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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Drusilla with a Million, by Elizabeth Cooper
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Drusilla with a Million
+
+Author: Elizabeth Cooper
+
+Posting Date: March 13, 2014 [EBook #6734]
+Release Date: October, 2004
+First Posted: January 20, 2003
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Aldarondo,
+Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION
+
+
+By ELIZABETH COOPER
+
+
+
+
+DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"Drusilla Doane, O Drusilla Doane!" came waveringly around the corner;
+and the quavering voice was followed by a little old woman who peered
+at the line of old ladies sitting in the sun. "Is Drusilla Doane here?"
+she inquired, darting quick birdlike glances from her old eyes at the
+curious faces that looked up at her approach.
+
+A little white-haired woman stopped the darning of the tablecloth in
+her hands and looked up expectantly.
+
+"Yes, I'm here, Barbara. What do you want of me?"
+
+"There's two men in the parlor to see you, an' Mis' Smith told me to
+tell you to hurry. I been lookin' for you everywhere."
+
+Drusilla Doane let the cloth fall into her lap, and all the other women
+stopped their work to stare at the announcer of such wonderful news.
+
+"To see _me_, are you sure?"
+
+"Yes, they asked to see Miss Drusilla Doane. You're the only one of
+that name here, ain't you?"
+
+Drusilla folded her work and placed it in the basket of linen by the
+side of her chair.
+
+"Yes, I guess it must mean me," she said, and rose to go.
+
+As she passed around the house all the old ladies moved as if by a
+common impulse.
+
+"Come right here, Barbara Field, and tell us all about it. Who are the
+men?"
+
+"What did they look like?" questioned another.
+
+"Take this chair and tell us all about it," said Miss Harris, the
+youngest of the ladies; and a place was made in their midst and the
+line closed around her.
+
+"Put your teeth in, so's we can understand you."
+
+Barbara groped around in the pocket of her apron; then, holding the end
+of the apron up to her face, adroitly slipped her teeth into her mouth,
+and sat down to become for once the center of interest to her little
+world.
+
+"Now tell us all about it--what you waiting for?" said one of the
+ladies impatiently.
+
+"What'll I tell?" said Barbara. "I was passin' by the door and Mis'
+Smith called me in and said, 'Barbara, will you find Drusilla Doane and
+send her here? Tell her that there are two gentlemen who wish to see
+her.'"
+
+"Two men--_two_ men to see Drusilla Doane!" cackled one old lady. "She
+ain't never had _one_ to call to see her before, as I knows on."
+
+"No," chimed in another. "She's been here five years and there ain't a
+livin' soul before asked to see Drusilla Doane. What'd they look like,
+Barbara?"
+
+"One was tall and thin and sour-lookin'--looked like a director of a
+institution; and the other was short and fat and pussy and was dressed
+real elegant. One had a silk hat and he wore one gray glove and carried
+another in his hand with a cane. That was the skinny one. The pussy one
+wore a gray vest--that's all I had time to see--and his eyes kind o'
+twinkled at me."
+
+"Did you hear what they wanted Drusilla for?"
+
+"No, I didn't hear nothin'."
+
+"You mean you didn't hear anything, Barbara," interrupted a querulous,
+refined voice. "Your grammar is dreadful!"
+
+"I don't mean no such thing. I mean I didn't hear _nothin'_ and nothin'
+it is." And Barbara's meek, faded old eyes glared at the little old
+lady in the corner, if meek, faded blue eyes could glare.
+
+"Never mind her grammar, Lodema Ann. Why didn't you hear what they
+said? What was you doin' in the hall if you wasn't listenin'?"
+
+"I told you I was just passin' through and Mis' Smith called me in."
+
+"Don't you know nothin' about it--_nothin'!"_
+
+"Nothin'. I've told you all I know. Can I take my teeth out now?"
+
+"No, Barbara; keep your teeth in till we've finished with you. A person
+can't understand a word you say with your teeth out, you gum your words
+so."
+
+"But they hurt me; they don't fit. I ain't had a new pair for twenty
+years and my jaws've shrunk."
+
+"Well, keep 'em in fer a while. They won't shrink any more fer a minit.
+Did they look like relations?"
+
+"Relations!" said a big, placid-looking woman who was knitting quietly.
+"Drusilla ain't got no relations. She ain't never had none."
+
+"She must have had some at one time. Everybody has relations--although
+_some_ people I know, had rather be without them than recognize the
+kind they got." The sour voiced old lady directed her tones toward the
+seat next to her.
+
+"If you're a meanin' me, Caroline, I want to tell you my relations is
+just as good as your'n, though we don't throw 'em down everybody's
+throat as some folks I know."
+
+"No," said another; "Drusilla has no family; she told me so herself.
+One day I was telling her about my family, about my father who was so
+well known in the State, and my brother who became the great--"
+
+"Now don't begin on your family, Maria. We know all about it. We ain't
+heard nothin' else fer the last three years. It's a good thing that
+some of the women in this home has something else to talk about except
+the greatness of their family, or we'd all be dead."
+
+The little old lady twisted her ball of yarn viciously, causing it to
+roll upon the floor, and when she had stiffly followed it and picked it
+from the corner her face was very red, either from the exertion of
+stooping or from the insult she felt she had received.
+
+"You're jealous--that's what's the matter with you! People who've no
+folks are always jealous of them who's had 'em; but old age has its
+liberties, I suppose, and we must pardon a great deal on account of it."
+
+"Are you speakin' of me, I'd like to know? I ain't but four years
+older'n you. I'm only seventy-nine and you was seventy-five last May,
+though you didn't want us to know it was your birthday. But I seen the
+date in the book some one sent you, and you can't deny it."
+
+"Never mind," broke in the placid-looking lady again, trying to pour
+oil on the troubled waters; "don't fight. Barbara, did they look rich?
+Put your teeth in again--why can't you leave 'em alone! Teeth are fer
+your mouth and not fer your pocket. You do beat me and rile me
+dreadfully, Barbara."
+
+"I tell you they hurt," whimpered Barbara. "I can't even enjoy the sun
+with my teeth in."
+
+"Never mind. Did they?"
+
+"Did they what?"
+
+"Did they look rich?"
+
+"Oh, awful. I told you they looked like directors."
+
+"Perhaps Drusilla has friends she ain't told us about."
+
+"No, she ain't. She told me one day she didn't have a friend or a
+relation in the world, and if she'd a had 'em they'd a been to see her."
+
+"Oh, I don't know. That ain't no sign. Your friends ferget you when
+you're in an old ladies' home," said a voice bitterly.
+
+"Well, I wonder who it can be! I wish she'd hurry, so's we could ask
+her."
+
+"Poor Drusilla!" said a sweet-voiced little woman. "I hope some one's
+found her. It's awful to have no one in all the world."
+
+"How long's Drusilla been here?"
+
+"Let me see"--and an old lady put down her sewing. "I been here seven
+years, I was here not quite two years when Drusilla come. She's been
+the linen woman ever since."
+
+"Yes," said a woman who showed signs of having seen better days. Her
+clothes still had a look of by-gone elegance and her wrinkled hands
+were still dainty and beautifully kept. "Drusilla's our only _charity_
+inmate."
+
+The stout old lady in the corner emitted a sound between a snort and a
+groan.
+
+"Charity inmate! What are we all but charity inmates!"
+
+The first old lady drew herself up stiffly.
+
+"You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham, but _I_ am no charity inmate."
+
+"You're just as much of one as I am."
+
+"What do you mean? I pay each year a hundred and twenty dollars, and I
+paid when I entered an entrance fee of a hundred dollars."
+
+"So'd we all; but still this is an old ladies' charitable home."
+
+"Mis' Graham, how can you say such things!" spoke up a voice that had
+not been heard before. "I consider that we _pay_ our way; and my
+grand-nephew who was here last week considers it ample!"
+
+"Oh, so do most of our relations who'd rather pay our way in a home
+than be bothered with us around."
+
+"You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham. I pay my way myself."
+
+"Yes, you was a dressmaker or something and saved a little money. Well,
+I never worked for my livin'. It wasn't considered ladylike in my day."
