> + +<p>“Lawsamussy, chile! What I here fur but ter +be good ter my white folks? They’s been good +ter me—as good as gole. I ain’t never wanted +fur nothin’ an’ I ain’t never had a hard word +from Carmichael or Brown, savin’, of cose, Miss +Sary. She is spoke some hard words in her day, +but she didn’ never mean nothin’ by them words. +I don’t bear no grudge against po’ Miss Sary. +The good Lord done made her a leetle awry an’ +’tain’t fur me ter be the one ter try to straighten +her out. Sometimes whin I lies here a thinkin’ it +seems ter me mebbe some folks is made lak Miss +Sary jes’ so they kin be angels on earth like yo’ +maw. Miss Sary done sanctified yo’ maw. She +done tried her an’ rubbed aginst her, burnt her in +de fire of renunciation and drinched her in the +waters of reproachment until yo maw is come out +refimed gold.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you are right, Aunt Mary. I am trying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +to be nicer about the way I feel about Aunt +Clay myself. I think if I feel differently, maybe +Aunt Clay would feel differently toward me. +She does not like me, and why should she, since I +don’t really like her?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want ter take no Christian thoughts +from yo’ min’ an’ heart, honey chile, but the good +you’ll git from thinkin’ kin’ things ’bout Miss +Sary will be all yo’ own good. Miss Sary ain’t +gonter be no diffrent. She done got too sot in +her ways. The leper ain’t gonter change his +spots now no mo’n it did in the time er Noah, certainly +no ole tough leper lak Miss Sary.”</p> + +<p>It was hard to tell the old woman good-by. +Every time Molly left Chatsworth she feared it +would be the last farewell to poor old Aunt Mary. +She had been bedridden now for many months, +but she hung on to life with a tenacity that was +astonishing.</p> + +<p>“Cose, I is ready ter go whin the Marster +calls,” she would say, “but I ain’t a hurryin’ of +him. A creakin’ do’ hangs long on its hinges an’ +the white folks done iled up my hinges so, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +with good victuals with plenty er suption in ’em +an’ a little dram now an’ then ’cordin’ ter the +doctor’s subscription, that sometimes I don’t +creak at all. I may git up out’n this here baid ’fo +long an’ be as spry as the nex’. I wouldn’t min’ +goin’ so much if I jes’ had mo’ idee what Heaven +is lak. I’m so feard it will be strange ter me. I +don’t want ter walk on no goldin’ streets. Gold +ain’t no better ter walk on than bricks. Miss +Milly done read me the Psalm what say: ‘He +maketh me to lay down in the green pastures.’ +Now that there piece sounds mighty pretty—jes’ +lak singin’, but I ain’t never been no han’ to set +on the damp groun’ an’ Heaven or no Heaven, I +low it would give me a misery ter be a doin’ it +now; an’ as fer layin’ on it, no’m! I wants a good +rockin’ cheer, an’ I wants it in the house, an’ +when I wants ter res’ myse’f, a baid is good +enough fer me.”</p> + +<p>The old woman’s theology was a knotty problem +for all of the Brown family. They would +read to her from the Bible and reason with her, +but her preconceived notion of Heaven was too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +much for them. She believed firmly in the +pearly gates and the golden streets, and freely +announced she would rather have her own cabin +duplicated on the other side than all the many +mansions, and her own whitewashed gate with +hinges made from the soles of old shoes than the +pearly gates.</p> + +<p>“What I want with a mansion? The cabin +whar I been a livin’ all my life is plenty good +enough for this old nigger. An’ what’s mo, blue +grass a growin’ on each side of a shady lane is +better’n golden streets. I ain’t a goin’ ter be +hard-headed bout Heaven, but I hope the Marster +will let me settle in some cottage an’ let it be in +the country where I kin raise a few chickens an’ +mebbe keep a houndog.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure the Master will let you have whatever +you want, dear Aunt Mary,” Molly would +say.</p> + +<p>“But if’n he does that, I’ll get too rotten spiled +ter stay in Heaven. He better limit me some, or +I’ll feel too proudified even fer a angel.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XV.<br /> + +<small>WELLINGTON AGAIN.</small></h2> + + +<p>“Oh, it is nice to be back home,” sighed Molly, +settling herself luxuriously in the sleepy-hollow +chair that was supposed to be set aside for the +master of the house. With the girlish habit she +had never outgrown, she slipped off her pumps +and stretched out her slender feet to the wood +fire, that felt very comfortable in the crisp +autumn weather.</p> + +<p>“That’s what you said when we arrived in +Kentucky in the spring,” teased her husband.</p> + +<p>“Well, so it was nice. The migratory birds +have two homes and they are always glad to get +to whichever one is seasonable. I reckon I am +with my two homes as Mother is with her seven +children. I love them just the same. Thank +goodness, I haven’t seven of them, homes, I +mean.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, I think two are enough.”</p> + +<p>“Which home do you love best, Wellington or +the Orchard Home?” asked Molly, smiling fondly +at her husband, who was dandling little Mildred +on his knees with awkward eagerness.</p> + +<p>“Why, neither one of them is home to me unless +you are there, and whichever one you grace +with your presence is for the time being the one I +like the better.”</p> + +<p>“And the baby, too, whichever one she is in +makes it home!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly!” exclaimed Edwin Green with +a whimsical expression on his face. “I see that +when I make love now it is to be to two ladies and +not to one.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think Mildred has grown a lot? +And see, her eyes have really turned brown, just +as Mother said they would. Don’t you think she +looks well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, honey, I think she looks very well, but I +don’t think you do.”</p> + +<p>“Me! Nonsense! I am as well as can be, just +a little tired from the trip.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, I know. Of course that was fatiguing, +but I think you are thinner than you have any +right to be. I am afraid you have been doing +too much.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not at all. I have had simply nothing to +do but take care of the baby, and that is just +play, real play.”</p> + +<p>“Humph, no doubt! But maybe you have +played too hard and that is what has tired you. +I thought you were going to bring Kizzie along +to nurse.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that was your and Mother’s plan! I never +had any idea of doing it. ’Deed and um’s muvver +is going to take care of ’ittle bits a baby herself,” +and Molly reached out and snuggled the willing +Mildred down in the sleepy-hollow chair. +Daddy’s knee was not the most comfortable spot +in the world, and a back that has only been in the +world about four months cannot stand for much +dandling.</p> + +<p>“But, Molly darling, Kizzie is a good girl and +it would help you ever so much to have her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +You know we can well afford it now, so don’t let +the financial side of it worry you.”</p> + +<p>“But, Edwin, I can’t give up taking care of the +baby. I just love to do it.”</p> + +<p>“All right, my dear, but please don’t wear yourself +out.”</p> + +<p>The fact was that the long strain of waiting +for news from Kent had told on Molly, and she +was looking quite wan and tired. It was not just +the trip from Kentucky, which, of course, was no +easy matter. Twenty-four hours on the train +with an infant that needed much attention and +got much more than it really needed was no joke, +but the long hours and days of waiting and uncertainty +had taken Molly’s strength. She did +feel tired and had no appetite, but she felt sure a +night’s rest would restore her. She rather attributed +her lack of appetite to the poor food that +the new Irish maid, whom Edwin had installed in +her absence, was serving.</p> + +<p>“I’ll take hold of her to-morrow and see what +can be done,” she said rather wearily to herself. +“I wish Mother could train her for me. I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +much rather do the cooking myself than try to +train some one who is as hopelessly green as this +girl.”</p> + +<p>That night little Mildred decided was a good +time to assert herself. The trip had not tired +her at all; on the contrary, it had spurred her on +to a state of hilarity, which was very amusing at +first but as the night wore on, ceased to be funny. +She had come to the delightful knowledge of the +fact that she had feet and that each foot had five +toes. The cover did not stay on these little pigs +one moment. Every time Molly would settle her +tired bones and begin to doze, there would be a +crow from Mildred, a gurgle, and straight in the +air would go the bed clothes, tucked in for the +millionth time by the patient young mother. +Then the pink tootsies would leap into sight and +soon find their way to a determined little mouth.</p> + +<p>“Darling, you must go to sleepsumby!” Molly +would remonstrate. “And you will catch your +death if you don’t keep covered up!”</p> + +<p>But the four months’ old baby had been too +busy in her short life learning other things to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +bother her head about a mere language. The +business of the night was feet and feet alone. +There was too much to do about those wonderful +little feet for her to think of sleep. Finally Molly +gave up. She closed the windows, as too much +fresh air on bare feet and legs might not be best +and already the little limbs were icy cold. Then +she kindled a fire in the grate, the furnace not +yet having been started, and gave herself up to a +night of sleeplessness. Early in the action, +Edwin had been banished to the guest chamber, +as he must get sleep no matter what happened, +for he had a busy day ahead of him.</p> + +<p>Toward morning little Mildred mastered her +pedagogy, as her father had called it, and then +she dropped off into a deep and peaceful sleep. +The weary Molly slept, too.</p> + +<p>Before he went to his lectures, Edwin crept +into the room to look at his sleeping treasures. +The chubby baby still had a toe clasped in her +hand but from very weariness had fallen over on +her side and was covered up all but the pink foot, +which was asserting itself in the remarkable position<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +that only the young can take. Molly looked +very pale and tired but was sleeping peacefully. +Edwin smiled at them. He had given the green +maid from the Emerald Isle strict orders not to +awaken them. He devoutly hoped that Molly +would not know what a very mean breakfast he +had endeavored to choke down; burnt bacon and +underdone biscuit washed down with very weak +coffee and flanked by eggs that had been cooked +too long and not long enough, thereby undergoing +that process that the chemist tells us is of all +things the most indigestible: half hard and half +soft. The burnt bacon had been cold and the +underdone biscuit still cooking, seemingly, when +the poor young husband and father had tried to +nourish himself on them.</p> + +<p>He had rather hoped when Molly once got back +to Wellington that his food would be better; no +doubt it would as soon as she, poor girl, could get +rested up. He was thankful, indeed, now that +she was asleep and tiptoed out of the room and +house without making a sound.</p> + +<p>She slept until late in the morning and then the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +business of the day began, getting little Mildred +fed and washed and dressed and fed again and +then to sleep. The good-natured, if wholly incapable, +Katy hung around and waited on the pretty +young mistress. Katy had never been out in service +in the “schtates,” but had come from New +York in answer to an advertisement in a newspaper +inserted by the despairing professor when +he had come back to Wellington alone while his +wife waited in Kentucky for news of her brother. +He had had kindly visions of getting a good Irish +cook and having the housekeeping all running +beautifully before Molly’s return.</p> + +<p>Immigrant Katy proved rosy and willing but +with no more conception of how to cook than she +had how to clean. She was great on “scroobing,” +but walls and furniture and carpets were not supposed +to be scrubbed. The kitchen floor and pantry +shelves were alike beautiful after her administrations, +but gold dust and a stiff brush had not +improved the appearance of the piano legs. +Edwin had come home in the nick of time to stop +her before she vented her energies on Molly’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +own Persian rug, the pride of her heart because +of the wonderful blue in it.</p> + +<p>“What time is it, Katy?” asked Molly after the +baby was absolutely finished and tucked in her +carriage to stay on the porch.</p> + +<p>“’Tis twilve of the clock, Miss, and I haven’t +so much as turned a hand below schtairs.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it can’t be that late! Lunch at one! +What are we to have?”</p> + +<p>“And that I am not knowing, Miss. Sure and +there is nothing in the house.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Katy, and I have been dawdling up here +for hours! I forgot about keeping house, I was +so taken up with the baby.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and no doubt your man will be sour +about it, too.”</p> + +<p>Molly, still in her kimono, flew to the regions +below and began frantically to search for something +to concoct into luncheon. A forlorn piece +of roast veal was excavated and half a loaf of +stale baker’s bread. A can of asparagus, a leftover +from the housekeeping of the spring, +was unearthed. Olive oil was in the refrigerator,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +also, butter, milk and eggs. The veal +looked very hopeless, evidently having reposed +for hours in a half cold oven before it had furnished +forth a miserable dinner for the poor professor.</p> + +<p>“Now I’ll ’form a miracle on the vituals,’ as +dear Aunt Mary would say,” declared Molly to +herself. “Katy, get the dining room straight. +Don’t scrub anything but just clear off the table +and then set it again as well as you can. Put on +a fresh lunch cloth and clean napkins; then see +that the fire in the library is all right.”</p> + +<p>The veal, run through the meat chopper, came +out better than was to be expected, and croquettes +were formed and frying in deep fat before the +dazed Katy had cleared off the breakfast table.</p> + +<p>“Katy, you must hurry or we won’t have the +master’s luncheon ready when he gets in.”</p> + +<p>“Faith, and, Mrs. Green, you do be flying +round so schwift like, that I can’t get me breath. +I feel like the wind from your schkirts was sinding +me back. All I can do is schtand schtill and +breast the wind.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, I tell you what you do then,” laughed +Molly: “You come fly with the wind,” and she +caught the Irish girl by the hand and ran her +around the dining room table just to show her +how fast she could go if necessary. Katy, having +got wound up, kept on going at a rate of speed +that was astonishing. To be sure, she broke a +cup and a plate, but what was a little chaney to +the master’s luncheon being served on time?</p> + +<p>The faithful can of asparagus was opened and +heated; toast was made from the half loaf of +stale bread, and a cream sauce prepared to pour +over the asparagus on toast. Popovers were +stirred up and in the oven before Katy got the +table set, although she was going with the wind +instead of trying to breast it. A few rosy apples +from the orchard at Chatsworth, unearthed from +the depths of the unpacked trunk, formed a salad +with a mayonnaise made in such a hurry that +Molly trembled for its quality; but luck being +with her that day, it turned out beautifully.</p> + +<p>“No lettuce, so we’ll put the salad on those +green majolica plates and maybe he won’t notice,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +she called to Katy, just as the professor +opened the front door.</p> + +<p>“Mol—ly!” he called.</p> + +<p>“Here I am.”</p> + +<p>The mistress of the house emerged from the +kitchen in a state of mussiness but looking very +pretty withal, her red-gold hair curling up in little +ringlets from the steam and her cheeks as rosy +as though she had joost come over wid Katy. +Her blue kimono was very becoming but hardly +what she would have chosen to appear in at +luncheon.</p> + +<p>“I am so sorry not to be dressed, but I had to +hustle so as to get lunch ready in time. The +clock struck twelve when I thought it was about +ten.”</p> + +<p>“Did you have to get luncheon? Where was +Katy?”</p> + +<p>“She helped, but I wanted to have a finger in +it. If you will wait a minute, I will get into a +dress.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you look beautiful in that loose blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +thing; besides, I have to eat and run. A faculty +meeting is calling me.”</p> + +<p>The luncheon was delicious, and Edwin gave it +all praise by devouring large quantities of it. +Molly could not eat much as she was too hot, and +hurrying is not conducive to appetite. Mildred, +who was sleeping on the porch, awoke when the +meal was half over and Molly could not trust +Katy to take her up.</p> + +<p>“She might hold her upside down. I will bring +her to the table and she can talk to you while you +are finishing!”</p> + +<p>So Molly flew to the porch and picked up her +darling. She had intended to take her to the +dining room but she remembered it was time for +Mildred to have her food and so the patient +Edwin had to finish his meal alone.</p> + +<p>He found his wife and baby on the upper back +porch. The color had left Molly’s cheeks and +she was quite pale, and there was a little wan, +wistful look in her countenance that Edwin did +not like.