+
+"Huh! You're trying to say I'm no lady. Well, I consider that if I'm no
+lady and worked fer my livin', I didn't sponge off my relations and
+don't now."
+
+"Cat!" hissed Mrs. Graham, and sat back trying to think of some
+suitable answer.
+
+"But don't Drusilla pay nothin' at _all?"_ queried another woman.
+
+"Not a cent. I tell you, she's charity. She's a sort of servant. Ain't
+you seen the way Mis' Smith treats her and orders her around? She takes
+care of the linen to pay her way and does odd jobs fer Mis' Smith and
+the family."
+
+"How did she get in if she didn't have no money at all?"
+
+"She's a Doane, and this home was give by a Doane most sixty years ago.
+And the Committee felt they couldn't let Drusilla die in the poor house
+because of her name. It might reflect on the home, and they'd lose some
+subscriptions. So they took her in."
+
+"What'd she do before she was took in?"
+
+"She sewed for folks and nursed and done odd jobs for the people in the
+village. Everything she could git to do, I guess. And then she got old
+and folks wanted stylisher dresses, and she wa'n't strong enough to
+nurse much, so she had to be took in somewhere. First they thought of
+sending her to the county house, and then as I told you they was afraid
+it would look bad to have the Doane home for old ladies right here and
+a Doane in the county house, so she was brought here. It most broke her
+heart, but they've worked her well. She's paid fer her keep and more,
+which is more than many I know of, what with their appetite."
+
+"You're talkin' at me now, Frances Smith, don't you make no remarks
+about my appetite. I'm not strong and must eat well to keep up."
+
+"Humph, it makes you feeble to carry round. I don't know what would
+happen to you if you had a chance to set down once to a square meal of
+vittles. I guess you'd bust."
+
+"I want you to understand, Mis' Frances Smith, that I've et better
+vittles than you've ever seen. When I had my home my table was the talk
+of the countryside."
+
+"Yes, and if you hadn't et up everything, perhaps you wouldn't now be
+where you are, havin' beans on Monday and cabbage on Tuesday and soup
+on Wednesday and--"
+
+The wrangling went on amongst these old derelicts sitting on the sunny
+side of the Doane home for old ladies. Their lives were filled with
+little jealousies and quarrels over petty details. They lived in the
+past and exalted it until they themselves had grown to believe that
+they had always trodden flowery pathways, until by some unfortunate
+chance, for which they were not to be blamed, these paths had led them,
+when old age and helplessness came upon them, into this home for the
+poor and lonely.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Drusilla slowly made her way to the parlor, which she entered with the
+wondering, surprised look still on her face--surprised that any one
+should ask for her, and wondering who it could be.
+
+Two gentlemen rose as she entered, and Mrs. Smith, the Director of the
+home, said:
+
+"This is Drusilla Doane. Drusilla, this is Mr. Thornton and Mr. Gale,
+who wish to speak with you."
+
+They bowed over Miss Drusilla's hand, which was falteringly extended.
+
+"We are very glad to meet you, Miss Doane. Won't you please sit down,
+as our business will take quite a little time to transact." Turning to
+Mrs. Smith: "May we speak with her alone?"
+
+Mrs. Smith plainly showed that she shared in the curiosity of her
+charges in regard to the meaning of the visit to Drusilla, but she rose
+from her place and said:
+
+"Oh, of course I will leave if you must see her alone."
+
+"Thank you," said the taller of the men dryly. "Our business is with
+Miss Doane."
+
+He accompanied Mrs. Smith politely to the door and closed it, then,
+returning, drew a chair near to Drusilla.
+
+"We are the bearer of news to you, Miss Doane."
+
+Drusilla clasped her hands a little tighter.
+
+"Has anything happened?" she said. "But nothing could happen that would
+matter to me, unless--" a panic stricken look came into her old eyes
+"unless--the Committee hain't decided that I can't live here, has it?
+They ain't goin' to send me to the county house, be they? I work real
+well, Mr. Thornton; I work as hard as I can. I'm sure I pay fer my
+keep."
+
+The tall man cleared his throat and said stiffly: "No, Miss Doane, we
+are the bearer of _good_ news."
+
+The short fat man bent over and impulsively patted the hands that were
+so tightly clenched in her lap.
+
+"No, Miss Doane, you don't need to worry about the county house. You're
+not going to it yet."
+
+Drusilla drew a deep breath of relief, and the frightened look died
+from her eyes. She leaned back in her chair.
+
+"Then I don't know what you've got to tell me. It can't be that some
+one I know is dead, because all of my friends died long ago."
+
+Mr. Gale said, "Tell her, so she'll understand. You're worrying the
+poor soul."
+
+Mr. Thornton took a legal looking document from his pocket and a letter.
+
+"Miss Doane," he said, "did you ever hear of Elias Doane?"
+
+"Elias Doane? No, I don't believe I ever did."
+
+"Well, he was a distant relation of yours; another branch of the
+family. He thought he was the last one of the Doane name, as he never
+married. A few weeks before his death, hearing about this home he sent
+me up here to learn the particulars regarding it, and I found you here.
+I reported that there was an inmate by the name of Doane still living,
+and we investigated and found that you belonged to the family that we
+thought was represented by only one man, the late Elias Doane."
+
+"He's dead, then. Was he a relation of mine, did you say?"
+
+"Yes, very distantly related."
+
+"Well, I'm glad I've had _some_ relations, even if I didn't know it."
+
+"Now, we will come to the business, Miss Doane. Our client, the late
+Elias Doane, was a very wealthy man, very wealthy indeed. His estate
+amounts to many millions, and he has left a very curious will."
+
+The lawyer opened a paper in his hand and commenced to read, but Mr.
+Gale interrupted.
+
+"Don't bother her with the will, Robert; she won't understand. Tell her
+about it and give her the letter."
+
+"Perhaps that is better, as the legal terms might be confusing. The
+gist of the matter is this, Miss Doane. Our client, the late Elias
+Doane, left the bulk of his money to the many charities in which he is
+interested, but he left you his home at Brookvale, near New York City,
+to be kept up fittingly out of the estate, and he gave you outright, to
+use as you may see fit, one million dollars."
+
+Drusilla stared at him. Then her faded old face turned as white as the
+soft hair above it, and without a word she fell forward. For the first
+time in her life Drusilla Doane had fainted.
+
+Mr. Thornton caught her in his arms and Mr. Gale sprang for the bell.
+Water and restoratives were brought, and within a few moments Drusilla
+opened her eyes--and soon she remembered. She brushed back her
+disarranged hair and laughed a soft, sweet little laugh.
+
+"Well, I'm beginnin' well. All real ladies in story books faint when
+they hear good news."
+
+When she was again seated in her chair and curious Mrs. Smith had been
+politely expelled from the room, Mr. Thornton cleared his throat and
+was again the precise man of business.
+
+"As I was saying, Miss Doane, when you interrupted me, our late client,
+Mr. Elias Doane, left this very remarkable will and also a letter which
+we were to deliver to you." He handed her the letter.
+
+Drusilla looked at it a moment as she held it in her hand. She seemed
+unwilling to break its seal. But the watching men opposite her caused
+her at last carefully, if not a little tremblingly, to tear the
+covering which was to reveal to her the wishes of a man, who evidently
+had thought of her and her happiness in his last hours. She unfolded
+the two pages covered with scrawling handwriting, but her faded eyes
+could make nothing of the strange hieroglyphics traced upon them, and
+she handed the letter to Mr. Thornton, saying:
+
+"I guess it can't be nothin' private. You read it; I left my glasses in
+my work-basket."
+
+Mr. Thornton adjusted his pince-nez and read:
+
+MY DEAR DRUSILLA:
+
+You will allow me to call you that, as it is the first and will be the
+last time that I will so address you; consequently you will pardon the
+seeming undue familiarity.
+
+I first want to say that I regret that I did not know of your existence
+earlier, when perhaps I could have made life easier for you--although
+quite likely I would have added to its perplexities. We are the last of
+a good family: you, Drusilla Doane, an inmate of a charitable
+institution, and I, Elias Doane, millionaire, philanthropist, and rare
+old humbug. You have passed your life in toil, trying to earn your
+daily bread, and have found yourself nearing the end of this footless
+journey that we call life, alone and friendless. I have passed my days
+in toil also, and find myself, at the end, as much alone and friendless
+as is the loneliest inmate of the Doane home. I have had bread, yes;
+and often eaten it in bitterness. I have had friends, yes; and doubted
+their sincerity. Love, wife, children, home, all have been sacrificed
+to pride of wealth, of power, and things--just mere things, that cannot
+touch the hand in times of sorrow, nor rejoice in times of joy. But I
+do not complain; I made my god a thing of gilt and tinsel, and he
+repaid me for my worship. And now I go to meet another God.
+
+But before I go I want to give another a chance to do what I have never
+done--enjoy my money--if such a thing can give enjoyment. A great share
+of my hard-earned dollars will go in salaries to fat officials and
+well-fed directors of the institutions I have endowed, but the little I
+have given you I want you to spend as you see fit. Throw it to the
+winds, if you so desire, or feed it to the squirrels in Central Park.
+
+I am looking forward to enjoyment in seeing the way you spend the
+money. They say when we have passed over the river that the things of
+this world will no longer interest us; but, Drusilla, that is not true.
+I know my days will be spent leaning over the battlements watching the
+fools striving here below; and the biggest telescope in Heaven--or
+perhaps the other place--will be trained upon Drusilla Doane.
+
+I give you a few words of advice. Better allow Thornton to act as your
+business manager. He is an old fool but honest. But follow your own
+wishes in all things except in actual business. I have directed that
+all the expenses of the place at Brookvale shall be met from a trust
+that I have created, as you are far too old to be worried with the
+details of the new life which you now will enter. Thornton is a nosy
+man and it will delight his soul to boss your servants and see that
+cheating tradesmen are kept in check.
+
+Another thing I wish to say--you can act upon it as you see fit--it is
+simply the advice of an old man who has known his world. _Don't_
+subscribe to public charities; they're mostly grafts, and besides they
+have more of the Doane millions now than is good for them. And _don't_
+help the needy poor upon another man's advice; _see your poor--know
+your poor_.
+
+And now, Drusilla Doane, good-by. Enjoy my million! Don't make too big
+a fool of yourself, nor marry your tango teacher, but spend my million,
+Drusilla, _spend it_--and may God rest your soul!
+
+There was quiet for a few moments after Mr. Thornton had finished
+reading the letter. He folded the paper and then said dryly:
+
+"I'm glad to know that my client appreciated and recognized my
+abilities, at least along some lines."
+
+He turned to Drusilla, who seemed hardly to realize or understand the
+contents of the letter.
+
+"Shall I file the letter along with the other papers, or do you wish to
+keep it?" he asked.
+
+Drusilla took the letter, and folded it and refolded it, looking down
+at it as if it were a thing alive.
+
+"If you don't mind, Mr. Thornton, I should like to keep it," she said.
+"He meant well by me, and his letter is kind though he said it in a
+queer way; but it is the first letter I've had from any one for a long
+time, and I should like to keep it. It makes it all seem more real."
+
+The lawyer rose.
+
+"Now we will leave you. When will you be ready to come with us to New
+York?"
+
+Drusilla smiled her soft sweet smile.
+
+"I haven't much to get ready, Mr. Thornton. It won't take me long to
+pack my things."
+
+"Then shall we say that I may come for you to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, to-morrow will be as well as any other day. Unless--unless Mis'
+Smith needs me--"
+
+Mr. Thornton said with a dry smile: "I do not think it will be
+necessary to consult Mrs. Smith."
+
+The men started for the door, and then extended their hands.
+
+"We want to congratulate you, Miss Doane. We sincerely hope that this
+will be the beginning of a very happy life for you. You may command me
+in all things. By the way, may we see the Director?"
+
+Drusilla started to the door, but the lawyer intercepted her.
+
+"No; do not go yourself. Ring for her."
+
+Drusilla sat down again, rather aghast at the idea of asking any one
+else to do a service for her, who all her life had been at the beck and
+call of other people. One of the old ladies came and was asked to bring
+Mrs. Smith. The Director came quickly, showing that she had not been
+far away.
+
+"Mrs. Smith," Mr. Thornton said, "we will come to-morrow afternoon to
+take Miss Doane with us. She has been left a legacy and will no longer
+be an inmate of the Doane home."
+
+Mrs. Smith's expression changed instantly.
+
+"Why, I'm real glad. Drusilla, you know I will be the first to rejoice
+in your good fortune."
+
+Drusilla's face was a study for a moment as she remembered the many
+shrill orders and the thousand and one ways that the Director had
+employed to make her lonely life harder than was really necessary; but
+kindliness triumphed and the hard look left her eyes.
+
+"I'm sure, Mis' Smith, you will be glad with me," she said; and she
+thought in her kindly old heart, "Perhaps she didn't mean to be mean;
+she was just too busy to think."
+
+The men left and Drusilla was alone with the Director, whose curiosity
+was nearly consuming her.
+
+"What has happened, Drusilla? Has some one left you money?"
+
+"Yes," said Drusilla.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"A relation I didn't know."
+
+"Did he leave you much?"
+
+Drusilla said quietly: "A million dollars."
+
+Mrs. Smith nearly fell from her chair.
+
+"What did you say?"
+
+"A million dollars."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"That's what the lawyer, Mr. Thornton, said."
+
+Mrs. Smith was speechless.
+
+"I can't believe my ears. There must be some mistake. I'll--I'll--go
+and talk it over with some one. Do you want to go to your room, or will
+you go out to the women, Drusilla?"
+
+"I think I'll go to my room fer a while, if I may--that is, if you
+don't need me, Mis' Smith."
+
+Mrs. Smith shook her head. Need her, need a woman who had just been
+left a million dollars! No, indeed; not in the way that Drusilla meant.
+
+Drusilla went slowly up to her room and sat down in the little rocker
+by the bed. She tried to think it all over; but it did not seem real.
+She felt the letter in her pocket and, finding her second-best pair of
+glasses, moved her chair close to the window and read it through
+slowly. Then, holding the letter in her hands, she sat back in her
+chair and the tears welled slowly from her faded eyes, rolling down the
+wrinkled cheeks and falling, drop by drop, on to her dress unnoticed.
+She was not thinking of the money but of the kindly old man who had
+thought of her in his last hours, and planned for her happiness. She
+had never had any one plan for her happiness before, nor care for her
+for so many years that she had forgotten what care meant, and her heart
+seemed full to bursting. She said softly to herself, "He must 'a' cared
+something fer me or he wouldn't 'a' thought of it all. He _must_ 'a'
+cared."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The next morning there was a buzz of excitement in the Doane home for
+old ladies. Word had got around that Drusilla had been left a fortune
+and was going away. Some of the ladies were plainly envious and said
+spiteful, catty things, while others were glad that at least one of
+their number would be able to leave behind the "home"--the living on
+charity--that nightmare of the old. Drusilla had endeared most of them
+to her by her many kindly acts, prompted by a loving heart that even
+years of poverty and unappreciated labor for others had not hardened.
+
+She passed the morning in looking over her few possessions and making
+little packages of the things she treasured to be given to her friends
+after she left. The handkerchiefs she had embroidered before her
+eye-sight was bad, she left for Barbara. A little lace cap that had
+been given her years ago and which she had never worn, thinking it too
+"fancy," was for the old lady who had seen better days. The heavy shawl
+was for the oldest inmate, Grandma Perkins, who always suffered with
+the cold. The warm bed-stockings were neatly folded and left with a
+little word of love to Mary, who had rheumatism; and to Mrs. Childs,
+the beauty of the place, she left her lace fichu.
+
+There was ample room within the tiny trunk for her clothing. The plain
+black cashmere that had been turned and returned until it had nearly
+forgotten its original texture, but which was her Sunday best, the two
+black dresses for every-day wear, the two night-dresses of Canton
+flannel, the woolen underskirt and the lighter one for summer, the
+heavy stockings, the Sunday shoes, a life of John Calvin that a
+director had given her, her Bible--and the packing was completed.