</p> + +<p>“Molly, honey, you are all tired out. You did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +not eat your luncheon and you got no sleep last +night. What are we going to do about it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m all right! Please don’t bother about +me! Did you like the apple salad? They were +apples from Kentucky.”</p> + +<p>“Fine! Everything was delicious. But I +don’t want you to wear yourself out cooking. If +Katy can’t cook, we must get some one who can. +If she can’t cook and you won’t let her nurse, why +what is the use of her?”</p> + +<p>Molly, worn out with the sleepless night and +the record breaking getting of a meal out of nothing, +felt as though she would disgrace herself in a +minute and burst into tears. She could not discuss +the matter with Edwin for fear of breaking +down. Edwin kissed her good-by and tactfully +withdrew.</p> + +<p>“You goose, Molly Brown!” she scolded herself. +“And what on earth are you so full of tears +over? I know Edwin thinks I ought to have a +nurse and I just can’t trust Mildred to any one. +I am going to try so hard to have everything so +nice that he won’t think about it any more.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>A grand telephoning for provisions ensued, +and a dinner was planned for six-thirty that +would have taxed the culinary powers of a real +chef and before which Katy bowed her head in +defeat. It meant that by four Molly must be +back in the kitchen to start things.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> + +<small>IRISHMAN’S CURTAINS.</small></h2> + + +<p>Callers came in through the afternoon to welcome +back to Wellington the popular wife of the +popular professor and to glimpse the new baby. +Kind Mrs. McLean, the wife of the doctor, a little +older than when last we saw her but showing it +only in her whitening hair and not at all in her +upright carriage and British complexion, stopped +in “just for a moment” to be picked up later by +the doctor on his way to a country patient. Miss +Walker herself, the busy president of Wellington, +ran in from the meeting of the faculty to greet +her one time pupil and to give one kiss to the college +baby. Several of the seniors, who were +freshmen when Molly was still at college as post +graduate and who had the delight of calling her +Molly while most of the others had to say Mrs. +Green, came in fresh from a game of basketball, +glowing with health and enthusiasm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>While these friends were all gathered about +Molly and the baby, Alice Fern, Edwin Green’s +cousin, driving in to Wellington in a very stylish +new electric car, stopped to make a fashionable +call on her law kin. She had never forgiven +Molly for stealing (as she expressed it) Edwin’s +affections. She was still Miss Fern, and although +she was possessed of beauty and intelligence, +it was likely that she would remain Miss +Fern. Molly was never very much at her ease +with Alice. She was particularly sensitive to any +feeling of dislike entertained toward her, and +Edwin’s cousin always made her feel that she disapproved +of her in some way.</p> + +<p>The living room in the broad old red brick +house on the campus, occupied by the professor of +English, was a pleasant room, breathing of the +tastes and pursuits of the owners. Low bookshelves +were in every nook and cranny, filled with +books, the shelves actually sagging with them. +Botticelli’s Primavera, a present from Mary +Stewart, adorned one wall; Mathew Jouette’s +portrait of Molly’s great grandmother, a wedding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +present from Aunt Clay, another. This was the +portrait that looked so much like Molly and also +like the Marquise d’Ochtè, between whom and +Aunt Sarah Clay there was no love lost; indeed, +it was this likeness that had induced Aunt Clay +to part with such a valuable work of art. The +other pictures were some dashing, clever sketches +by Judy Kean, and Pierce Kinsella’s very lovely +portrait of Mrs. Brown, that had won honorable +mention at the Salon and then had been sent by +the young artist to adorn Molly’s home. On +the whole, it was a very satisfactory and tastefully +furnished room and Molly and Edwin always +declared they could talk better and think +better in that room than in any they had ever +seen.</p> + +<p>On that first day home, Molly was a little conscious +of the fact that the room needed a thorough +cleaning, not the scrubbing that Katy was +so desirous of administering, but just a good +thorough cleaning. However, she was so glad to +see her friends again and so proud of showing her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +wonderful baby to them that the cleaning seemed +of small importance.</p> + +<p>“I’ll dust all the books to-morrow,” she said +to herself, “and have Katy wipe down the walls, +polish the glass on the pictures, and above all, +wash the windows.”</p> + +<p>She well knew that Miss Walker and dear Mrs. +McLean were not noticing such things, or, if they +did, they would make all excuses. As for the college +girls—dirt was not what they came to see. +They came to see the lovely Molly and her adorable +baby. If the walls were festooned with cobwebs, +why that was the way walls should be in +the home of a learned professor of English, who +had written several books, besides the libretto to +a successful opera, and who was married to a +beautiful Titian-haired girl who was also a genius +in her way, having been accepted in magazines +when she was not even out of college. +What did they care for dust on the books and +smeary window panes? Molly was so popular +with the college girls that in their eyes she was +perfection itself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>Alice Fern’s entrance broke up the cheerful +group gathered around Molly and the rosy Mildred. +Miss Walker suddenly remembered that +she had an important engagement and hurried +off, and Mrs. McLean, who made no endeavor to +hide her impatience at Miss Fern’s exceeding +smugness, went outside to wait for the doctor. +The girls stayed, however, hoping to sit out the +unwelcome interrupter.</p> + +<p>These girls were favorites of Molly’s. The +harum scarum Billie McKym from New York reminded +her in a way of her own Judy, although +no one else could see it. Josephine Crittenden, +Tom boy of college and leader in all sports, hailed +from Kentucky, and being a distant relative of +Crittenden Rutledge, Mildred Brown’s husband, +was of course taken immediately under the wing +of the loyal Molly. She had what she called a +crush on Molly, and not a little did she amuse +that young matron, as well as annoy her, by her +gifts of flowers and candy.</p> + +<p>The third girl was from the West. Thelma +Olsen was her name, and although her family<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +had been in America for three generations, +Thelma had inherited the characteristics of a +Viking maiden along with the name. She was +very tall, with an excellent figure and the +strength of a man. Her hair was as yellow as +gold and her eyes as blue as corn flowers. She +moved with dignity, holding her head up like a +queen. Her expression was calm and kindly. +She had, in very truth, worked her way through +college, which of course appealed to Molly, remembering +well her own boot blacking days and +her many schemes for making a few pennies. +But what most touched our Molly was the fact +that Thelma had a writing bee in her bonnet. +The girl had an instinct for literature and a longing +for expression that must come out. Professor +Green thought very highly of her gift for +prose and did much to encourage her.</p> + +<p>These three girls formed a strange trio, but +they were inseparable, having roomed together +since their freshman year. Billie was very rich +in her own name, since she was an orphan with +nothing closer than a guardian and an aunt-in-law.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +Money meant no more to her than black-eyed +peas. She was intensely affectionate and +where she loved, she loved so fiercely that it positively +hurt, she used to say. She was witty and +clever but not much of a student, as is often the +case where learning comes too easily. She was +so generous it was embarrassing to her friends. +Her talent lay in clothes. She knew more about +clothes than Paquin and Doucet and all the others. +It positively hurt her when her friends did +not wear becoming clothes, just as it hurt her +when she loved them so hard. The object of her +life was to clothe her dear friend Thelma in dark +blue velvet. Thelma was too proud to be clothed +in anything that she had not paid for herself, and +the consequence was that coarse blue serge was +as near as she came to poor Billie’s dream.</p> + +<p>Alice Fern seated herself on the front of a +chair with very much of a lady-come-to-see expression +and then formally entered into a conversation, +going through the usual questions +about when Molly had arrived and how old the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +baby was, polite inquiries regarding the relatives +in Kentucky, etc.</p> + +<p>Molly was eager to get into the kitchen just for +a moment to start Katy on the right track, well +knowing that nothing would be doing until she +did, but Alice Fern’s arrival made that impossible. +She would not in the least have minded excusing +herself for a moment to the girls, but if +Edwin Green had to wait until midnight for his +dinner, she could not be guilty of such a breach +of etiquette with the cousin-in-law, whose disapproval +she felt was ever on the alert for a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">raison +d’être</i>. A leg of lamb, and well grown lamb at +that, must have plenty of time and the oven must +be hot (something Katy knew nothing about), +but the wife of Professor Green must not let his +relatives know that she was such a poor manager +as to have to leave the parlor to attend to +cooking at a time in the afternoon when callers +were supposed to be doing their calling.</p> + +<p>Alice Fern was really a very pretty young +woman, and since she had nothing to do but attend +to her person, she was always excellently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +well groomed. No blemish was allowed on her +faultless complexion from sun or wind. An hour +a day was religiously given up to massage and +manicure. Her hair was always coiffed in the +latest mode, and not one lock was ever known to +be out of place. Her costume was ever of the +richest and most stylish.</p> + +<p>On that afternoon, as she rode up in her closed +electric car, dressed in a fawn-colored suit with +spotless white gloves and spats, she really looked +like a beautiful wax figure in a showcase. Beside +her, poor Molly looked like a rumpled Madonna. +She had on a very becoming blue linen +house dress that she had donned as not only suitable +for possible callers but also not too pure or +good in which to cook her husband’s food. The +baby had delighted the admiring audience, before +the arrival of Miss Fern, by clutching a handful +of her mother’s pretty hair and having to have +her little pink fingers opened one by one to disengage +them. No doubt it was a highly intelligent +and charming performance, but it had played sad +havoc with Molly’s hair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>“We are so glad you are back, Molly, for more +reasons than one,” exclaimed Jo Crittenden, hoping +to loosen the tension a little, when Alice had +completed her perfunctory catechism. “When +are you going to begin the Would-be Authors’ +Club?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do begin soon!” begged Billie. “Thelma +has turned out some scrumptious bits during vacation, +and even I have busted loose on paper.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have written a lot this summer,” said +Thelma, as Molly smiled on her. “Have you +done anything, or has the baby kept you too +busy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I had plenty of time while I was in Kentucky. +You see, out there I have a very good +servant and then my mother helps me with Mildred. +I have finished a short story and sent it +off. Of course, I am expecting it back by every +mail.”</p> + +<p>“I should think your household cares would +prevent your giving much time to scribbling,” +sniffed Alice, if one could call the utterances of +such an elegant dame sniffing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Scribbling! Why, Mrs. Green has written +real things and been in real magazines,” stormed +Billie.</p> + +<p>“Ah, indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and if we had not limited the Would-be +Authors to twenty, we would have the whole of +Wellington clamoring to join,” declared Jo, who +considered it was high time for a perfect gentleman +to step in and let Miss Alice Fern know how +Wellington felt toward Mrs. Edwin Green.</p> + +<p>Miss Fern said nothing but stared at the corner +of the room that Edwin and Molly called: +“The Poet’s Corner.” It was where all the +poetry, ancient, medieval and modern, found shelf +room. Over it hung Shakespeare’s epitaph, a +framed rubbing from the tomb, the same that +Edwin had always kept over his desk in his +bachelor days to scare his housekeeper, Mrs. +Brady, into sparing his precious papers.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0a">“Good frend for Isus sake forbeare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To digg ye dust encloased heare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bleste be ye man yt spares thes stones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And curst be he yt moves my bones.”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>She kept her eyes so glued to the spot over the +book shelves that finally all turned involuntarily +to see what she was gazing on so intently. There +it hung! There was no denying it or overlooking +it: a great black cobweb that must have been +there for several generations of spiders. No +doubt it had taken all summer to weave such a +mighty web and catch and hold so much grime.</p> + +<p>Molly blushed furiously. For a moment, she +almost hated Katy and she wholly hated Alice +Fern. That elegant damsel had a supercilious expression +on her aristocratic countenance that said +as plainly as though she had given utterance to +her thoughts:</p> + +<p>“Author’s Club, indeed! She had much better +clean her house.”</p> + +<p>Molly was suddenly conscious that every corner +was festooned with similar webs. The late +afternoon sun was slanting in the windows and +its searching rays had found and were showing +up every grain of dust. The panes of glass were, +to say the least, grimy.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she faltered, “I didn’t know it was so—so—dusty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +in here. Katy, the new maid, was +supposed to have cleaned it before I came.”</p> + +<p>“What do you care for a few Irishman’s curtains?” +said the hero-worshipping Billie. “No +one noticed them until—ahem—until the sun +came in the window.” She <em>said</em> sun came in the +window but she plainly <em>meant</em> Fern came in the +door.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t had time to do much housekeeping +since I got back,” continued Molly, lamely. “The +new maid, Katy, that Edwin got from New York, +is most inefficient but so good-natured that I am +hoping to train her. The truth of the matter is +that she and I spent the whole morning doing +things for Mildred and we let the house go. I +am going to have a big cleaning to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Molly felt like weeping with mortification and +she began to hate herself for making explanations +and excuses to Alice Fern. Even if she kept +Professor Green’s house festooned in cobwebs +from attic to cellar and had dust over everything +thick enough to write your name, what business +was it of this perfect person? She suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +realized, too, that that perfect person had never +uttered a word although she had looked volumes.</p> + +<p>Miss Fern arose from her prim seat and made +a rather hasty retreat. The relieved Molly excused +herself to the girls and rushed to the +kitchen to start Katy on the dinner that should +have been on half an hour before. What was +her chagrin to find the fire only just kindled, as +Katy had let it go out so that she might polish +the stove. The Irish girl was on her knees +“scroobing,” happy in a sea of soap suds.</p> + +<p>Molly almost had hysterics. How could she +ever get things done? Edwin would be home any +moment now and she could not stand having a +miserable underdone dinner for him, nor could +she stand having his dinner hours late. She +realized that there was no use in reprimanding +Katy,—the girl was simply ignorant. She asked +her gently to postpone her “scroobing” until +later and to wash her hands and prepare the +vegetables. Then she piled kindling wood in the +range until the chimney roared so that Katy said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +it sounded like a banshee. The oven must be hot +for the roast.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what to do, Katy: make some tea +immediately and slice some bread quite thin, open +this box of peanut cookies, and we will have such +a grand tea that the master won’t be hungry until +the roast is done.”</p> + +<p>“And phwat a schmart trick!” laughed the girl.</p> + +<p>When Miss Fern made her adieux, Molly had +flown so quickly to the kitchen that she had not +seen her husband crossing the campus. Alice +Fern had seen him, however, and her greeting of +him was so warm and friendly, her smile so +charming and her manner so cordial that she +hardly seemed the same person who had just left +poor Molly stuttering and stammering apologies +over her Irishman’s curtains.</p> + +<p>“Look at the pill!” exclaimed Jo. “She is +about to eat up Epiménides Antinous Green.” +That was the name Professor Green was known +by at Wellington.