+
+When Mrs. Smith came herself to tell her that Mr. Thornton had arrived,
+and in a motor car, she trembled so that she feared she would not be
+able to go down to meet him. But finally she put on the little bonnet
+that she had worn for many years, and her "mantle"--an antiquated wrap
+that had been given her by some kindly patron of former years--and went
+down the stairs. Mr. Thornton looked at the little old lady as she came
+into the room--this little, kindly-faced, white-haired old woman, who
+showed so plainly that life had sent her sorrow but not bitterness--and
+offered her his hand, saying:
+
+"I am glad you are ready, Miss Doane. We will have a nice ride to the
+city."
+
+Drusilla looked up at him like a pitiful child.
+
+"I--I--may I set down a minute--I--I'm rather trembly. I--I didn't
+sleep last night a-thinkin' of it all."
+
+She sat down and tried to still the trembling of her lips and keep the
+tears from her eyes. Then, after a few moments, she said:
+
+"Will you wait here or somewhere, Mr. Thornton? I want to say good-by.
+Mis' Smith thought I hadn't better see the ladies until I was ready to
+leave, as it might upset them."
+
+"I will wait in the car for you, Miss Doane. Don't hurry; take all the
+time you want."
+
+Drusilla went to the sunny veranda where she knew she would find the
+women in their accustomed places, and immediately she was the center of
+the curious old ladies, who welcomed any excitement that would relieve
+the monotony of their lives.
+
+"It's true, Drusilla--then it's true, you're-a-goin' to leave us! It's
+true what Mis' Graham heard Mis' Smith tell Mr. Smith last night."
+
+"What did she hear her say?"
+
+"She heard her say, 'What do you think, James! Drusilla Doane has been
+left a million dollars!'"
+
+"That's what the man told me," Drusilla said quietly; "and he's come to
+take me away. I come to say good-by."
+
+The women sat forward in their chairs and stopped their knitting or
+darning, so that they would not miss a word.
+
+"Well, I swan! A million dollars! A _million dollars_!"
+
+"Is it true, Drusilla? Do you think it can be so _much_?"
+
+"I don't know--that's what he said. He's waitin' for me and I must be
+goin'. Good-by, dear Harriet. Good-by, Caroline. Good-by, Mis' Graham;
+you always been good to me. Good-by, Mis' Fisher; I ain't never goin'
+to fer-get how good you was to me when I was sick. Good-by all,
+good-by. I'm comin' often to see you. Good-by."
+
+She looked slowly around on her friends, then walked down the veranda
+to the waiting motor. Just as she reached it old Barbara came shuffling
+up to her. "Oh, Drusilla," she mumbled, taking her hand, "I'm so glad
+for you, I'm so glad. I hope it is a million dollars."
+
+The loving touch was too much for tired Drusilla. The tears sprang to
+her eyes and she clasped Barbara's hands in both of her own.
+
+"Oh, Barbara," she said, "it gives me a hurt inside my heart to leave
+you all behind! Listen, Barbara! Whether it's a million dollars or only
+a hundred, you shall have new store teeth. Good-by!"
+
+To Drusilla's embarrassment both Mr. and Mrs. Smith were waiting for
+her beside the motor to say good-by, and were effusive in their
+farewells.
+
+"You will come to see us, won't you, Miss Doane, and you won't forget
+us"--and Drusilla was tucked into the luxurious motor, a footstool
+found for her feet, a soft rug wrapped around her and they drove away.
+
+She was quiet for the greater part of the journey, and Mr. Thornton
+left her to her own thoughts. Finally she sat more upright and began to
+take an interest in the fittings of the car. Mr. Thornton watched her.
+
+"Do you like the car?" he asked
+
+"It's beautiful. You know it's the first time I been in one."
+
+"Why, is it possible? I thought every one had been in a motor."
+
+"No, not every one, Mr. Thornton; I don't think that more'n two of the
+ladies in the home have been in one. This is fixed up real nice."
+
+"I am glad you like it," Mr. Thornton said. "It is yours."
+
+Drusilla sat back suddenly in her seat.
+
+"This--this--_mine_?"
+
+"Yes, this is yours, and you have two more at your home."
+
+Drusilla gasped.
+
+"Two more like this?"
+
+"No, not exactly the same. One is an open car and one is a small town
+car."
+
+"Why--why--what'll I do with three? I can't ride in 'em all at once."
+
+"No, but you will find that you can use them all."
+
+"Can I use them whenever I want to?"
+
+"Certainly; they are yours. All you have to do is to send word to one
+of the chauffeurs and they will be ready for you."
+
+"Send word to who?"
+
+"The chauffeur, the man who is driving."
+
+"Is he mine, too?"
+
+"Yes; you have two men."
+
+"What'll I do with two?"
+
+"One will be on duty a certain number of hours, and then the other
+takes his place."
+
+"Oh--" She was quiet for a time. "Can I take them anywhere I want to?"
+
+"Certainly. They are yours."
+
+"Then, I know what I'll do! I'll take the old ladies for a ride!
+Wouldn't Mis' Graham love it, and old Grandma Perkins--we could bundle
+her up; and Barbara might even ferget her teeth."
+
+Drusilla settled back among the cushions and mused upon the joy she
+could give with this new wonder machine that was hers to do with as she
+wished, and the frightened look died from her face and a happy smile
+seemed trying to crowd the wrinkles from the corners of her mouth. She
+said nothing more for a long time; then:
+
+"Are we goin' very fast, Mr. Thornton?"
+
+"No; not so very fast. Are you nervous? I will have the chauffeur drive
+slower. I forgot you were not used to it."
+
+Drusilla stopped him as he started to speak to the chauffeur.
+
+"No; I wasn't thinking of that. I ain't nervous, I was just wonderin'
+if he couldn't go a little faster."
+
+Mr. Thornton looked somewhat surprised, but he gave the order.
+
+Drusilla again sat back among the cushions, a slight flush on her face.
+Soon she leaned forward once more.
+
+"Mr. Thornton, couldn't he let her out jest a leetle more?"
+
+Thornton laughed.
+
+"We'll go as fast as you like; only I hope we won't be arrested."
+
+Drusilla sighed.
+
+"I'd be willin' to go to jail to pay fer feelin' like this. I always
+thought I'd have to wait till I got to Heaven before I'd git a chance
+to fly, but now they'll have to offer me something new."
+
+She said nothing more on the journey, but showed by the bright flush on
+her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes that she was enjoying every
+moment of the ride. At last they turned, passed a pair of big
+gate-posts and up a graveled driveway, and the car stopped before a
+door.
+
+When a man came from the house and opened the door of the car, Drusilla
+came to herself with a start.
+
+"Are we there already? I was kind of hopin' it'd never stop."
+
+Mr. Thornton gravely helped Drusilla to the door.
+
+"Welcome to your home, Miss Doane," he said. "I think we will find my
+daughter inside."
+
+They entered a large hall and Drusilla stood hesitatingly, not knowing
+what to do. In a moment a voice was heard from above:
+
+"Is that you, Father?" and a laughing face peered over the railing, and
+was followed by a slim young figure that seemed to fly down the stairs.
+"Oh, you were such a _long_ time, Father. Welcome home, Miss Doane! we
+are _so_ glad to have you. We have all been waiting such a long time.
+Father is always so slow;" and she flew in her pretty, impulsive way to
+Drusilla and took both her hands. "I am so glad to have you come, Miss
+Doane."
+
+Drusilla looked at the pretty face before her that seemed to show such
+real welcome, and her eyes filled with tears.
+
+"I'm real glad to come, but--but--I guess I'm a little bit scared."
+
+"No, you aren't going to be frightened at all. You come right up with
+me and take off your hat in your room. Oh, here is Mrs. Perrine. She is
+your housekeeper, Miss Doane. And that is James, the butler; and that
+is Mary; and Jeanne is waiting for you upstairs. Come with me."
+
+Drusilla followed as well as she could the flying feet up the broad
+stairs and was taken to a room that seemed to her a palace. It was all
+in soft shades of gray with a touch of blue here and there, and there
+were flowers everywhere. The chairs were upholstered in gray and blue
+chintz, and at the windows hung gray silk curtains with just a hint of
+the blue showing beneath them. Near the fireplace was a big couch with
+a soft gray silk quilt spread upon it, and pillows that invited one to
+rest. Drusilla stopped in delight.