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see any one cast such a damper +over a crowd without saying a single word? I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +thought Molly was going to cry,” declared +Billie.</p> + +<p>“I think our friend is looking very tired,” said +Thelma. “I wish we could do something for her. +She says this new maid is almost worse than +none at all.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a scheme!” squealed Billie. “I know +of a way to help. Gather ’round me, girls!” +And then such another whispering as went on in +the house—while Molly behaved like triplets in +the kitchen, being in at least three places at one +time in her determination to get dinner on the +stove. Mildred lay on the divan, happy with her +newly found toes, and Edwin helped Alice Fern +into her glass show case.</p> + +<p>“I appreciate your coming to see my wife so +soon, Alice. I should so like to have you and +Molly be close friends.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Edwin, I am sure nothing would +please me more. You must bring Molly out to +see us.” Could this be the same person who had +made the living room look so dusty and ill kempt +only a few minutes before, this gracious, charming,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +sweet, friendly creature, who doted on babies? +She had paid no attention to Mildred except +to give her a tentative poke with her daintily +gloved finger, but to hear her conversation with +Edwin, one would have gathered that she was a +supreme lover of children.</p> + +<p>The girls would not stay to tea, although Molly +pressed them, but full of some scheme, they hurried +off.</p> + +<p>Dinner was not so very late, after all, and the +tea and bread and peanut cookies saw to it that +the professor was not too hungry before the leg +of lamb had reached the proper stage of serving. +Molly was too much of a culinary artist not to +feel elated when things turned out right, which +they usually did if she could get her finger in the +pie. The day had been a very trying one for her. +The sleepless night had left her little strength to +grapple with it and the slow stupidity of Katy +was very irritating. It was over at last, however, +and dear little Mildred had decided to let +her pigs rest and had gone quietly to sleep at the +proper time that a well-trained infant should.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +Edwin was smoking his after-dinner pipe and +everything was very peaceful and pleasant. +Molly was trying to keep her eyes open, ashamed +to confess that she was so sleepy she could hardly +see.</p> + +<p>She lay back in the easy chair while Edwin +read aloud from his scrap book of fugitive verse. +This scrap book Professor Green had started +when he was in college, putting in only the rare, +fine things he found in magazine reading. Molly +had helped him in his collecting and now the volume +was assuming vast proportions.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Molly’s upturned eyes rested on the +terrible cobweb that had been her Waterloo of the +afternoon. How black and threatening it looked! +She hoped Edwin would not see it. And the +books! Actually you had to open one and beat it +and blow it before you dared begin to read. All +this must be cleaned to-morrow and oh, how tired +she was!</p> + +<p>“Did not Alice look lovely this afternoon?” +said Edwin, stopping his reading for a moment. +“I hope you and she are going to be great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +friends. I think it was very nice for her to come +so soon to call on you. She spoke so sweetly of +the baby, too.”</p> + +<p>Molly said nothing but gazed at the cobweb. +She said nothing but she did some thinking:</p> + +<p>“Molly Brown, what right have you, just because +you are tired and Alice Fern came to call +on you, looking very pretty and very beautifully +dressed, and found you all frumpy and your living +room looking like a pig sty, what right have +you, I say, to sulk? Now you answer your husband +and tell him Alice was pretty and don’t tell +him anything else.” Accordingly, after giving +herself the mental chastisement, Molly emitted a +faint:</p> + +<p>“Yes, very pretty!” But it was so faint and +so far away that Edwin looked at her in alarm, +and then it was that she could stand nothing more +and broke down and shed a few tears.</p> + +<p>“Why, Molly, my dearest girl, what is the +matter?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, but I am tired and everything is so +dirty. Look at the cobwebs! Look at the dust<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +on the books! Look at me! I am an old frowsy, +untidy frump.”</p> + +<p>“You! Why, honey, you are always lovely. +As for dust—don’t bother about that. Let me +read you this wonderful little poem by Gertrude +Hall. I clipped it years ago.”</p> + +<p>Professor Green saw that Molly was tired and +unstrung and he well knew that nothing soothed +her more than poetry. Of course, man-like, he +had no idea that what he had said about Alice +Fern’s looking so sweet had been too much for +her, as she had contrasted herself all the afternoon +with her husband’s immaculate cousin. +Molly wiped away the foolish tears as Edwin +read the poem.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">“THE DUST.</p> + +<p class="center">By Gertrude Hall.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It settles softly on your things,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impalpable, fine, light, dull, gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dingy dust-clout Betty brings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, singing, brushes it away:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And it’s a queen’s robe, once so proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it’s the moths fed in its fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It’s leaves, and roses, and the shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein an ancient Saint was rolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And it is beauty’s golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it is genius’ wreath of bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it is lips once red and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That kissed in some forgotten May.”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p>“It is lovely, exquisite!” breathed Molly. “I +don’t feel nearly so bad about it as I did.”</p> + +<p>But she did wish that Alice Fern had not seen +that black, black cobweb.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> + +<small>HEROES AND HERO WORSHIPERS.</small></h2> + + +<p>The next morning poor Molly slept late again. +With all good intentions of waking early and going +down stairs in time to see about her husband’s +neglected breakfast, when morning came she did +not stir. Mildred had given her another wakeful +night after all, finding out more things about +her little pigs. Finally the little monkey had +given up and dropped off to sleep, and she and her +doting mother were both dead to the world when +the time came for Professor Green to go to +lectures.</p> + +<p>Again he gave instructions to Katy not to disturb +the mistress and crept out of the house as +still as a mouse. Breakfast had been a little better. +Molly was rubbing off on Katy evidently. +Just to associate with such a culinary genius as +Molly must have its effect even on the worst cook +in the world, which Katy surely seemed to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>Coming across the campus, he ran into Billie +McKym, Josephine Crittenden and Thelma +Olsen. They looked very bright and rosy as they +gave him a cheery good morning. Each carried +a bundle. He wondered that they were going +away from lecture halls instead of toward them. +But after all, it was not his business to be the +whipper-in for lectures. Wellington was a college +and not a boarding school. If students chose +to cut lectures, it was their own affair until the +final reckoning.</p> + +<p>“Just our luck to meet Epiménides Antinous!” +cried Billie. “He should have been out of the +house five minutes ago, at least.”</p> + +<p>“His legs are so long he doesn’t have to start +early,” declared Jo. “Just see him sprint!”</p> + +<p>“I am certainly sorry to cut his lecture to-day,” +sighed Thelma, “but this thing must be done.”</p> + +<p>The Greens’ front door was never locked except +at night, so the girls crept quietly in. Billie +peeped into the kitchen, where she discovered +Katy on her knees “scroobing” the part of the +kitchen she could not finish the evening before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +when Molly was so hard-hearted as to make her +stop and prepare vegetables. Such a sea of +suds!</p> + +<p>“Katy,” whispered Billie.</p> + +<p>“Merciful Mither! And phwat is it? Ye scart +me,” and the girl sat back on her heels and looked +at Billie with round, wide eyes.</p> + +<p>“We are great friends of Mrs. Green and we +have come to dust her books and—ahem—do a +few little things. Is she still asleep?”</p> + +<p>“Yis, and the master was after saying she must +not be distoorbed, not on no account.”</p> + +<p>“Of course she must not be! That is why we +have come to dust the things. We think she +looks so tired.”</p> + +<p>“And so she is, the scwate lamb; but she do fly +around so, and she do cook up so mooch. I tell +her that she thinks more of her man’s insides thin +she do of her own outsides.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Katy, we want you to let us have a +broom and a wall brush. We brought our own +aprons and rags,” and Billie pressed a round, +hard something into Katy’s hand. It was not so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +large as a church door nor so deep as a well, but +it served to get the Irish girl up off of her run-down +heels; and in a trice the coveted broom and +wall brush were in possession of the three conspirators, +as well as a stepladder, which they decided +would be needful.</p> + +<p>“Don’t say a word to Mrs. Green, Katy,—now +remember. We are going to work very quietly +and hope to finish before she gets downstairs. +We don’t want her to know who did it, but we +mean to get it all done before noon,” said Jo, rolling +up her sport shirtsleeves and disclosing muscular +arms, that showed what athletics had done +for her and what she could do for athletics.</p> + +<p>“Where must we begin, Thelma?” asked Billie, +who was as willing as could be but knew no more +about cleaning than a hog does about holidays, Jo +declared.</p> + +<p>“Begin at the top,” laughed Thelma, tying up +her yellow head in a great towel and rolling up +her sleeves.</p> + +<p>“Gee, your arms are beautiful!” exclaimed Billie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +“I’d give my head for such arms. I’d like +to drape them in a silver scarf. Think how they +would gleam through.” The arms were snow +white and while Thelma’s strength was much +greater than Jo’s, her muscles did not show as +they did on that athletic young person.</p> + +<p>Thelma blushed and laughed as she balanced +herself on a stepladder and began taking down +pictures. A cloud of dust floated down and enveloped +her.</p> + +<p>“Look, look! She looks like the ‘white armed +Gudrun’! Don’t you remember in William +Morris’s ‘Fall of the Neiblungs’? The battle in +Atli’s Hall?</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0b">“‘Lo, lo, in the hall of the Murder where the +white-armed Gudrun stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aloft by the kingly high-seat, and nought +empty are her hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the litten brand she beareth, and the grinded +war-sword bare:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still she stands for a little season till day groweth +white and fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the garth of King Atli, but within, a +wavering cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolls, hiding the roof and the roof-sun; then she +stirrith and crieth aloud.’”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Cut it out! Cut it out!” cried Jo, “and come +lend a hand.”</p> + +<p>“Mustn’t we dust before we sweep?” innocently +asked Billie.</p> + +<p>“If you want to, but you’ll have to dust again +afterwards,” said the white-armed Gudrun from +her ladder. “The books are really so dirty that +I don’t think it would hurt to wipe down the walls +without covering them, but that is a mighty poor +cleaning method. Poor Molly! Didn’t she look +tired yesterday? I hope she won’t think we are +cheeky to take a hand in her affairs.”</p> + +<p>“Cheeky! She will think we are her good +friends, not like that snippy Miss Fern who +stared so at the cobwebs and then went out and +palavered over Epiménides Antinous. She used +to claim him, so I am told. One of the nurses at +the infirmary told me that when Epi Anti had +typhoid there, years ago, Miss Fern came and +dressed herself up like a nurse and almost bored +the staff to death taking care of her sick cousin,” +said Billie, delighted with the job that had been +given her of wiping down walls. “Isn’t this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +splendid? Just look at all the dirt I got on my +rag!”</p> + +<p>“Well, don’t rub it back on the wall,” admonished +Jo.</p> + +<p>“No. Well, what must I do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say, but don’t put it back on the +walls.”</p> + +<p>“Jo, you and Billie dust the books and I will +finish up the pictures. I can’t trust myself to +dust Professor Green’s books. I am afraid of +breaking the tenth commandment all the time,” +sighed Thelma. “I’ll wash the windows, too.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Thelma! The white-armed Gudrun sitting +in windows washing them! That’s not occupation +meet for a queen. Let me do it.”</p> + +<p>“You, Billie McKym, wash a window! Did +you ever wash one in your life?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no, not exactly, but I bet I could. +What’s the use of a college education if one can’t +wash windows when she gets to be a full grown +senior?”</p> + +<p>But since the object of the girls was to get the +room clean, it was decided that Thelma was to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +wash the windows. My, how they worked! Jo +found she had muscles that her athletics had +never revealed. She found them because they +began to ache.</p> + +<p>“Why, to dust all these books and books is as +bad as building a house,” she said, straightening +up and stretching when she had finished the +poet’s corner.</p> + +<p>“Exactly like laying brick,” declared Billie. +“I’m going to join the Hod-carriers’ Union. I’ll +be no scab.”</p> + +<p>Katy had occasionally poked her head in at the +door, entreating “whin they coom to the scroobing” +to call her.</p> + +<p>The cleaners made very little noise, so little +that the sleeping Molly and Mildred were not at +all disturbed.</p> + +<p>“I wish she knew it was almost done,” said +Thelma, perched in the window sill and rubbing +vigorously on a shining pane. “She would be so +glad. I know she is worrying about it in her +sleep. Hark! There is the baby!”</p> + +<p>Then began the business of the day upstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +Katy was called, for water must be heated as +Katy, according to her habit, had let the fire go +out before the boiler was hot.</p> + +<p>“Katy, we must hurry up with Mildred this +morning and get to the library. It is filthy,” said +Molly, as she slipped the little French flannel petticoat +over Mildred’s bald head.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mum!” grinned Katy.</p> + +<p>“We have luncheon almost ready, with the cold +lamb to start with.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mum.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think you could get the dining room +cleaned while I am attending to the baby?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mum, if yez can schpare me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I think I can. But, Katy, before you go +hand me that basket. And, Katy, perhaps you +had better wash out this flannel skirt. I am so +afraid she might run short of them. You can +empty the water now—and, Katy, please hold the +baby’s hand while I tie this ribbon, she is such a +wiggler—and, Katy—a little boiled water now +for her morning tipple. She must drink lots of +water to keep in good health.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, mum, and how aboot breakfast for yez, +mum?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I forgot my breakfast! Of course I must +eat some breakfast. I’ll come down to it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, mum! And let me be after bringing +it oop to yez, mum,” insisted the wily Katy, who +was anxious for the youthful house cleaners to +accomplish their dark and secret mission without +interruption. Not only was it great fun, a huge +joke, in fact, for her to be paid fifty cents to let +others do her work, but it meant that since others +were doing it, she would not have to, and she +could have just that much more time for “scroobing” +and resting. A tray was accordingly got +ready and Molly found she had a little more +appetite than the morning before; also, that +Katy’s food was really a little better.</p> + +<p>“Your coffee is better this morning, Katy,” she +said, believing that praise for feats accomplished +but egged on the servitor to other and greater +effort.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mum, so the master said.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Edwin,” thought Molly, “how I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +neglected him. I must do better. But if I don’t +wake up, I don’t wake up. If I could only get a +little nap in the day time. Mother always +wanted me to take one, but how can I? The living +room must be cleaned to-day.” She felt +weary at the thought. Accustomed as she was to +being out of doors a great deal, she really needed +the fresh air.</p> + +<p>“As soon as luncheon is over, we must get busy +with the cleaning. I wish we might have done it +in the forenoon, but I am afraid it is too late.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mum, it’s too late!” and Katy indulged +in such a hearty giggle that her mistress began +to think perhaps she was feeble-minded as well +as inefficient.</p> + +<p>“Is the table in the dining room cleared off, +Katy, so you can set it for luncheon?”</p> + +<p>“No, mum, it is not!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Katy! What have you been doing all +morning?”</p> + +<p>“Well, mum, I scroobed my kitchen, and—and——”</p> + +<p>“And what?” demanded Molly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And I did a little head work in the liberry, +that is, I——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Katy, did you clean the living room, clean +it well?”</p> + +<p>“Well, mum, yez can wait and see if it schoots +yez,” and Katy beat a hasty retreat to warn the +cleaners that the mistress was about to descend.</p> + +<p>The room presented a very different appearance +to what it had before the girls rolled up +their sleeves. The slanting afternoon sun would +seek out no dusty corners now; everything was +spick and span. The books no longer had to +be beaten and blown before you dared open them, +and they stood in neat and orderly rows; the +walls held no decorations in the shape of Irishman’s +curtains now; the picture glass shone, as +did the window panes; the rugs were out in the +back yard sunning after a vigorous beating and +brushing from Thelma, whom Billie called “the +powerful Katrinka.”</p> + +<p>The floor, being the one part of the room that +Katy had put some licks on, did not need anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +more serious than a dusting after everything +else was done.</p> + +<p>“Katy, you might bring in the rugs now as +we have done everything else,” suggested Billie. +Katy went out into the back yard and bundled +up the rugs. Molly, seeing her from an upper +window, smiled her approval.</p> + +<p>“I believe she is going to do very well,” she +said to herself. “She seems to be trying, and +she is so fond of Mildred.”</p> + +<p>“Come on, girls, we must hurry and get off! +Molly will be down stairs any minute now and +she must not see us,” and Thelma unwound the +towel from her head and took off her apron.</p> + +<p>“Well, surely the white-armed Gudrun is not +going across the campus with a black face,” objected +Billie. “Why, both of you look like negro +minstrels——”</p> + +<p>“And you!” interrupted Jo. “You should see +yourself before you talk about kettles. You’d +have not a leg to stand on and not a handle to +your name. I told you to tie up your head. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +believe nothing short of a shampoo and a Turkish +bath will get the grime off you.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hide behind the sofa and after Molly +goes on the porch with the baby, we can sneak up +to the bath room,” suggested Thelma. The girls +then crouched on the floor behind a sofa that +stood near the poet’s corner.</p> + +<p>In a minute Molly came down the stairs, little +Mildred in her arms and on her face a contented +and rested expression. She stood in the doorway +of the living room and exclaimed with delight +over its polished cleanliness.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Katy, how splendid it is! Did you do +it all by yourself and in such a short time? I +don’t see how you managed it. Why, you have +even dusted the books. That is almost a day’s +work in itself. I was dreading it so,—it is such +a back breaking job.”</p> + +<p>Jo rubbed her aching back, with a grim smile, +and nudged Billie.</p> + +<p>“And you have kept yourself so clean, too!” +Molly began to feel that she had the prize servant +of the east: one who could clean such an Augean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +Stable as that room had looked, dust all the books, +wash the windows and wipe down walls, beat +rugs, polish picture glass, etc., etc., and still be +neat and tidy. “Why, I would have been black +all over if I had done such a great work.”</p> + +<p>Katy stood by, quite delighted with the undeserved +praise. The young ladies had told her +not to tell and far be it from her to refuse to accept +the unaccustomed praise from any one. She +had never been very apt in any work she had +undertaken and no one had ever taken any great +pains to teach her, and now if this pretty lady +wanted to praise her, why she was more than willing. +She felt in her pocket for her fifty cent +piece, that still seemed a great joke to her. The +sweet taste of the praise did one great thing in +her kindly Irish soul: it was so pleasant, she determined +to have more of it, and through her +slow intelligence there filtered the fact that to get +more praise, she must deserve more praise, and +to deserve it she must work for it. She beat a +hasty retreat to the dining room and actually +cleared off the table, where the master had eaten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +his solitary breakfast, in a full run. She broke +no dishes that morning, either, which was a great +step forward.</p> + +<p>Molly could not tear herself away from the +wonder room. She moved around, busying herself +changing ornaments a bit and placing chairs +at a slightly different angle, doing those little +things that make a room partake of a certain +personality.</p> + +<p>“Here, baby, lie on the sofa, honey. Muddy +is going to give you a little ride. Do you know, +darling, that Katy knows how to put things in +place just like a lady? She must have an artistic +soul. Look how she has arranged the +mantel-piece! Servants usually make things look +so stiff. Actually there is nothing for me to +do in the room, she has done it so beautifully.”</p> + +<p>Billy here dug an elbow into Jo’s lame back +that almost made her squeal, but she held on to +her emotions and in turn gave her chum a fourth +degree pinch.</p> + +<p>“Now, Muddy is going to ride her baby—this +sofa must go closer to the wall,” and Molly put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +Mildred on the sofa and gave it a vigorous push. +The law of impenetrability, that two things cannot +be in the same place at the same time, prevented +the baby from having much of a ride. +Molly gave a harder push. “I must be very feeble +if I can’t budge this sofa.”</p> + +<p>Then came a smothered groan from the huddled +girls, and <a href="#frontispiece">one by one they emerged from +their corner</a>, clutching their bundles of dust rags +and aprons and exposing to Molly’s amazed eyes +three of the very blackest, dirtiest faces that ever +Wellington had boasted in her senior class.</p> + +<p>They sat on the floor and laughed and giggled, +and Molly sat down beside them and would +have felt like a college girl again herself if it +had not been for little Mildred, who took all the +laughter as an entertainment, got up for her +express amusement, and gurgled accordingly.</p> + +<p>“Now you must all stay to luncheon!” cried +the hospitable Molly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed we mustn’t,” said Billie, who never +could quite get used to Molly’s wholesale hospitality, +having been brought up in the lap of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +luxury but with no privileges of inviting persons +off hand to meals.</p> + +<p>“But you must. I won’t do a thing for you +but just put on more plates. I was going to +have the very simplest meal and I’ll still have +it.”</p> + +<p>The girls stayed, after giving themselves a +vigorous scrubbing, and Molly’s luncheon was +ready when Professor Green arrived. The cold +leg of lamb played a noble part at the impromptu +party, flanked by a lettuce salad that Billie insisted +upon dressing, reminding Molly more than +ever of her darling Judy. A barrel of preserves +had just arrived, some that Molly and Kizzie +had put up during the summer. On opening it, +a jar of blackberry jam, being on top, was chosen +to grace the occasion. Molly made some of the +tiny biscuit that her husband loved and that +seemed such a joke to Katy. When she came in +bearing a plate of hot ones, she spread her mouth +in a grin so broad that Professor Green declared +she could easily have disposed of six at one +mouthful.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I always call them Gulliver biscuit,” he said, +helping himself to three at a time, “because in +the old Gulliver’s Travels I used to read when +I was a kid there was a picture of Gulliver being +fed by the Lilliputians. He was represented +by a great head, and the Lilliputians were climbing +up his face by ladders and pouring down his +throat barrels of little biscuit that were just about +the size of these.”</p> + +<p>They had a merry time at that meal. Molly +told her husband why his prize pupils had cut +his lectures and all others that morning, and how +she had almost passed a steam roller over them +in form of the library sofa.</p> + +<p>“We were terribly afraid we would offend +her,” explained Thelma, “but she was dear to +us.”</p> + +<p>“Offend me! Why, I can’t think of anything +in all my life that has ever happened to me that +has touched me more. I don’t see how you ever +thought of doing anything so nice.”</p> + +<p>“’Twas Billie,” from Thelma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Thelma and Jo did all the dirty work,” declared +Billie.</p> + +<p>“Dirty work, indeed! You looked as though +you had used yourself to wipe down the walls +with,” laughed Jo.</p> + +<p>“Well, anyhow, when that snippy Miss Fern +comes again, giving her perfunctory pokes at the +baby and looking at the cobwebs until nobody +can help seeing them, I bet she won’t find anything +to turn up her nose at. I’d like to use her +to clean the walls with. If there is anything I +hate it is any one who is the pink of perfection +in her own eyes. We were having such a cozy +time until she lit on us with her dove-colored effects. +Who cared whether there were cobwebs +or not?”</p> + +<p>“Did Miss Fern speak of the cobwebs?” +asked Edwin, while the others sat around in +frozen horror, remembering that she was his +cousin and that he was evidently very fond of +her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, she didn’t open her lips; she just +pursed them up and stared at the corner. Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +course, she had already given her dig about +Molly’s surely not having time to write and attend +to her house, too; and then when she fixed +her eyes on that Irishman’s curtain we all knew +what she was thinking, and that she wanted us +to know it, just as well as though she had spoken +it and then written it and then had it put on the +minutes.… What’s the matter?… Oh, +Heavens! What have I done?… Oh, Professor +Green! She is your cousin! Please, please +forgive me,” and Billie clasped her hands in +entreaty.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t mind me,” said the professor with +a twinkle. “Go as far as you like. If the ladies +have such open minds that he who runs may +read, and they think disagreeable things about +my wife, why, they deserve to be used for house +cleaning purposes, have the floor wiped up with +them and what not.”</p> + +<p>The luncheon broke up in a laugh and evidently +there were no hard feelings on the part +of the host for the criticism of Miss Fern that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +had so ingenuously fallen from the lips of the +irrepressible Billie.</p> + +<p>“Billie! What a break!” screamed Jo, when +they got outside after Molly had given them all +an extra hug for the undying proof of friendship +they had given her.</p> + +<p>“Break, indeed! I never forgot for an instant +that Epi Anti was a near cousin to that maidenhair +fern. I just thought I’d let him know how +she had acted and how uncomfortable she had +made our Molly feel. I knew Molly would never +let him know, and I could do it and make out it +was a break.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you aren’t like Bret Harte’s heathen +Chinee, I never saw one,” laughed Thelma.</p> + +<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0b">“‘Which I wish to remark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my language is plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That for ways that are dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for tricks that are vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heathen Chinee is peculiar.’”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>“All the same, I bet old Epi Anti doesn’t tell +Molly any more what a sweet thing Alice Fern +is.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + +<p>“How do you know he did?”</p> + +<p>“Insight into human nature,” and Billie made +a saucy moue.</p> + +<p>“Gee, my back aches!” said Jo. “I think I’ll +do housework often. It certainly does reach +muscles we don’t know about. But didn’t it pay +just to see dear old Molly’s face when we rolled +out from behind the sofa?”</p> + +<p>And all of them agreed it had.</p> + +<p>“Edwin,” said Molly, after the girls had gone, +“I think I’ll send for Kizzie to come help me. I +may put her in the kitchen and take Katy for a +nurse.”</p> + +<p>“Good! I am certainly glad you have come +to that decision. What changed you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it seems to me that when it comes +to the pass that my college girls feel so sorry +for me they cut such lectures as yours to +give the whole morning to cleaning up for +me I must do something, and the only thing +I can think of doing is to send for Kizzie.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Can you mix the black and white without coming +to grief?”</p> + +<p>“Remember, Katy is more green than white, +and she is so good-natured, she could get along +with anything.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you how relieved I am, honey. I +wanted you to do what pleased you, but I could +not see how I was coming in on this. I felt +very lonesome, and while I wasn’t jealous of the +baby, I was certainly envious of her. If Kizzie +comes, you can be with me more and nurse me +some.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dearie, I missed it, too, but somehow I +couldn’t get through. If Katy had been more +competent——”</p> + +<p>“But she wasn’t and isn’t.”</p> + +<p>“No, she certainly isn’t, but she adores Mildred +already and Mildred actually cries for her. I +believe she would make a fine nurse. If only she +doesn’t feel called upon to scrub the baby.”</p> + +<p>Edwin laughed and, settling himself for a +pleasant smoke, opened the morning paper, which +neither he nor Molly had found time to read.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, what a shame!” he exclaimed. “The Germans +dropping bombs on Paris! Infamous!”</p> + +<p>“Paris! How can they? Oh, Edwin, Judy and +Kent both there!”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> + +<small>CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.</small></h2> + + +<p>When the teller of a tale has to fly from one +side of the ocean to the other in the twinkling +of an eye, as it were, at any rate between chapters, +and the persons in the tale have no communication +with one another except by letters +that are more than likely to be tampered with +on the high seas, it is a great comfort to find +that all the characters have at last arrived at the +same date. On that morning after the dropping +of bombs when Judy, dressed in her sad mourning +garb, was selling spinach and tarts to the +hungry occupants of the Montparnasse quarter, +Molly, allowing for the difference in time, was +oversleeping herself after a wakeful night and +the college girls were quietly cleaning her living +room. Kent and Jim Castleman were stretching +themselves luxuriously in the not too comfortable +beds of the <cite>Haute Loire</cite> preparatory to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +making themselves presentable, first to find Judy, +and then to find the general who, no doubt, would +be glad to have the Kentucky giant enlist in the +ranks, even though his letter of introduction and +credentials had gone to the bottom with the +<cite>Hirondelle de Mer</cite>. Jim Castleman’s appearance +was certainly credential enough that he would +make a good fighter.</p> + +<p>A bath and a shave did much towards making +our young men presentable. Kent with a +needle and thread, borrowed from the chambermaid, +darned the knees of his trousers so that +they did very well just so long as he did not try +to sit down; then the strain would have been too +much. Jim’s were hopelessly short.</p> + +<p>“Nothing but a flounce would save me, so I’ll +have to go around at high water mark; but I’ll +soon be in a uniform, I hope.”</p> + +<p>They had breakfast in a little café where Kent +had often gone while he was a student at the +Beaux Arts, and there Jim Castleman astonished +the madame by ordering four eggs. She +couldn’t believe it possible that any one could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +eat that much <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</i> and so cooked his eggs +four minutes. His French was quite sketchy but +he plunged manfully in with what he had and +finally came out with breakfast enough to last +until luncheon. Kent was willing to do the talking +for him but he would none of it.</p> + +<p>“Let me do it myself! I’ll learn how to get +something to eat if I starve in the attempt.”</p> + +<p>And now for Judy! Kent could hardly wait +for his famished friend to eat his two orders of +rolls and coffee and his four eggs, but at last +he was through.</p> + +<p>First to the bank! No, they did not know +where Mlle. Kean was. She had been in once +to get money but they were sorry they could not +honour her letter of credit. She had left no +address.</p> + +<p>Then to the American Club! Judy had been +in the day before for mail, and had had quite a +budget. She had left no address, but came for +letters always when the American mail was reported +in.</p> + +<p>Where could she be?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next, to his cousin, the Marquise d’Ochtè, on +the Faubourg!