+
+"Oh--oh--what a pretty room! What a pretty room!"
+
+Miss Thornton dimpled all over her pretty face.
+
+"Do you like it? Oh, please say you like it! I arranged these rooms
+myself. This was a bachelor house, and there wasn't a pretty room in
+the place. I made Father let me fix them for you. You do like them,
+don't you?"
+
+"I never saw nothin' like it before in my life."
+
+"You don't think it too gay, do you? Mother said I ought not have the
+blue, that they should all be done in a dark color. But I said I knew
+you would love pretty things, and you should have them. You don't think
+it too gay. You like the blue, don't you?"
+
+"I love it, I _love_ it! I never had nothin' gay colored in my life,
+and I love it."
+
+"I knew you would. Come into the bedroom. Isn't this gray furniture
+dear? Don't those long mirrors look lovely with the gray wood? And
+aren't the toilet things pretty? See the monogram--_D. D_. I thought a
+lot about it, and aren't they pretty on that dull silver? Look at this
+mirror--and isn't that the _cunningest_ pin-tray? And this is for your
+hatpins; and look at this pin-cushion. I had the loveliest time picking
+them out."
+
+Drusilla looked at the pretty things in amazement rather mixed with awe.
+
+"Why, what'll I do with all them things?"
+
+"Oh, you'll use them all. There isn't one too many, and perhaps I've
+forgotten some things. If I have, we will go and pick them out
+together. You will let me go with you, won't you, because I love to
+shop. Oh, I forgot--here is your bathroom, and beyond that is your
+maid's room. She is quite near, so if you feel ill in the night you can
+call her. But let me take off your hat. Shall I ring for Jeanne? No,"
+as she saw the frightened look come into the eyes, "perhaps you'd
+rather be with me just at first. How pretty your hair is, so soft and
+fluffy. You must blue it, it is so white. I wish my hair would fluff,
+but it won't curl except in wet weather. Now come into the other room
+and sit down in that soft chair. Isn't that an easy chair? I picked
+that out too. I chose everything in the room, and I'm so proud of it.
+See, here is the footstool that goes with it, and you sit by the big
+window here when you don't want to go downstairs, and this little table
+will hold your books or your sewing."
+
+Drusilla looked up at her.
+
+"You've been real kind, Miss Thornton; you've thought of everything."
+
+"But I loved it. I've been working ever since Father knew about you."
+
+"It is nice of you to be here. I was afraid a little to come, not
+knowin' what it was goin' to be like."
+
+"That's what I told Father. I said you didn't want to come into a big
+cold house with only a cold lawyer like him to say, 'Welcome home.' I
+made him let me come. I'm going to stay to dinner with you if you'll
+invite me. We'll send Father home. I don't live far from here--only
+about five minutes in the car--and Father can send back for me. Would
+you like me to stay?"
+
+Drusilla leaned forward eagerly.
+
+"Oh, do stay, Miss Thornton. I--I--well, I wouldn't know what to do by
+myself."
+
+"Well, you sit here by this fire and I'll go down and tell Father to go
+away. You don't want to hear any more business to-night and Father
+_always_ talks business. Just you take a little nap while I'm gone. Are
+you comfortable? There! I'll be back in five minutes."
+
+Drusilla sat down in the comfortable chair and watched the flames
+flickering in the grate; then her eyes passed lovingly around the room,
+resting on each beautiful picture, on the soft draperies, the
+easy-chairs and the flowers. She sat as one in a dream, until light
+steps were heard and Miss Thornton again entered the room.
+
+"Did you sleep?"
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"No, I didn't want to shut my eyes. I was afraid it might all go away
+and I'd be again in the bare little rooms I've always lived in. I don't
+think I'll ever sleep again--I might miss somethin'."
+
+"Isn't that lovely! Why, you'll always have lovely things all your
+life. And now I've told James that we're going to have dinner up here.
+The dining-room looks too big for us two."
+
+Miss Thornton busied herself around the room for a few moments; then
+drew a chair in front of the grate and sat down beside Drusilla while
+the butler and a maid brought in a small table. Drusilla watched them
+as they noiselessly arranged the china and the glass upon the beautiful
+cloth, and when all was prepared the butler said in his even, "servant"
+tones, "Dinner is served," and went behind the chair reserved for the
+mistress of the house. Drusilla hesitated a moment, in evident awe of
+the butler, who stood so erect and stiff in his evening clothes, but
+here again kindly Daphne Thornton came to her aid.
+
+"Now, you sit here, Miss Doane," and she took her to the chair which
+the butler deftly slid into place. "I will be just opposite you. Isn't
+this nicer than sitting at that great big table downstairs where we
+would need a telephone to talk to each other?"
+
+She chatted all through the dinner, showing in a kindly, unobtrusive
+way the uses of the different things that might be an embarrassment to
+the little old lady who was used to the simple service of a charity
+table. After dinner the coffee was served on a small table in front of
+the fire.
+
+While they were drinking it a maid entered the room.
+
+"The motor has come for Miss Thornton," she announced.
+
+Daphne rose.
+
+"Now, I am going to leave you. Get a good sleep. I will call Jeanne,
+who will take care of you. She is your personal maid, Miss Doane, so
+tell her anything you want."
+
+Answering the ring of the bell a pretty maid came into the room, and
+Miss Thornton said:
+
+"Jeanne, this is Miss Doane, your mistress. She is tired and will like
+to go to bed early, I am sure. See that she has a good warm bath, as it
+will help her sleep. And, Miss Doane, I bought a few things for you, as
+perhaps your luggage might not come in time. Jeanne will have them
+ready for you. Now, good night! I am so glad you have come, and I know
+you will be so happy. You will let me come often to see you, won't you?"
+
+She came over to the chair and bent her pretty young head over the old
+white one, and Drusilla reached up her arms and took the smiling face
+between her hands.
+
+"You'll never know, dear, what you've done for a lonely old woman. I
+don't know how to thank you."
+
+"Thank _me_--why, I should thank _you_. I have had _such_ a nice time,
+and I'm so glad that you like the rooms--Mother said you wouldn't.
+Would you like me to come in the morning and see how you are getting
+on?"
+
+"Oh, will you? I won't know what to do, you know."
+
+"Yes, I'll love to come and I'll be here early. Good night and happy
+dreams!" And she was gone.
+
+When she was alone Drusilla sat before the fire and tried to feel that
+it all was true, that it was not some beautiful dream from which she
+would waken. She went in retrospect over her past life from the time
+when, a little girl, her father dying, she and her mother were left
+with no support except the little earned by her mother, who was the
+village tailoress. Then when she became older the burden of the support
+for the two shifted to her shoulders, her mother seeming to have lost
+heart and with it the strength and the desire to make the grim fight
+with the wolf that always seemed so near the door. For years she
+struggled on, doing the country tailoring, nursing the sick, helping in
+families who were too poor to hire expert labor, missing all the joys
+that come to the average young girl, as all her leisure moments from
+work were given to an ailing mother who seemed to become more dependent
+upon her daughter each year for companionship and strength.
+
+Yet romance did not entirely pass her by, for when she was nineteen she
+loved and was loved in return by John Brierly. They were an ideal
+couple, the neighbors said. He, young, handsome, although a little too
+much of a dreamer to be a success; she, the prettiest girl in all the
+country side. John was restless, and with youth's ambition rebelled
+against the narrow restrictions of the little town. Hearing the call of
+the West, he decided to go to the country of his dreams and find the
+fortune that he knew was waiting him in that new land of mystery. He
+tried to persuade Drusilla to marry him and go with him; but her
+mother, with a sick woman's persistency, demanded that her daughter
+stay with her. They offered to take her with them, and painted in
+glowing colors the new life in that "far beyond"; but she wept in
+terror at the thought of leaving all she knew, and clung the more
+closely to Drusilla, begging her to stay with her until the end. "When
+I am gone, Drusilla, you may go; but let me die here among the things I
+know and love"; and Drusilla and John put off the journey from year to
+year, until at last John in desperation said, "Drusilla, I can wait no
+longer. I must go. I will wait for you, and some day you will come to
+me."
+
+The years rolled on. Drusilla heard from John from time to time, but
+after many years the letters stopped. Her mother lived long enough to
+see Drusilla becoming old and tired and worn, and then she, too, left
+her for the Great Unknown. Drusilla worked on, making the clothes for
+each rising generation, helping tired mothers, caring for the sick. But
+at last she had to give up the fight; she was too old. Quicker feet
+were wanted, younger hands, and Drusilla learned the bitter lesson that
+comes often to the old. They are stumbling-blocks in the pathway of the
+young. This knowledge broke her courage and her health, and her hard
+saved dollars were spent in doctor's bills. When strength came slowly
+back to her she was too weak to rebel against the order that she was to
+pass the remainder of her days at the Doane home. Even there she tried
+to keep her feeling of self-respect and independence by doing the work
+that was not given the other women, who "paid their way." The Director
+and his wife, busy, annoyed by a thousand petty details, were not
+consciously unkind, but they found it easy to shift a few of their
+burdens to the shoulders that always seemed able to carry a little
+heavier load; consequently the willing hands were always occupied, the
+wearied feet often made many steps on errands that should have been
+relegated to one of few years.
+
+Drusilla, sitting before the fire, saw all these bitter years pass like
+shadows before her half-closed eyes; she saw the years of toil without
+the reward that is woman's right--the love of children, husband, a home
+to call her own. And yet those years had left no scar upon her soul, no
+rancor against the world that had taken all and given nothing except
+the right to live.
+
+A log dropped into the fire and Drusilla awakened from her revery with
+a start. Her eyes felt heavy and she rose to go to the bedroom; then
+remembered that she was told to ring when she wished to go to bed. She
+rang the bell and the maid came into the room.
+
+"Madame desires to retire?"
+
+Drusilla looked at her inquiringly.
+
+"What did Miss Thornton say your name was?"
+
+"Jeanne, Madame."
+
+"Jeanne. That isn't Jane, is it?"
+
+"It may be French for Jane; I am French."
+
+"Well, then, I'll call you Jane. I can't remember the other. I think I
+would like to go to bed."
+
+"Then I will prepare the bath."
+
+Soon she returned to the room.
+
+"The bath is ready for Madame," she said; and Drusilla followed her
+into the bedroom.
+
+There the thoughtfulness of Miss Thornton was again shown. Over a chair
+hung a warm gray dressing-gown, with slippers to match, and neatly
+folded on the bed was a soft white nightdress, lace-trimmed, delicate,
+dainty, the mere touch of which gave delight to the sensitive fingers
+as they touched its folds.
+
+The bathroom, with its silver fittings, was a revelation to Drusilla;
+and as she stepped into the warm, slightly perfumed water, it seemed to
+speak to her more eloquently than all the rest of the seeming miracles
+that were now coming into her life.
+
+When Drusilla returned to the bedroom she found a shaded light on a
+table at the head of the bed, and beside the light were her Bible and
+the life of John Calvin.
+
+She stood a moment looking around the room, and then she knelt beside
+the bed.
+
+"O God," she whispered, "I hain't never had much to thank you for
+except for strength to work, but now--dear God, I thank you!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The next morning Drusilla found herself unconsciously waiting for the
+rising bell that called the inmates of the Doane home from their
+slumbers, and when she opened her eyes she could not realize for a
+moment where she was. Instead of the plain white walls of her room, she
+saw the soft gray tints of silk and the sheen of silver, and her hands
+touched a silken-covered eiderdown quilt. She closed her eyes in sheer
+happiness, and then opened them again to be sure that it was not all a
+mirage. At last, not being used to lying in bed, she arose and, putting
+on the dressing-gown, went to one of the windows and raised the shade
+to look out. She stopped with her hand still on the shade, looking in
+wonder at the beauty just outside her window. A great copper beach was
+flaunting its gorgeous colors in the clear morning air; beyond it a
+clump of blue spruce seemed a background for the riotous autumn tints.
+At one side of the house was an Italian garden, with terrace after
+terrace falling toward the river. Across the river, the Palisades rose
+sheer and steep, their reddish-brown rocks covered with the glow of the
+morning sun.
+
+Drusilla did not know it, but she was looking at one of the most
+beautiful of the many beautiful places along the Hudson, a place on
+which hundreds of thousands of dollars had been spent with a lavish
+hand. Drusilla drew up a chair and sat by the window, watching the
+changing shades as the sun became brighter. Then she became interested
+in the life of the place as it gradually awoke to its morning's work.
+First a gardener crossed the lawn and began working around the plants;
+then another came with a rake and commenced raking up the dying leaves;
+another man wandered down toward the river. A man, evidently a house
+servant, came across the lawn and, seeing her at the window, went
+hastily into the house. Soon there was a light knock at the door, and
+in answer to her "come in," Jeanne, the maid, entered.
+
+"Oh, Madame," she said, "why did, you not ring? I did not know you were
+up."
+
+She bustled about the room, raising shades, and then rang for a man to
+come and make the fire in the grate. The house seemed warm to Drusilla.
+
+"Do I need a fire?" she asked. "It's warm in here."
+
+"Just a little fire, Madame," said Jeanne; "it makes the room more
+cheerful."
+
+Drusilla laughed. It seemed to her that nothing could make that
+exquisite room more cheerful.
+
+The maid went to the bedroom and soon returned to announce: "The bath
+is ready for Madame."
+
+Drusilla wondered why she was expected to take another bath, as she had
+had one the night before. But evidently it was expected of her, and she
+went into the bathroom and again reveled in the warm, perfumed water.
+When she returned to the bedroom her clothing of the night before was
+arranged ready for her to put on, and as she dressed she felt for the
+first time the coarseness of the linen and the ugliness of the plain
+black dress.
+
+"Would Madame like her breakfast here," the maid asked, "or will she go
+to the breakfast room?"
+
+Drusilla hesitated, as she did not know what to do.
+
+"I think Madame would like to go to the breakfast room," the clever
+little French woman said hastily; "it is very pretty there, with the
+flowers and the birds. I will show Madame the way."
+
+Going before her she guided Drusilla down the great staircase and
+across a room that was evidently the dining-room, into what Drusilla
+would have called a sun-parlor. It was a corner of the veranda enclosed
+in glass and filled with flowers and plants of every description, with
+birds singing among them in their gilded cages, and from it the Hudson
+could be seen, flowing silently to the sea. In the center of the room
+was a round table covered with a cloth which quickly caught her eye and
+charmed it with its dainty embroidery and lace, used as she had been to
+the coarse linen of the home. A man drew out her chair and she was
+seated, a footstool found for her feet, and breakfast was served.
+Drusilla felt that she could never forget that breakfast. The
+grapefruit, the coffee in its silver pot, the crisp bacon, the omelet,
+all served on beautiful dishes; and, to complete her joy, a great
+Persian cat came lazily to her and rubbed against her, begging for a
+share in the good things of the table. She stooped down and stroked its
+soft fur.
+
+"I am afraid that Nicodemus is very spoiled," the man said. "His master
+always gave him a dish of cream at the table."
+
+Drusilla laughed. It seemed the first human thing she had heard.
+
+"Well, then, I'll spoil him too. What do you give it to him in?"
+
+The man pointed to a silver bowl.
+
+"That is his dish. Shall I give it to him?"
+
+"No; let me," said Drusilla. "I want to do something for some one. Let
+me give him his cream."
+
+After that she did not feel so frightened and awed by the presence of
+the man who waited upon her so deftly, and when he left she rose and
+wandered around the room, looking at the flowers, wondering what were
+the names of the many plants that were strange to her. Then she went
+across the dining-room and up the stairs to her own rooms, where she
+felt more at ease. She found them already arranged, and wondered at the
+quickness and silence with which the work was done.
+
+She did not know what to do, so she sat down again by the window to
+wait for Daphne. While she was sitting there, the housekeeper came into
+the room.
+
+"Good morning, Miss Doane," she said pleasantly. "I hope you slept
+well."
+
+"Yes; thank you," replied Drusilla.