</p> + +<p>The venerable porter, at the porte-cochère, who +came in answer to the vigorous ring that the +now very uneasy Kent gave the bell, said that +none of the family was within and they had +no visitor. Madame the Marquise had gone to +the front only the day before, but was coming +home soon to open a hospital in her own home. +Even then the workmen were busy carrying out +her orders, packing away books, pictures, ornaments, +rugs and what not so that the house would +be the more suitable to care for the wounded. +The Marquis and Philippe were both with their +regiments. The old porter was sad and miserable. +Jules, the butler, was gone; also Gaston, +the chef whose sauces were beyond compare. +Madame had taken great hampers of food with +her, even going to Montparnasse for tarts from +Tricots’.</p> + +<p>Kent turned sadly away. Judy was somewhere, +but where? Her letter to Molly telling +of her being in the Bents’ studio had come after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +Kent left Kentucky and he had no way of knowing +that she was there. Polly Perkins and his +wife, he knew were in the thick of the battle from +the first letter he had seen from Judy. Where +was Pierce Kinsella? He had not heard from his +studio mate and friend but he rather thought +there was little chance of finding him. At any +rate, he determined to go to the Rue Brea and +see if the concierge there knew anything of the +lost damsel.</p> + +<p>They found a crowd at the entrance to the +court on which the studios fronted. The concierge +in the midst of them was waving her arms +and talking excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and the first I heard was a click! click! +click! and that, it seems, was the terrible thing +flying over us and then an explosion that deafened +me. They say it was meant for the Luxembourg +and they missed their mark. That I know +nothing about——”</p> + +<p>“What is it? Tell me quick!” demanded Kent, +elbowing his way through the crowd with the +help of Jim, that renowned center rush.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ah, Monsieur Brune!” she exclaimed, grasping +his hand. “Did you know that a dirty Prussian +had sent a bomb right down through the +skylight of the good Bents’ and now all their +things are wrecked?”</p> + +<p>“The Bents’!” gasped Kent. “Was any one +hurt?”</p> + +<p>“And that we can’t say. The young lady has +not been sleeping there lately but yesterday she +came and got the key and did not return it, so I +thought she must have slept there last night! +This morning we can find no trace of her. The +bomb did much damage, but surely it could not +have destroyed her completely.”</p> + +<p>“Destroyed her! What young lady?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Mademoiselle Kean, of course.”</p> + +<p>Kent was glad of the strong arm of Jim Castleman. +He certainly needed a support but only for +a moment. He pushed through the crowd and +made his way to the shattered wall of the studio. +The bomb had not done so much damage as might +have been expected. The front wall was fallen +and the skylight was broken all over the floor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +The chairs and easels were piled up like jackstraws +at the beginning of a game. The bedrooms +were uninjured but the balcony where +Judy and Molly had slept that happy winter in +Paris had fallen.</p> + +<p>Would Judy have slept up on the roost just +for auld lang syne or would she have occupied +a more comfortable bedroom? If she had been +blown into such small bits that there was nothing +to tell the tale, why should these other things +have escaped? There were the blue tea cups in +the china closet uninjured, although most of them +were turned over, showing that the shock had +reached them, too. What was that blue thing +lying on the divan in the corner under untold +débris?</p> + +<p>Kent pulled off the timbers and broken glass +and unearthed Judy’s blue serge dress, which was +waiting to be dyed a dismal black. He clasped +it in his arms in an agony of apprehension. Letters +fell out of the pocket. He recognized his +mother’s handwriting, also Molly’s. So, Judy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +had heard from Kentucky! He stuffed them back +in the jacket.</p> + +<p>“Jim, I simply don’t believe she was here. I +couldn’t have slept all night like such a lummux +if she—if she——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, old fellow! I know! I don’t believe she +was here, either.”</p> + +<p>“I just know I would have had some premonition +of it! I would have been conscious of it if +anything had been happening to Judy,” which +showed that Kent Brown was his mother’s own +son. He was not going to mourn the loss of a +loved one until he was sure the loved one was +gone, and he had her own unfailing faith that +something could not have happened to one he +cared for without his being aware of it.</p> + +<p>“Sure you would!” declared Jim, not at all sure +but relieved that his friend was taking that view +of the matter.</p> + +<p>“I know something that will be a positive proof +whether she was here or not last night.” Kent +walked firmly to the bath room, which was behind +the bed rooms and out of the path of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +bomb. He threw open the door and looked +eagerly on the little glass shelf for a tooth brush.</p> + +<p>“Not a sign of one. I know and you know that +if Judy had been here last night her tooth brush +would have been here, too. I am sure now! +Come on, and let’s look somewhere else.”</p> + +<p>Kent went out with Judy’s serge dress over +his arm. The concierge looked sadly after him: +“Her dress is all he has to cherish now. The poor +young man! I used to see he was in love with +her when Mrs. Brune was in the Bents’ studio +and her son occupied the one to the right with +Mr. Kinsella. Oh, la la! <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mais la vie est amer!”</i></p> + +<p>The crowd dispersed, since there was nothing +more to see and the hour for <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner a la +fourchette</i> was approaching. The concierge went +off to visit her daughter who was ill. The studios +were all empty now and her duties were light. +Her husband was to see that no one entered the +court to carry off the Bents’ things, which were +exposed pitifully to the gaze of the public until +the authorities could do something. He, good +man, waited a little while and then made his way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +to a neighbouring <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">brasserie</i> to get his tumbler of +absinthe, and one tumbler led to another and +forgetfulness followed soon, and the Bents’ studio +properties were but dreams to his befuddled +brain.</p> + +<p>Judy had spent a busy morning. Marie had +gone to carry tarts to “the regiment” and all of +the waiting in the shop fell on her. She did it +gladly, thankful that she was so busy she could +not think. She measured soup and weighed spinach +and potato salad and wrapped up tarts until +her back ached. Finally Mère Tricot came +in from the baking of more tarts.</p> + +<p>“My child, go out for a while. You need the +air. I am here now to feed these gourmands.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Mother! I want to get my dress +at the studio. Marie says she will dye it for +me.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly! Certainly! We can save many a +sou by doing it ourselves. Go, child!”</p> + +<p>Judy put on her little mourning bonnet and +sadly found her way to the Rue Brea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I wonder where the bomb hit last night. Père +Tricot said near the Luxembourg.”</p> + +<p>What was her amazement to find the poor +studio in ruins. No concierge to tell her a thing +about it, for her lodge was locked tight and no +one near. Judy picked her way sadly over the +fallen front wall.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get my dress, anyhow.” But although she +was sure it had been on the divan in the studio, +no dress was to be found.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll have to have something to wear besides +this thin waist. I am cold now, and what +will I do when winter, real winter comes? I +shall have to send to Giverny for my trunk, and +no telling what it will cost to get it here. Oh, +oh, how am I to go on? I wish to God I had +been sleeping on that balcony when the bomb +struck. Then I would have been at peace.”</p> + +<p>Judy gave herself up to the despair that was +in her heart. She made a thorough search for +the suit through the poor wrecked apartment but +no sign of it could she see. She went sadly back +to the delicatessen shop and stepped behind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +counter, her hat still on, to assist the good Mother +Tricot, who was being besieged with customers.</p> + +<p>“Take off your hat, child. Here is a fresh cap +of Marie’s and an apron. Did you get your +dress?”</p> + +<p>Judy told her kind friend of the bomb-wrecked +studio and her lost suit.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the vandals! The wretches! There must +be a Prussian in our midst who would be so low +as to steal your suit. No Frenchman would have +done it. Before the war,—yes, but now there is +not one who would do such a dastardly trick. +We are all of one family now, high and low, rich +and poor,—and we do not prey on one another.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it makes very little difference,” said +Judy resignedly. “I’ll send for my trunk. I +have other suits in it.”</p> + +<p>“Other suits! Oh, what riches!” but then the +old woman considered that the friend of the +Marquise d’Ochtè perhaps had many other suits.</p> + +<p>Judy donned the cap and apron and went on +with the shop keeping. No one could have told +her from a poor little bereaved French girl. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +cap was becoming, as was also the organdy collar. +Her face was pale and her eyes full of unshed +tears, but the sorrow had given to Judy’s +face something that her enemies might have said +it had lacked: a softness and depth of feeling. +Her friends knew that her heart was warm and +true and that the feeling was there, but her life +had been care free with no troubles except the +scrapes that she had been as clever getting out +of as she had been adroit getting in. She had +many times considered herself miserable before +but now she realized that all other troubles had +been nothing—this was something she had had +no conception of—this tightening of the heart +strings, this hopeless feeling of the bottom having +dropped out of the universe.</p> + +<p>She felt absolutely friendless, except for her +dear Tricots. The Browns could never see her +again. They must blame her, as it was all her +fault that Kent had come for her. If she had +not been so full of her own conceit, she would +certainly have sailed for America when all the +others did at the breaking out of the war. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +mother and father seemed as remote as though +they were on another planet. The war might +last for years and there seemed no chance of +their leaving Berlin.</p> + +<p>“I’ll just stay on here and earn my board and +keep,” she sighed. “The Tricots find me useful +and they want me.”</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Kent and Jim Castleman went +and sat down in the Garden of the Luxembourg +to smoke and talk it over, Kent still fondly clasping +the serge dress.</p> + +<p>“I’ll find her all right before night,” declared +Kent. “She’ll be sure to go to the Bents’ studio +sometime to-day. I’ll write a note and leave it +with the concierge. I’ll also leave a note at the +American Club. She must go there twice a +week at least. I’d like to know where the poor +little thing is,” and Kent heaved a sigh.</p> + +<p>“I bet she is all right, wherever she is,” comforted +Jim. “Say, Brown, I don’t like to mention +it, but I am starved to death.”</p> + +<p>“Not mention it! Why not?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, you see when a pal is in trouble it seems +so low to go get hungry.”</p> + +<p>“But I’m not in trouble. Now if I thought +that Judy had been in that place last night there +would be something to be troubled about, but as +it is, I just can’t find her for a few hours, or +maybe minutes. Where shall we eat?”</p> + +<p>“That’s up to you. I’m getting mighty low in +funds, so let’s do it cheap but do it a plenty,” +and Jim looked rather ruefully at his few remaining +francs.</p> + +<p>“I am still in funds but I shall have to go it +mighty easy, too, to get Judy and me home. I +tell you what we might do. Let’s go to a shop +where they have ready cooked food and bring +it out here and eat it. They say you can live on +half what it costs to eat in a restaurant. When +I was studying over here I knew lots of fellows +who lived that way. Of course, they had studios +where they could take the stuff and eat it, but +the Luxembourg Garden is good enough. I +know a place where the Perkinses used to deal. +They are the funny lot I told you about, the long-haired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +man and the short-haired woman. He +is driving an ambulance now and goodness knows +where she is.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let’s go to it. I am so hungry I can +hardly waddle. These Continental breakfasts +with nothing but bread and coffee don’t fill me up +half way.”</p> + +<p>Kent smiled, remembering the two full orders +and the four eggs his friend had tucked away, but +he said nothing. Having a good appetite of his +own, he had naught but sympathy for his famished +friend.</p> + +<p>They left the garden and made for the shop +where Jo and Polly Perkins had bought their +ready cooked provisions.</p> + +<p>“These people make some little pies that are +mighty good, too. We might get half a dozen or +so of them as a top off,” suggested Kent.</p> + +<p>“Fine! I’ve got a mouth for pie, all right.”</p> + +<p>Judy had gone to the kitchen for a moment +to bring to the fore the smoked tongue that Père +Tricot had been slicing in those paper-thin slices +that he alone knew how to accomplish. She bore +aloft a great platter of the viand, the even slices<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +arranged like a wreath of autumn leaves. While +she was still in the living room behind the shop, +two strangers entered. Their backs being to +the light, Judy only saw their silhouettes as they +bent over the show cases eagerly discussing what +selection of meats and vegetables they should +make, while Mère Tricot, accustomed to slim-pocketed +customers, patiently waited. Suddenly +she leaned over the counter and touched something +which one of the young men had thrown +over his arm.</p> + +<p>“What is this?” she demanded with the manner +she could so well assume, that of a woman of +the Commune who meant to right her wrongs.</p> + +<p>The purchaser of sauce and potato salad, the +two cheapest and most filling of the wares, held +up rather sheepishly a blue serge suit.</p> + +<p>“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! Come quick! +It is your suit—and no Frenchman, as I said, but +a Prussian, no doubt.”</p> + +<p>The grenadier slid quickly from behind the +counter and putting her brawny arm out, held +the door firmly, so that no escape could be possible.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> + +<small>WASTED DYE.</small></h2> + + +<p>Judy emerged from behind the curtains which +divided the family living room from the little +shop, the platter of tongue held high. In her +cap and apron, she reminded one of a Howard +Pyle illustration for some holiday number of a +magazine.</p> + +<p>“Gee, what a beaut!” exclaimed the taller of +the two strangers.</p> + +<p>The one with the serge suit dropped it and +made a rush for the girl. He had her in his arms, +platter of tongue and all, before Mère Tricot +could rescue it. But that dame managed to extricate +the big dish before any greater damage +was done than disarranging the effect of a wreath +of autumn leaves.</p> + +<p>Hearts that were broken may be mended but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +platters of smoked tongue must not be dropped +on the floor and smashed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Judy gal, Judy gal! Tell me all about +it!”</p> + +<p>“Kent! Kent! I thought you were drowned +and have gone into mourning for you,” sobbed +Judy.</p> + +<p>As for Jim Castleman, in the most execrable +and impossible French, he was explaining to good +Mother Tricot how it all happened, and Father +Tricot hastened to the shop from his carving to +find out what it was all about, and then such a +handshaking and hugging as ensued was never +seen!</p> + +<p>“We were all about to sit down to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner a la +fourchette</i>,” said the ever hospitable old man, +“and if the young gentlemen would come with +us, we should be much honoured.”</p> + +<p>The grenadier was equally pleased to have them +and, indeed, Jim Castleman was so hungry by +that time that he would have eaten cold spinach +with his fingers.</p> + +<p>How that old couple plied the young Americans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +with their delightful food and how they +listened to their tale of shipwreck and rescue! +When Kent told of their fooling the Prussians +with Tutno, the childish language they had known +in their youth, the Tricots laughed with such glee +that a gendarme put his head in the door to +see what it was all about. When Jim Castleman +in a speech that sounded more like Tutno than +Parisian French, informed his hosts that he was +there to join the army of Joffre, old Mère Tricot +helped him to two more tarts, although he had +already eaten enough of them to furnish dessert +for any ordinary French family of four.</p> + +<p>“And now, Madame,” said Kent to his hostess, +“I want you to do another thing for me. You +have done so many things already that maybe +I should not ask you.”</p> + +<p>“What is it, mon brave?” and the old woman +smiled very kindly on the young American, whom +she had not half an hour before called a Prussian +and accused of stealing Judy’s serge suit.</p> + +<p>“I am to be married very soon and I want you +to help me out in it.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Married!” Judy gasped.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Judy Kean, I am to be married and +so are you. What’s more, it is to be just as soon +as the French law will tie the knot.”</p> + +<p>“Well, of all——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of all the slippery parties, I know you +are the slipperiest and I have no idea of letting +you get away. Am I right, Jim?”</p> + +<p>Jim was too busy with a tart to be coherent. +He nodded his head, however, and when Kent +put the same question to Mère Tricot in French, +she upheld him.</p> + +<p>“It would be much more convenable if you +were married. It is very easy to get married +in war time. The authorities are not near so +difficult to approach on the subject. I will see +what can be done by the magistrate who married +Jean and Marie, and no doubt if you interview +your American Ambassador, much can be attended +to in a short time.”</p> + +<p>“Kent Brown, if you think——” sputtered +Judy.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think a thing, I just know,” said Kent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +very calmly. “Put on your hat, honey, and let’s +take a little walk.”</p> + +<p>“Well, all right—but——” Was this the Judy +Kean who prided herself on so well knowing her +own mind, calmly consenting to be married +against her will? Was it against her will? She +suddenly remembered the communings she had +had with herself, in which she had cried out to +Kent: “Why, why, did you not make me go with +you?”</p> + +<p>“I shall have to rip the lining out of my hat +before I can go out,” she said quite meekly.</p> + +<p>“The lining out of your hat?” questioned +Kent.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you see I went into mourning when—when——” +and Judy, now that it was all over, +still could not voice the terrible thing she thought +had happened to Kent.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t rip it out until I see you in it. +Not many men live to see how their widows look +mourning for them.”</p> + +<p>“Widows, indeed! Kent Brown, you presume +too much!” exclaimed Judy, but she could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +help laughing. The hat was very becoming and +she was not loathe to wear it, just once.</p> + +<p>First Mère Tricot must be assisted with the +dishes, however; but then Judy got ready to go +walking with Kent.</p> + +<p>Père Tricot undertook to be guide to Jim Castleman, +offering to lead him to the proper place +to enlist.</p> + +<p>“I’ll only look into it to-day,” said Jim, grasping +Kent’s hand. “I shan’t join for keeps until +I have officiated as best man.”</p> + +<p>Judy, who had gone into Marie’s tiny bedroom +to get into her rescued serge suit, overheard +this remark and blushed to the roots of her fluffy +hair. As she put on her white lined hat, she +peeped again into the mirror: “Judy Kean, you +are much too rosy for a widow,” she admonished +her image.</p> + +<p>Mère Tricot saw them off, her good man and +Jim to the recruiting station, and Kent and Judy +to the Luxembourg Gardens, a spot hallowed by +lovers.</p> + +<p>“Well, well!” she said to herself. “The good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +God has brought the poor lamb her lover from +the grave. I am glad, very glad,—but it is certainly +a pity to waste all that good dye the butcher’s +wife saved for us. It is not good when kept +too long, either. I won’t throw it out yet a while, +though,—some one will be wanting it, perhaps.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XX.<br /> + +<small>A WAR BRIDE.</small></h2> + + +<p>Marrying in Paris was certainly a much easier +matter than it had been almost two years before +when Molly Brown and Edwin Green had struggled +to have the nuptial knot tied. Judy’s baptismal +certificate was not demanded as had been +Molly’s, and the long waiting for research work, +as Kent expressed it, was not required. Mère +Tricot undertook to engineer the affair and did +it with such expedition that it could have been +accomplished even before Judy got her trunk +from Giverny.</p> + +<p>It was very nice to have one’s trunk again, although +it really was embarrassing to take up so +much of the Tricots’ living room with the huge +American affair.</p> + +<p>“It seems funny to be married without any +trousseau,” Judy confided to Mère Tricot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>“No trousseau! And what is in that great +box if not trousseau?”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I don’t know. I really haven’t +any clothes to speak of that I can remember,” declared +Judy.</p> + +<p>“Well, let us see them!” begged Marie and +her belle mère.</p> + +<p>They were dying of curiosity to peep into the +great box, so Judy unpacked for their benefit, +and their eyes opened wide at her stack of shirt +waists and lingerie and her many shoes.</p> + +<p>“Two more suits and a great coat, silk dresses—at +least three of them—and skirts and shirts +of duck and linen!” exclaimed Marie. “And +hats and gloves—and blouses enough for three! +Not many war brides will boast such a trousseau.”</p> + +<p>So our bride began to feel that in comparison +to the little Marie, she had so much that she +must not worry about wedding clothes. Instead, +she divided her store of riches, and making up +a bundle with a silk dress and some blouses and +lingerie, a suit and a hat, she hid it in Mère<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +Tricot’s linen press for Marie to find when she, +Judy, was married and gone over the seas.</p> + +<p>She well knew that the French girl would not +accept the present unless it were given to her in +a very tactful way, and just to find it in the linen +press with her name on it and the donor out of +reach seemed to Judy the most diplomatic method.</p> + +<p>Madame le Marquise d’Ochtè must be looked +up again. Not only were Kent and Judy very +fond of her, but they knew they could not show +their faces to Mrs. Brown unless they had seen +her dear Sally Bolling. This time they found +her in the old home in the Faubourg. She had +been to the front and come back to get her house +in readiness for the wounded.</p> + +<p>Could this be the gay and volatile Marquise, +this sad looking, middle-aged woman? She had +grown almost thin during those few months of +the war. Her beautiful Titian hair was now +streaked with grey. Judy remembered with a +choking feeling the first time she had come to +the Ochtè home on that night soon after Molly +and her mother had arrived in Paris, when they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +had dined in the Faubourg and then gone to +hear <cite>Louise</cite> at the Opera. The Marquise had +been radiant in black velvet and diamonds, a +beautiful, gay woman that one could hardly believe +to be the mother of Philippe. She had +looked so young, so sparkling. She had said at +one time that she allowed no grey hairs to stay +in her head, but had her maid pull them out no +matter how it hurt. Now it would take all a +maid’s time to keep down the grey hairs in that +head, and would leave but a scant supply for a +coiffure could they be extracted.</p> + +<p>Kent thought she looked more like his mother +and loved her for it. Her greeting was very +warm and her interest great in what Judy and +Kent had been doing and what they meant to do. +She received them in the great salon that had +been converted into a hospital ward. All of +the Louis Quinze furniture had been stored away +in an upper chamber and now in its place were +long rows of cots. The floor was bare of the +handsome rugs which had been the delight and +envy of Judy on former visits, and now the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +parquetted boards were frotted to a point of +cleanliness that no germ would have dared to +violate.</p> + +<p>“I left the pictures for the poor fellows to look +at—that is, those who are spared their eyesight,” +she said sadly. “My hospital opens to-morrow, +but I want the privilege of giving a wedding +breakfast to you young people. I can well manage +it in the small <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">salle à manger</i>. That is left as +it was.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you are so kind, but dear old Mère Tricot +is making a great cake for us and she would be +sad indeed if she could not give the breakfast,” +explained Judy.</p> + +<p>“That is as it should be,” said the Marquise +kindly, “but am I invited?”</p> + +<p>“Invited! Of course you are invited, and the +Marquis and Philippe if they can be got hold +of.”</p> + +<p>“They are still in camp and have not gone to +the fore, so I will manage to reach them. Jean +is very busy, drilling all the time, but a family +wedding must be attended. Philippe is learning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +to fly,” and she closed her eyes a moment as +though to shut out the remembrance of accidents +that happen all the time to the daring aviators.</p> + +<p>Judy wondered if he had come in contact with +Josephine Perkins, but said nothing as it was +a deep secret that Jo was passing off as a man +and a word might give her away.</p> + +<p>“There are many Americans in the aviation +camp, and very clever and apt they are, Philippe +says. I am proud of my countrymen for coming +forward as they are.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think it is great for them to. I—I—think +I ought not to marry Kent and go off and +leave so much work to be done. I ought to help. +Don’t you think so, Cousin Sally?” asked +Judy.</p> + +<p>The Marquise smiled at Judy’s calling her +cousin, smiled and liked it. Kent looked uneasy +and a little sullen. Suppose his Judy should balk +at the last minute and refuse to leave the stirring +scenes of war! What then? He had sworn not +to return to United States without her, and unless +he did return in a very short time, the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +good job he had picked up in New York would +be filled by some more fortunate and less in love +young architect.</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear, it is not the duty of all American +girls to stay on this side and nurse any +more than it is the duty of all American men +to stay here and fight. Only those must do it who +are called, as it were, by the spirit. You must +marry my young cousin and go back to United +States, and there your duty will begin, not only +to make him the brave, fine wife that I know it +is in you to make, but also to remember suffering +France and Belgium. There is much work +waiting for you. This war will last for years, +thanks to that same Belgium who threw herself +in the breach and stopped the tide of Prussians +flowing into France. If it had not been for Belgium, +the war would have been over now—yes, +over—but France would have been under the +heel of the tyrant and Belgium off of the map. +Thank God for that brave little country!” and +Judy and Kent bowed their heads as at a benediction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>Kent kissed the Marquise for her sensible advice. +He very well knew that Judy would have +been a great acquisition to his cousin’s hospital, +and that workers were not numerous (not so +plentiful at the beginning of the war as they +were later). Her advice was certainly unselfish. +He thanked her, also, for realizing that it was +not up to all American men to stay and fight. +He had no desire to fight any one unless his own +country was at war, and then he felt he would +do his duty as his ancestors had done before +him.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what we’ll do, you children and I: +I’ll order out the car—I still keep one and a chauffeur +so that with it I can bring the wounded back +to Paris—and we will go out to the aviation camp +and see Philippe and ask him to the wedding. +You would like to see the camp, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Above all things!” exclaimed Kent and Judy +in chorus.</p> + +<p>The broad grassy field, bordered by houses, +sheds and workshops, presented a busy scene as +the Ochtè car drove up. Biplanes were parked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +to one side like so many automobiles at a reception +in a city, or buggies at a county seat on +court day in an American town. The field was +swarming with men, all eagerly watching a tiny +speck off in the blue sky in the direction of the +trenches where the French had called a halt on +the Germans’ insolent and triumphant march to +Paris.</p> + +<p>No more attempt was made to stop the car of +Madame the Marquise from coming into the aviation +camp than there would have been had she +been Joffre himself.</p> + +<p>“They know me very well,” she said in answer +to Kent’s inquiry as to this phenomenon, as he +well knew they were very strict about visitors in +camp. “I am ever a welcome guest here, not +only because they know I love them, but because +of something I bring.” She pointed to a great +hamper of goodies packed in by the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>The car was surrounded by eager and courteous +young aviators and soldiers, and Kent and +Judy well knew it was not all for the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gateaux</i> +that the Marquise was so beloved. Philippe was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +summoned and clasped in his mother’s arms. +Her heart cried out that every time might be the +last.</p> + +<p>The Marquise was changed but her son even +more so. His dilettantish manner was gone for +good, as was also his foppish beard. His face, +clean shaven except for a small moustache, was +brown and lean; his mouth had taken on purpose; +his eyes were no longer merely beautiful +but now had depth of expression and a look of +pity, as though he had seen much sorrow.</p> + +<p>He was greatly pleased to see his cousin Kent +and also Miss Kean, who, of course, he thought +had gone back to America long ago. He remembered +Judy always as the young lady he came +so near loving. Indeed, he would have addressed +her when Molly Brown had refused him, had +he not been made to understand by his fair cousin +how important it was to love with one’s whole +soul if married happiness was to be expected. +He had, after that, gone very slowly in possible +courtships. Molly’s friend, Frances Andrews, +had almost been his choice, but there was something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +of fineness lacking in her that deterred him +in time, and he was in a measure relieved when +that dashing young woman proceeded to marry +an impoverished Italian prince. His mother was +relieved beyond measure at what she could not +but look on as her Philippe’s escape. In fact, +she had never seen but one girl she thought would +be just right for her beloved son and that was +Molly Brown.</p> + +<p>Philippe was told of Kent’s being shipwrecked +and of Judy’s having taken up her abode with the +Tricots. This last bit of information amused +him greatly. Judy told with much sprightliness +of her serving in the shop and of her learning +to make tarts. Philippe began to look upon his +cousin Kent as a very lucky dog. He sighed when +he promised to come to the wedding breakfast, +that is, if he could get leave. Why did all of +the charming American girls pass him by?</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">J’ai la France et ma mère</i>,” he muttered, as +his arm crept around the waist of that beloved +mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What are they all looking at so intently?” +asked Judy.</p> + +<p>“Why, that is a daring young American aviator +who has gone to seek some information concerning +the trenches of our friends the enemy. +He is a strange, quiet little fellow. No one ever +gets a word out of him but he has learned to manage +his machine quicker than any of the +nouveaux, and now is intrusted to carry out all +kinds of dangerous orders. He looks like a boy +sometimes and sometimes when he is tired, like +a strange little old man. He is not very friendly +but is quick at repartee and so the fellows let +him alone. Speaks French like a Parisian. I +have seen him before somewhere, but can’t place +him. I asked him once and he was quite stiff +and said I had the advantage of him. Of course +I didn’t like to force myself on him after that, +but I’d really like to be friendly if he would let +me. See, here he comes! Look!”</p> + +<p>They watched in silence the aeroplane sinking +in a lovely spiral glide. As it sank to rest on +the greensward, many hands were outstretched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +to assist the grotesque little figure to alight. Judy +recognized in an instant the person she had +thought all the time Philippe was describing. It +was, of course, Jo Bill Perkins. She was swathed +in a dark leather coat and breeches, with a strange +shaped cap coming down over her ears. The +great goggles she wore could not deceive +Judy.</p> + +<p>“What is his name?” she asked Philippe.</p> + +<p>“Williams is all I know, J. Williams.”</p> + +<p>“I believe I know him. Would you mind taking +him my card and asking him to come speak to +me?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit, but I don’t believe he will come. +Let him make his report first, and then I will tell +him you are here. You are very charming and +fetching, Mademoiselle, but I doubt your being +able to bring Williams to your feet.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> + +<small>THE FLIGHT.</small></h2> + + +<p>Judy felt that perhaps she was not quite fair +to Jo to test her by this interview, but she did long +to speak to her. If Kent and Cousin Sally recognized +her, she knew full well she could trust them +to keep silent.</p> + +<p>Philippe crossed the field and stopped the daring +little aviator just after he had made his +report to the commander.</p> + +<p>“A young lady is asking for you.”