+
+"Would you like to go over the house this morning?"
+
+Again Drusilla was embarrassed, as she did not know what would be
+expected of her if she went over the house. "Why--why--" she said, "I
+think, if you don't mind, I will wait until Miss Thornton comes."
+
+"Very well. I will be ready at any time."
+
+When the housekeeper left the room, Drusilla sat quietly in her place
+by the sunny window until at last she saw a motor turn into the
+grounds, and soon Daphne appeared. Drusilla's face lighted up when she
+saw the pretty girl standing before her. She seemed a part of the
+morning itself, with her sparkling eyes, her dainty coloring
+accentuated by her pretty suit of blue and her jaunty hat.
+
+"Oh, you look like one of the flowers!" Drusilla exclaimed, reaching
+out her hands to her.
+
+"How nice of you to say that! I've come early; did you wait long for
+me?"
+
+"Yes; I have been settin' here just seeing the beauty of it all. I
+can't believe it's real."
+
+"Oh, but it is. And isn't it beautiful! I always loved the place. Did
+you sleep well? Were you tired out? Are you rested?"
+
+"I didn't sleep at first--I couldn't. But I'm not tired; I'm just sort
+of excited--and--and--oh, I don't know what to say about it all."
+
+"Well, if you are not tired, would you like to go over the house? It's
+a lovely house. I know Mrs. Perrine wants to show it to you and let you
+see what a wonderful housekeeper she is."
+
+"Yes; she asked me to go with her, but I wanted to wait until you
+come--as--as I might not know what to say."
+
+"Well, we'll go together; and don't you worry about saying anything if
+you don't want to. I talk enough for both of us. That's my trouble,
+Father says--I talk too much. Come--Mrs. Perrine is downstairs."
+
+They went from room to room, from drawingroom to library, to the
+picture gallery in which, had Drusilla known it, were some of the
+famous pictures of the world, and on to the great armor room, in which
+the former master of the house had searched the countries of the old
+world for the armor and accouterments of chivalry which were arranged
+around the walls. Then she was shown that which interested her more
+than the pictures or the armor--the pantries and the room in which were
+kept the china and silver in daily use; and the kitchen, with its array
+of cooking utensils, brought a look of delight into her old eyes,
+because these she could understand.
+
+Finally she was taken upstairs again and shown the guest rooms, each
+with its dressing-room and bath, and then opposite to her own suite of
+rooms she was taken into a small library paneled in soft toned woods.
+Daphne pulled out a leather chair for Drusilla.
+
+"Now sit in that and tell me what you think of it all. Isn't this a
+pretty room? I like it best of all except your sitting-room, and isn't
+that a wonderful fireplace? It was brought from somewhere abroad. It is
+cozy here at night when the curtains are drawn. I think this room looks
+human; those big rooms downstairs don't. I could never curl up in a
+chair and read in that great library downstairs, but here you can
+really find a novel and read in comfort. I know you'll spend lots of
+time in this room."
+
+Drusilla was quiet, sitting with folded hands. Then, after a few
+moments, she said:
+
+"I was just a-thinkin' that all this great house can't be for just one
+old woman. And all them dishes and the kitchen with them pots and pans
+and the cook can't be there just to cook for me alone?"
+
+"Oh, but he is, and he's a wonderful cook. Mr. Doane has had him for
+years and years. And James, the butler, came with him from England. He
+was in the house of a duke over there, and I assure you, Miss Doane, he
+doesn't forget it."
+
+"Is that the man who stands around as if he was afraid he'd hurt
+something if he teched it? I ain't seen him do much; another man gave
+me my breakfast."
+
+"Yes, I presume William, the second man, gave you your breakfast. James
+is too grand to serve breakfast."
+
+"Do I need so many men around?"
+
+"No, I really don't suppose you do, Miss Doane; but Mr. Doane kept a
+big household and he left in his will that the house should be kept up
+exactly the same as when he was here. But don't you worry about that.
+That is father's business. You don't have to bother a bit about it. All
+you have to do is to enjoy yourself. Now, what would you like to do? Is
+there anything you want?"
+
+Drusilla looked at her a moment and then said, half laughingly, half
+apologetically:
+
+"I'd like--I'd like--"
+
+She stopped, and Daphne came over to her.
+
+"What would you like, Miss Doane? I'm here to do anything you wish."
+
+"You won't think I'm a vain old woman if I tell you?"
+
+"Why, certainly not. Tell me."
+
+"Well--well--I was thinkin' this mornin' when I dressed that I didn't
+seem to fit in with the house. When I saw my pretty gray room, all so
+light and--and--beautiful--and when I saw myself in the lookin'-glass
+with my old black dress, I thought--I wished--"
+
+"Yes, Miss Doane; what did you wish?"
+
+Drusilla flushed as if ashamed of her wishes that seemed to her
+scarcely befitting a woman of her age.
+
+"I just wished I had pretty clothes to go with the room."
+
+Daphne clapped her hands.
+
+"Now, isn't that lovely! Of course you should have pretty clothes, and
+you shall! We will go shopping! Father said to do anything you wanted
+to do. Now, what would you like?"
+
+"I don't know, but I'd--I'd just like pretty clothes."
+
+Daphne jumped up and danced around the room.
+
+"I'll tell you what we'll do," she said gaily. "We'll go to town and
+shop and shop and shop. I'd love it, and we'll send all the bills to
+Father. He can't frown or scold as he does when _I_ send him bills;
+he'll have to pay yours without a word. Oh, we'll go right away!"
+
+"I'd love to go, Miss Thornton. I never really shopped in my life. I
+jest bought things I had to have, things I couldn't go without no
+longer." Drusilla rose, as pleased with the idea as was the young girl
+beside her. "Can we go right away?"
+
+"Yes; but wait, you must eat something."
+
+"But I jest had my breakfast."
+
+"Yes; but you must have something now, or you'll get tired. I'll have
+them bring you some chicken broth or something, and I'll have some too.
+I can always eat."
+
+She danced over to the bell, and when Jeanne answered it she said:
+
+"Tell James to bring some chicken broth and some sandwiches; and have
+the small car at the door in half an hour. And please tell my chauffeur
+to return home and tell Mother that I will not be home for lunch."
+
+When Jeanne was gone she danced back to Drusilla.
+
+"We'll make a day of it, Miss Doane, and we'll have the _loveliest
+time!_"
+
+The lunch was served and then the ugly bonnet was tied on, the mantle
+wrapped around the thin shoulders, and Drusilla and Daphne started for
+that joy land of women--Fifth Avenue.
+
+"We'll go first and get some things that are already made," Daphne said.
+
+She took Drusilla to one of the exclusive shops on Fifth Avenue. If
+Daphne had not been known, slight courtesy would have been shown the
+shabbily dressed old woman, but a few words from Daphne and the
+salesladies were all smiles and bows, eager to show their best. At
+first they showed her black dresses; but at Drusilla's little look of
+distress, quick Daphne saw there was something wrong.
+
+"Don't you like them, Miss Doane?"
+
+"Yes--yes--they're beautiful, Miss Thornton, but--do I _have_ to wear
+black? I've worn it all my life because it wears well. I'd like--I'd
+like--"
+
+"Tell me what you would like."
+
+"I'd like a soft gray dress like my room, if I ain't too old.
+But--but--perhaps it wouldn't be fittin'."
+
+"That's just the thing! Why didn't I think of that! Gray will be just
+the color for you; and with a touch of blue, and your white hair--Oh,
+you'll be lovely, Miss Doane."
+
+Again the willing salesladies were given their instructions, and gray
+dresses and gray suits were placed before her. Drusilla passed over the
+suits with hardly a look, but fingered lovingly the soft crepes and
+chiffons.
+
+"I don't like the heavy things," she said. "They look as if they'd turn
+well, and I don't want nothin' that can be turned. I'd like something
+that'll wear out."
+
+Daphne laughed.
+
+"You're just like me. I hate things that wear forever. Father says
+that's the cause of the high cost of living--we women don't buy
+sensible clothes."
+
+Drusilla looked pained.
+
+"Perhaps I shouldn't look at them then--"
+
+Daphne interrupted her.