</p> + +<p>“A young lady for me? Absurd!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she has heard of your wonderful feats +and longs to meet you,” teased Philippe; and then +added: “Really, Williams, you are superb.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all! Well, I am tired and don’t want +to meet any young ladies.”</p> + +<p>“But this one already knows you,” and Philippe +produced Judy’s card.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Miss Julia Kean,” Jo read in amazement. +“How did she get out here, anyhow? Where +is she?”</p> + +<p>“Over here with my mother,” and Philippe +looked with some amusement at the evident blush +that spread over Jo’s freckled cheeks. She still +had on the grotesque cap and goggles which would +have made recognition of her difficult. She +wanted very much to see Judy. She wanted to +hear something of her Polly, too, and she intended +to have Judy look him up if possible, and report +to her.</p> + +<p>“Will you see her?”</p> + +<p>“Sure!”</p> + +<p>“Miss Kean is a charming girl, Williams, isn’t +she?” said the quizzing Philippe, looking searchingly +at his companion as they made their way +across the field.</p> + +<p>“You bet!” said Jo.</p> + +<p>“Have you known her long?”</p> + +<p>“Quite a while,” and Jo’s cheeks again were +suffused with a dark flush.</p> + +<p>“Poor little fellow!” thought Philippe. “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +can’t bear to tell him she is to be married. He is +such a dare devil the chances are he will be killed +before long and he may never have to know that +his inamorata has chosen a better looking man, +not a better man—they don’t make them to beat +little Williams.”</p> + +<p>As they approached the car, impulsive Judy +jumped out and ran to meet her friend. Jo ran, +too, and they embraced with such ardor that +Philippe stood back amazed. Maybe Kent Brown +was not to be so envied, after all. If the girl who +was to marry him in a day was so lavish with +her embraces for other men, what kind of wife +would she make? Of course, Williams was a +rather dried up person, but then a man’s a man +for a’ that.</p> + +<p>Kent, too, was rather astonished when his +fiancée left him with such precipitation and before +all the aviation camp hugged and kissed the +strange bunchy little figure. Ardor for the heroes +of France was all well enough, but a fellow’s +sweetheart need not be quite so warm in her +manner of showing her appreciation, especially<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +when the fellow happens not to be one himself +in the habit of making daily daring flights to spy +out the weakness in the trenches of the enemy.</p> + +<p>The Marquise laughed as she had not done +since the first week in August of that terrible +year. Kent looked at her in astonishment. She +was not so very much like his mother, after all. +His mother would not have been so much amused +over the discomfiture of a young lover.</p> + +<p>That matron was saying to herself: “How +stupid men are!” She had recognized Jo from +the beginning. Kent had known in some far +off corner of his brain that Mrs. Polly Perkins +was doing something or other about the war, +but his mind had been so taken up with his own +affairs and Judy’s possible danger that that +knowledge had stayed in the corner of his brain +while the more important matter of getting married +was uppermost. Suddenly the truth flashed +over him and he was overcome with laughter, +too.</p> + +<p>“Caught on, eh?” asked his cousin.</p> + +<p>He nodded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>“We must keep mum,” she admonished. +“There is no reason why a woman should not do +her part this way if she can. I’d fly in a minute +if that would help any. Of course these stupid +men would raise a hue and cry if they knew a +woman was carrying off the honours.”</p> + +<p>“I am as quiet as the grave,” declared Kent.</p> + +<p>Judy came to the car with her friend and with +the utmost audacity introduced Jo as Mr. Williams. +The Marquise greeted the supposed young +man graciously. Kent sprang out and shook +Jo warmly by the hand, much to the astonishment +of his cousin Philippe.</p> + +<p>“Can’t I see you a moment alone?” whispered +Jo in Judy’s ear. The Marquise, as though she +divined what was in the heart of Mrs. Polly +Perkins, asked her to come sit in the car; and +then she suggested that Philippe show the camp +to Kent and on second thought decided to go with +them. The chauffeur had been sent with the +hamper to the mess hall, so Judy and Jo had a +few minutes alone.</p> + +<p>“I must find out something about Polly. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +feel as though I could wait no longer for news +of him. Can’t you help me?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you know I am to be married to-morrow +and sail for United States, but I am going to +see that news is got to you somehow. Cousin +Sally will do it, of course. She is the very +person.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but that Philippe must not know. He +has already been very curious about where he +has seen me before, and I have had to be insufferably +rude to him to keep him from prying into +my past. I have made good as a man, but still +they would not like it, I know.”</p> + +<p>“How on earth did you ever get in? I am dying +to hear all about it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, naturally the examination for physical +fitness was worrying me some. I got that little +dried up art student named Joel Williams, the +one who was always trying to claim kin with me, +to take the examination and then let me slip in +in his place. I bought his ticket to America to +pay him for his trouble. He was broke, as usual, +and scared to death when the war started, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +willing to do anything to get home. It was really +very simple to manage it. I am the same type, +in a way, although I hope I am not so dried up +as my would-be cousin. Same initials, too, which +made the entering rather more regular.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Jo, what a girl you are!”</p> + +<p>“Shh! Don’t call me a girl even to yourself. +Do you think the Marquise d’Ochtè recognized +me?”</p> + +<p>“Of course she did and Kent, too! Do you +think they would have left us alone if they had +not thought you were safe? Kent wouldn’t have +left me with such a bird if he had not known who +the bird was. He would be afraid I might fly +away with you. Oh, Jo, I do so want to fly!”</p> + +<p>“Well, why not?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, could I really?”</p> + +<p>“I think so. I have brought in information +to our commander that is valuable enough for +me to ask one small favor of him. Come on, let’s +ask!”</p> + +<p>The two girls were across the field and knocking +for admittance at the Commander’s tent before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +the Marquise and the two young men had +begun their tour of inspection.</p> + +<p>“A favor to ask!” exclaimed the grizzled old +warrior who sat poring over a map where Jo +had only a few moments before added some +crosses that meant much to the tactics of the +French army.</p> + +<p>“I want to take a friend up in a machine.”</p> + +<p>“A friend! I am sorry, my son, but it is hard +to tell friends in this day of war. I can’t let +you. He might be no friend, after all, to France.”</p> + +<p>“He! It is not a man but an American girl. +She is just outside your tent,” and Jo raised the +flap and motioned Judy to enter. Judy was introduced. +The old warrior looked at her searchingly.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, are you related to Robert Kean?”</p> + +<p>“His daughter, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Robert Kean’s daughter! Why, my child, +your father and I have been close friends for +years. Tell me where he is and what he is doing.”</p> + +<p>So Judy told of her father’s letter and his being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +held in Berlin because of the knowledge he +had of Turkey’s topography. She made him +laugh long and loud when she told of the ridiculous +limericks he had written on the paper +boats.</p> + +<p>“And you, Robert Kean’s daughter, want to +fly, and to fly with our bravest and most daring +aviator! Well, don’t fly off to America with him,—and +God bless you, my children,” and he gave +Judy a fatherly embrace and went back to his +map.</p> + +<p>When Kent got back to the car with his cousin, +there was no Judy.</p> + +<p>“Where can she have gone and where is Williams?”</p> + +<p>Philippe looked rather mysterious. Young +girls who rushed up and embraced bird men with +such ardor should not be allowed too much +rope.</p> + +<p>“No doubt she will be back soon. Williams +is perhaps showing her the camp. Look, there +goes another machine up! Two in it! By Jove, +it is Williams! I can tell by his way of starting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +He has such a smooth getaway always. Could +the passenger be Miss Kean?”</p> + +<p>“More than likely,” said Kent composedly. +“She has always been crazy to fly. I reckon +Williams will take good care of her and not go +too high or try any stunts.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly not!” said Philippe wonderingly. +Americans were a riddle to him. He +never quite understood his own mother, who had +rather a casual idea of proprieties herself at +times. That good lady, coming up just then, +expressed no concern over the impropriety of +Judy’s flying with a man when she was to be +married on the morrow to some one else.</p> + +<p>Kent sat in the car with his cousin Sally and +together they enjoyed Judy’s flight. Jo took her +as close to the fighting line as she dared, but she +had no idea of endangering the life of her passenger. +They dipped and curved, for the most +part confining their maneuvers to the vicinity +of the camp. Judy never spoke one word, but +held her breath and wept for sheer joy.</p> + +<p>“To be flying! To be flying! Oh, Judy Kean,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +you lucky dog!” she said to herself. “All my life +I’ve been dreaming I could fly and now I am +doing it.”</p> + +<p>“Dizzy?” asked Jo.</p> + +<p>“No, but happy enough to die,” gasped Judy. +“If I wasn’t going to be married, I’d be a bird +man.”</p> + +<p>When the landing was finally made and Judy +stepped out, the world seemed very stale, flat and +unprofitable. She was glad Kent was there waiting +for her. If she could not be a bird man, +she could at least be a very happy war bride. +The great leather coat she had worn in her +flight was very ugly and unbecoming, and she +was thankful for one thing that she did not have +to wear such frightful looking clothes all the +time.</p> + +<p>On the way back to Paris she asked cousin +Sally how she had recognized Jo Williams so +readily.</p> + +<p>“By her feet, of course! Why, no man on +earth ever had such eternally feminine feet.” +That good lady promised to find out immediately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +something about Polly and let his spunky wife +know where and how he was. “She will have +the Cross of Honour before she gets through, +Philippe says.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t feel as though it were your duty +to tell she is a woman, do you?” asked Judy.</p> + +<p>“Duty to tell! Heavens, child! I feel it is +my duty to help France in every way I can, and +surely to get that girl out of the aviation corps +would be a hindrance to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la Patrie</i>. I doubt even +Philippe’s thinking it his duty to tell, and,” with +a twinkle in her eye that the horrors of war could +not altogether dim, “Philippe has a very stern +idea of his duty. He felt maybe it was his duty +to get in a flying machine and go after you and +Mr. Williams so he could chaperone you. He +felt that the dignity of the family was at stake,—so +soon to be the bride of his cousin and flying +with another man! Terrible!”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course! I never thought of how it +looked. There I went and hugged and kissed +Jo right before everybody. I bet you a sou this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +minute Philippe and all the rest of them are feeling +sorry for you, Kent.”</p> + +<p>“Well, they needn’t be,” declared that young +man as he found Judy’s hand under the robe. +“I’m satisfied—but I did feel a little funny for +half a minute when you went and kissed Jo so +warmly. It took me a moment longer to recognize +her. Why didn’t you put me on?”</p> + +<p>“Put you on? How could I, with all the people +around?”</p> + +<p>“You promised me once you wouldn’t fly with +anybody until you could fly with me. Don’t you +remember?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I did, you goose! But I didn’t say +anybody—I said any man; so you see I didn’t +break my promise when I flew with Mrs. Polly +Perkins!”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> + +<small>THE WEDDING BREAKFAST.</small></h2> + + +<p>When the Marquise d’Ochtè said she would +do something, she always did it and did it as well +as it could be done. When she undertook to find +out where and how Polly Perkins was for the +benefit of his spunky wife, she did it and did it +immediately. And not only did she find him, +but she got a little respite from duty for him and +bore him back to Paris where she had already +spirited Jo to be present at the wedding breakfast. +She had asked a holiday for Jo, too, although +the grizzled commander was loathe to +let his best aviator off even for a day.</p> + +<p>Jo was taken to the converted d’Ochtè mansion +and there dressed like a nice, feminine little +woman, her hair curled by madame’s maid. A +tight velvet toque and a dotted veil completed +the transformation and the commander himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +would not have recognized his one time prize +aviator. All of this masquerade was for the sole +purpose of fooling Philippe, who, also, was to +be one of the guests at the Tricots’.</p> + +<p>Polly was so happy to see his Jo again that it +was pathetic to behold, and her pride in him and +his bravery was beautiful. Polly was vastly improved. +Kent, who had always liked the little +man and had insisted that there was much more +to him than the other members of the colony +could see, was delighted to have his opinion of +his friend verified.</p> + +<p>The ceremony was a very simple one, performed, +not by the magistrate as Mère Tricot +had suggested, but at the Protestant Episcopal +Church. Polly Perkins gave away the bride, and +Jo looked as though she would burst with pride +at this honour done her husband. Jim Castleman +was best man, and Cousin Sally fell in love +with him on the spot.</p> + +<p>“He is like the young men of my youth,” she +declared, “the young men of Kentucky, I am not +saying how many years ago.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> + +<p>The little living room at the Tricots’ soon after +the ceremony was full to overflowing, but every +one squeezed in somehow. The old couple were +very happy in dispensing hospitality. Their Jean +came home for a few hours and their hearts were +thankful for this glimpse of their son. Marie +beamed with joy and the rosy baby delighted them +all by saying, “Pa-pa!” the first word it had ever +uttered.</p> + +<p>Philippe, looking so handsome that Judy, too, +wondered that all the American girls passed him +by, fraternized with Jean, the peasant’s son, with +that simplicity which characterizes the military +of France.</p> + +<p>The party was very gay, so gay that it seemed +impossible that the Germans were really not more +than thirty miles from them. Of course they +talked politics, men and women. Old Mère Tricot +had her opinions and expressed them, and +they listened with respect when she pooh-poohed +and bah-bahed the notion that the Nations had +gone to war from altruistic motives.</p> + +<p>“Belgium might as well die fighting as die not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +fighting. The Germans had her any way she +jumped. France had to fight, too, fight or be +enslaved. As for Great Britain—she couldn’t +well stay out of it! When the Germans got +Antwerp, why, where was England? Let us +fight, I say—fight to a finish; but let’s be honest +about it and each country say she is fighting for +herself.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think United States should come over +and help?” asked Kent, much interested in the +old woman’s wisdom.</p> + +<p>“Not unless she has wrongs of her own to +right!” spoke the grenadier.</p> + +<p>“But think how France helped us out in ’76!” +exclaimed Judy.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and helped herself, no doubt. I am +not very educated in history, but I’ll be bound +she had a crow of her own to pick with England.”</p> + +<p>“To be sure,” laughed Philippe, “France did +want to destroy the naval supremacy of Great +Britain. Her alliance with Spain meant more +to France than her alliance with America. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +was not wholly disinterested when she helped the +struggling states.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Heavens, Philippe, please don’t take from +me the romantic passion I have always had for +Lafayette!” begged his mother. “I used to thrill +with joy when tales were told of my great grandmother’s +dancing with him.”</p> + +<p>“Keep your passion for Lafayette. He was at +least brave and disinterested, but don’t waste +much feeling on the government that backed him. +Vergennes, the minister of France at that time, +prepared a map in which the United States figured +as the same old colonial strip between the +Alleghenies and the sea. They had no idea of +helping United States to become a great nation.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I remember reading a letter from Jay +in which he said: ‘This court is interested in +separating us from Great Britain, but it is not +their interest that we should become a great and +formidable people.’ But I feel deeply grateful +to France for all she did,” said Kent.</p> + +<p>“Me, too!” cried Jim Castleman. “And I mean +to do all I can to pay it back.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ah! My American Lafayette!” cried the +Marquise. “A toast, a toast, to my American +Lafayette!” And they stood up and drank a +toast to the blushing young giant.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t dream any one could have such a good +time at her own wedding,” said Judy when the +last vestige of cake had disappeared. It was a +wonderful cake with a tiny white sugar bride and +a chocolate groom perched on top. There had +been much holding of hands under the table. +Every other person seemed to be eating with his +or her left hand, and Cousin Sally complained +that she had no hand to eat with at all, as Philippe +held one of her hands and the American Lafayette +held the other.</p> + +<p>The Marquis could not come, much to the regret +of all the company, for his regiment expected +to be called to the front any day and no +leaves could be granted.</p> + +<p>Judy put up a brave front when adieux were +in order, but her heart was very sad. How +many terrible things might happen to these kind +friends she was leaving! The Tricots, good souls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +might be bereft at any moment. Dear Cousin +Sally, with two in the war, might be doubly +visited by the hand of death. Polly and Jo Perkins +were to part after this brief time of happiness, +holding hands under the Tricots’ hospitable +board, one to return to his office of caring for +the wounded, the other to her office of keeping +the German ambulance drivers busy. The young +Kentucky giant, Jim Castleman, was to join his +regiment on the following day. His glee at having +a chance to swat the Prussians was intense. +He didn’t look like a person who could ever die, +but one bit of shrapnel might in the twinkling of +an eye destroy that virile youth.</p> + +<p>“Come to see me when you can, my American +Lafayette,” begged the Marquise, “and if you get +so much as a tiny little wound, let me nurse you +if you can get to me.”</p> + +<p>Jim had delighted the little party by translating +into his execrable French football terms to +describe his idea of how the war should be conducted. +His left tackle was frankly: “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gauche +palan</i>,” and his centre rush was: “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cintre jonc</i>.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> + +<p>He and Kent were not very demonstrative in +their parting, but both of them felt it deeply.</p> + +<p>“Wuv e lul lul! Sus o lul o nun gug!” called +Jim, as the cab bearing the bride and groom +started.</p> + +<p>“Gug o o dud lul u sank kuk!” was Kent’s feeling +rejoinder.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> + +<small>THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.</small></h2> + + +<p>No submarine warfare interrupted the peaceful +passage of our honeymooners. The voyage was +delightful to both of them after all the trials they +had been through. Judy was as much at home +on the water as on land, literally a born sailor, as +she had been born at sea. Kent loved a ship and +all the many aspects of the ocean. The lazy days +on deck, with their chairs drawn as close together +as chairs could be, their hands clasped +under the steamer rug, seemed like a beautiful +dream, only a dream that was going to last for +a lifetime, not the lazy days on deck but the +being together and never talking out. Being +lazy was not the idea of eternal bliss common to +either of these young persons. Kent felt there +were worlds to conquer in the architectural universe +and he meant to do his share towards conquering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +them; and with Judy by his side, he +gloried in the task before him. As for Judy, +she meant to paint like mad and to work up many +ideas she had teeming in her head. She was +thankful for the reels of undeveloped snapshots +she had in her trunk, as she was going to use +them as a jog to her memory for the numerous +illustrations she meant to make in an article she +was thinking of writing on Paris at the outbreak +of the war.</p> + +<p>Cousin Sally’s admonition to work for the Allies +was not forgotten, either. Judy was planning +a busy winter for herself in New York just +as soon as she and Kent could get themselves settled +in an apartment.</p> + +<p>“It must be very inexpensive, too, Kent. We +must save money.”</p> + +<p>Kent couldn’t help laughing at Judy’s solemn +face. What would Judy’s friends say at her becoming +penurious? Judy, the spendthrift!</p> + +<p>“You see, I’ve always cost poor Bobby a lot +of money; not that he has ever complained, but +I don’t mean to be a burden to you, Kent.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> + +<p>Kent had no answer for such foolishness but +to squeeze her hand.</p> + +<p>“I’d be perfectly happy if I just knew that +Bobby and poor little Mumsy were all right.”</p> + +<p>“Why, they may be on the high seas this minute. +We will surely hear something of them when +we get to New York.”</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Sandy Hook was at last sighted and then came +the slow, majestic steaming into the harbour! +Liberty still held her torch on high with the gulls +circling around her. The same little tugs were +puffing up and down, with the great ferries plying +back and forth like huge shuttles. New +York’s sky line was as fascinating to Mrs. Kent +Brown as it had ever been to Judy Kean.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Kent, I love it so! How could I have +stayed away so long?” cried Judy, rapturously +making sketches in the air.</p> + +<p>The pier was filled with an eager crowd, awaiting +the arrival of the steamer.</p> + +<p>“There won’t be any one for us,” said Judy +rather wistfully. “Your mother is in Kentucky,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +and of course Molly couldn’t leave the baby to +come meet us, and there isn’t any one else.”</p> + +<p>Kent smiled and said nothing. He was almost +sure he saw the figure of his tall brother-in-law, +Professor Green, towering above the crowd, but +he was afraid he might be mistaken and could +not bear to disappoint Judy.</p> + +<p>It was Edwin Green and hanging on one arm +was Molly (Kent knew her by the blue scarf). +And who was that on the other arm? Oh, what +a mother! It was Mrs. Brown, her face uplifted +and glowing.</p> + +<p>“Judy, look a little to the left of the second +post! Right in front of us, honey! What do +you see?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s Molly! I can tell her by her blue +scarf—and Kent! Kent, there’s your mother +and dear Edwin!” Then Judy clutched her young +husband’s arm. “Look a little to the right, standing +by your mother—there’s a big man that looks +like Bobby—See, with a little doll baby woman +in front of him—he’s keeping the crowd off of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +her—see! see! It is—it is Bobby and little +Mumsy!”</p> + +<p>Judy, who not much more than two weeks before +had considered herself the most unfortunate +and friendless of mortals, now knew that there +was not such a happy person in all the world. +How long the vessel took to be made fast to the +pier! And then such a crowding and pushing! +Every one on board seemed to have some one on +the pier he had not seen for centuries and must +get to immediately.</p> + +<p>“They can’t be as anxious to hug their mothers +as I am, and I know they haven’t any Bobbies,” +she complained. “And I am sure they +have not been shipwrecked like you and given up +for drowned by their families. They ought to let +us off first.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Kean was behaving exactly as though he +were at a football game. He was jumping up +and down and waving and shouting, and his rooting +egged Kent to make a rush for the gangway, +holding Judy like a pigskin; and once on +the gangplank there was nothing to do but push<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +and be pushed by the crowd until they shot out +on the pier into the arms of their waiting and +eager families.</p> + +<p>With every one talking at once, it was difficult +to get any accurate knowledge about one another, +but when it was all sifted out it developed that +Mr. and Mrs. Kean had finally been allowed by +the Imperial Government to leave Berlin, in fact, +they had been encouraged to go. Mr. Kean was +looked upon as a dangerous person, a lunatic at +large, and they did not want the responsibility +or expense of caring for him. His jokes got +to be too many and serious, and when he became +such an adept in evading the spy set to watch him +that two had to be detailed for that duty, the +powers that be evidently decided that what knowledge +he possessed of the topography of Turkey +did not outweigh in importance the wearing out +of perfectly good soldier material. He worried +the spy so that he was nothing more than skin +and bones, poor fellow!</p> + +<p>They had arrived in New York only the day +before and had immediately got Molly on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +long distance telephone. Of course, they knew +nothing of Judy’s being married, but unhesitatingly +approved of the step Kent had taken and +did not consider him at all high-handed. Mr. +Kean, being of a most impulsive disposition, could +understand it in other persons, and little Mrs. +Kean was so used to her comet-like husband and +daughter that she was never astonished by anything +they did.</p> + +<p>“I was not the impulsive one this time, though, +Bobby,” Judy declared when they finally settled +themselves around the luncheon table at the hotel +where a second bridal feast had been prepared, +ordered by the lavish Bobby. “It was Kent. I +had no idea of ever being married—in fact, it +seemed to me to be not quite decent to be married +so quickly when I was in such deep mourning—The +wedding was quiet because of the recent bereavement——”</p> + +<p>“In mourning! You, Judy, in mourning for +whom?” and poor little Mrs. Kean gasped, not +knowing what she was to learn now.</p> + +<p>“Why, for Kent himself. Nothing but the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +bombs dropped in Paris kept me from having my +best serge suit dyed black. Molly, I always said +I’d make a fetching widow, and I did all right. +Kent thought I was just lovely in the hat I fixed +for his mourning.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Judy! The same old Judy!” exclaimed +Molly fondly.</p> + +<p>Molly had thought it would be impossible for +her to go to New York to meet the incoming +steamer with its precious cargo, but Edwin had +declared she should go; so little Mildred was +taken on the jaunt as well, with the eager Katy +as nurse. Kizzie was already installed as cook +and Katy was proving a most careful and reliable +nurse. Molly was looking and behaving +more like herself and no longer had to let her +patient husband go off to his lectures like a +bachelor with no wife to pour his coffee.</p> + +<p>“And now, you and Kent and Mr. and Mrs. +Kean must all come to Wellington to visit us,” +announced the hospitable Molly. “Mustn’t they, +Edwin?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed they must,” said Edwin obediently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +but in his heart wondering where Molly would +put all of them. The old red house on the campus +was large but had not very many rooms. The +young professor could never quite get used to the +Browns and their unbounded hospitality. His +favorite story was one on his mother-in-law; how, +when one of her sons brought home the whole +football team to spend the night, she calmly took +the top mattresses off all the beds (the beds at +Chatsworth were fortunately equipped with box +mattresses and top mattresses) and made up pallets +on the floor, thereby doubling the sleeping +capacity of her hospitable mansion.</p> + +<p>“I can’t come, Molly,—mighty sorry,” said +Kent, “but my job must be held down now. They +have kept it open for me long enough.”</p> + +<p>“And I stay with Kent!” declared Judy.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah, hurrah! Her mother’s own daughter!” +cried the delighted Bobby. “I was wondering +what kind of wife my girl would make; now +I know. I wouldn’t take anything for that: ‘I +stay with Kent.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m going to be terribly domestic. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +found that out while I was living with the Tricots. +What’s more, I can make tarts—the best +ever. I can hardly wait to get a flat and a pastry +board to make some for Kent.”</p> + +<p>“You might use your drawing board for a +pastry board,” teased her father. “I fancy art +is through with.”</p> + +<p>“Through with, indeed! Why, Bobby, I am +astonished and ashamed of you! I am going to +paint all the time that I am not making tarts, +and what time is left, I am going to knit socks +and make bandages for the wounded.”</p> + +<p>“And poor me! When do I come in?” asked +Kent.</p> + +<p>“You come in early and behave yourself or I’ll +spend the rest of the time making suffrage +speeches,” laughed the war bride.</p> + +<p class="star">*******</p> + +<p>And now since we must leave our friends some +where, what better time and place than at this +second wedding breakfast, while all of them are +together and happy? Perhaps we shall meet them +again when the old red house on the campus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +shall be taxed to its utmost in its endeavor to +behave like Chatsworth. We shall see Judy and +Kent in their little flat and mayhaps taste one +of Judy’s tarts. We must know more of Molly’s +girls at Wellington and meet dear Nance Oldham +and little Otoyo Sen again. It is hard to +part forever with our friends and those who +know Molly Brown feel that all her friends are +theirs.</p> + +<p>So I hope our readers will be glad to meet +again “Molly Brown’s College Friends.”</p> + + +<p class="center r4">THE END.</p> + +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> +<p> </p> +<div class="ads"> +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/ad01.png" width="120" height="169" alt="Marjorie Dean College Sophomore" title="Marjorie Dean College Sophomore" /> +</div> + +<p class="adtitle1">Marjorie Dean<br /> +College<br /> +Series</p> + +<p class="adauthor">BY PAULINE LESTER.</p> + +<p><small>Author of the Famous Marjorie Dean High School Series.</small></p> + + +<p>Those who have read the Marjorie Dean High +School Series will be eager to read this new series, +as Marjorie Dean continues to be the heroine in +these stories.</p> + +<p class="center"><small>All Clothbound. 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BURT COMPANY</big></p> +<p>114-120 East 23rd Street, <span class="rght">New York</span></p> + +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/ad05.png" width="127" height="172" alt="The Blue Grass Seminary Girls in the Mountains" title="The Blue Grass Seminary Girls in the Mountains" /> +</div> + +<p class="adtitle3">The Blue Grass<br /> +Seminary Girls Series</p> + +<p class="center">BY CAROLYN JUDSON BURNETT</p> +<hr class="l5"/> + +<p class="center">For Girls 12 to 16 Years</p> + +<p class="center">All Cloth Bound Copyright Titles</p> + +<p class="center">PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH</p> + +<p><small>Splendid stories of the Adventures +of a Group of Charming Girls.</small></p> +<hr class="l5"/> + +<ul class="lsoff"> +<li>THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS’ VACATION ADVENTURES; +or, Shirley Willing to the Rescue.</li> + +<li>THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS’ CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS; +or, A Four Weeks’ Tour with the Glee Club.</li> + +<li>THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS IN THE MOUNTAINS; +or, Shirley Willing on a Mission of Peace.</li> + +<li>THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS ON THE WATER; or, +Exciting Adventures on a Summer’s Cruise Through +the Panama Canal.</li> +</ul> + +<hr class="l6"/> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="images/ad06.png" width="124" height="170" alt="Mildred at Home" title="Mildred at Home" /> +</div> + +<p class="adtitle2">The Mildred Series</p> + +<p class="center">BY MARTHA FINLEY</p> + +<hr class="l5"/> +<p class="center">For Girls 12 to 16 Years.</p> + +<p class="center">All Cloth Bound Copyright Titles</p> + +<p class="center">PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH</p> + +<p><small>A Companion Series to the famous +“Elsie” books by the same author.</small></p> +<hr class="l5"/> + +<div class="center r2 c"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Mildred Keith Books"> +<tr><td align="left">MILDRED KEITH</td><td align="left">MILDRED’S MARRIED LIFE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">MILDRED AT ROSELAND</td><td align="left">MILDRED AT HOME</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">MILDRED AND ELSIE</td><td align="left">MILDRED’S BOYS AND GIRLS</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2">MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="l4"/> + +<p class="center"><small>For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by +the Publishers.</small></p> + +<p class="center"><big>A. 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BURT COMPANY</big></p> +<p>114-120 East 23rd Street, <span class="rght">New York</span></p> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="tnote"> +<p><b>Transcriber’s note:</b></p> +<p>Minor printer’s errors have been corrected. +Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistent +spelling and hyphenation.</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLLY BROWN OF KENTUCKY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 36736-h.txt or 36736-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/6/7/3/36736">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/3/36736</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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