+
+"You just buy what you want. Don't you worry about what Father thinks.
+I don't."
+
+"But I--I--don't want to be extravagant."
+
+"You _can't_ be extravagant. You _can't_ spend too much. Now, don't you
+think about it--and don't you ask how much they cost. You don't need to
+know. Just you buy the prettiest things they've got."
+
+Finally a choice was made of two pretty soft gray dresses, fragile
+enough to suit even Daphne's luxurious tastes; arrangements were made
+in regard to their hurried alterations; and, after buying a wrap to
+replace the now discarded mantle, they departed, Drusilla as happy as a
+child, with a flush on her old cheeks and a strange happy light in her
+blue eyes.
+
+"Now we must have things to go with them."
+
+They went into a lingerie shop, where Drusilla was dazed by the piles
+of dainty underclothing that were spread before her. She caressed the
+soft laces and the delicate, cobweb affairs.
+
+"Oh, Miss Thornton, I can't decide. I didn't know there was such
+beautiful things in the world! Had I ought to have 'em? Ain't they too
+young for me?"
+
+"There is no age for underclothing. Don't you want them? Isn't that the
+loveliest nightgown? Don't you want it?"
+
+"Yes, I'd like to have it, but--" Drusilla thought of her two Canton
+flannel nightdresses lying in her little trunk.
+
+"Well, you shall have them. And this fluffy gray dressing-gown--it is a
+dear. We will take that too; and this pretty bed-jacket. Look at the
+embroidery on it. You must have that, so if you have breakfast in
+bed--and _look_ at this dear lace cap. When you sit up in bed, with the
+tray in front of you, and this little jacket on, and the cap, with a
+little of your hair showing beneath it, why, you'll look nice enough to
+_eat_. Now we'll go and buy stockings, pretty gray silk ones, and
+shoes, and slippers; and we mustn't forget about the milliner. I know
+the _loveliest_ place; Madame will know just what to give you."
+
+Drusilla enjoyed the milliner's the most of all; for there she tried on
+hat after hat--not ugly bonnets but cleverly arranged creations for an
+old lady that seemed to remove the lines from her face and made her
+feel that perhaps, after all, she could take a part and share in the
+beautiful things of this new beautiful world, instead of a mere looker
+on.
+
+At last they were taken to one of the great modistes, a creator of
+gowns known on two continents, and Daphne had Miss Doane wait in a
+reception-room while she interviewed the great lady herself. This
+arbitrator of fashion came smilingly to Miss Doane and with her keen,
+professional eye saw her "possibilities." She said to Miss Thornton:
+
+"Will you leave it to me? I will make her the gowns and she will be
+pleased."
+
+Measurements were taken and orders given; and when they were again in
+the motor, Drusilla asked shyly:
+
+"What was that last place, Miss Thornton?"
+
+"That is Marcelle, the great dressmaker's place. That was Marcelle
+herself who came to us."
+
+"Was that a dressmaking shop? I didn't see no dresses or fashion books."
+
+"No, she doesn't use fashion books. She makes her own fashions."
+
+"But--but--we jest got two new dresses."
+
+Miss Thornton laughed.
+
+"Oh, those are because we were in a hurry. Your dresses must be _made_.
+I told her she must hurry, too; and her things are beautiful, Miss
+Doane. You'll love yourself in them."
+
+Drusilla laughed softly.
+
+"I'm afraid I love myself already. It seems awful vain for an old woman
+like me to be buying all them pretty clothes--but--" and she sighed
+like a happy child--"it's nice to be vain for once in your life. It's
+just _nice_."
+
+"Of course it is. All women love pretty clothes."
+
+"Yes; it must be something born inside of us, 'cause I don't know as
+I've ever had such a feelin' even when readin' the Bible as I did when
+I tried on them hats, and bought them dresses, and knowed they was
+_mine_." She was quiet for a moment. "I wonder if Eve ever had the
+chance to be extravagant in fig leaves?"
+
+"Well, we've bought them, and Father's hair will certainly turn gray,
+but he can't say a word. Now we'll go to lunch. It's late; you must be
+hungry. I'm glad we found a coat that fitted you--that velvet is so
+soft and pretty. And your hat--why, Miss Doane, you won't know
+yourself!"
+
+"Is it pretty? It ought to be. It's got ten dollars of hat and thirty
+dollars of style; but I don't care. I'm so happy that I'm afraid I'll
+cry and spoil it all."
+
+But she did not cry and she enjoyed the luncheon at the big hotel, and
+as she ate she stole shy glances in the mirror opposite that reflected
+a transformed Drusilla from the frightened little woman who had gone
+tremblingly down the steps of the Doane home the day before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+The next few days passed in a whirl of excitement for Drusilla. Dresses
+were bought for her to fit, and she went into town with Daphne on
+visits to the great dressmaker, who turned and studied Drusilla as gown
+after gown was fitted to her slim, yet still erect old figure. But
+finally they were all finished and great boxes came to the house. They
+were opened by Jeanne and their treasures spread upon the chairs and
+the bed to be admired and fingered lovingly by Drusilla, who took as
+much joy in her new clothes as any girl with her first trousseau.
+Except for the Bible and the life of John Calvin the contents of the
+little trunk were lost, so far as Drusilla was concerned. She became
+another being, as, clothed in soft-toned grays, her hair dressed by the
+hand of expert Jeanne, she gradually lost her feeling of loneliness, of
+being a person apart from her new life, and began to move with
+confidence amongst the treasured beauties of her new home.
+
+The pretty gowns gave her a feeling of respect for herself that she had
+never experienced before, and for the first time in her life she felt
+within herself a _power_. Her opinions were deferred to, her wishes
+carried out immediately, and it seemed to her that all the world was
+trying to give her happiness. It took her many days to feel that she
+might ask for service instead of waiting upon herself; but she soon
+learned that the many servants were there for her especial use, and
+expected to be called upon to render any service that she required.
+
+At first she was embarrassed when the housekeeper came to her in the
+mornings for orders for the day, and she confided to Daphne that she
+didn't know what to tell her. Daphne interviewed the housekeeper
+privately and then said to Drusilla, "I have seen Mrs. Perrine and told
+her that she doesn't need to come to you in the morning, as she
+understands what is to be done. If there is anything special, you will
+tell her, but you are not to be bothered with the details of the house
+now. After a while, perhaps, you will care to attend to some of the
+things, and tell her what you would like; but don't let it worry you
+until you get used to it all. I told the chef, too, that he need not
+send up the menu for the day, as he did to Mr. Doane."
+
+Miss Thornton could not know how thankful Drusilla was for this last
+order, as the consideration of the menu had been a great embarrassment
+to her. It was written in French--a language quite unknown to
+Drusilla--and although she could not read the names of the marvelous
+creations of the cook, the food delighted her and the quiet, skilful
+service was always a wonder. The mechanism of the great household
+seemed to move with almost a machine's precision, and she felt that she
+was in a world that revolved to the order of unseen hands.
+
+She had been in her new home but a few days when a card was brought
+her, and she read on it: _Thomas Carney, The New York Times_. She went
+to the library, wondering what some strange man could want with her.
+She found a very quick, alert young man, with twinkling blue eyes, who
+rose to greet her. She gave him her hand and asked him to be seated. He
+sat down, and then question after question was asked Drusilla. What
+relation she was to Elias Doane? Had she ever known him? How she had
+passed her life; the details of the life in the Doane home; how many
+years she had been there? Her impressions of her new home; what she
+intended doing with her million dollars; if she had any relatives to
+whom she would leave her money? Was she interested in charities? Did
+she believe in promiscuous giving, or would she help personally the
+objects of her charity?
+
+Poor Drusilla heard the flood of questions in amazement, and answered
+them quite frankly; and the keen young newspaper man read much between
+the answers that showed the loneliness of her life, her bewilderment in
+her new surroundings, and he congratulated himself that he would have
+an article for his Sunday paper that not only would be filled with
+facts but also would have "heart interest."
+
+When he rose to go he asked her if she had a photograph of herself.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"No, I ain't never had my pictur' took since I was a young girl and had
+it on a tintype."
+
+Nothing daunted, the young man asked for it; but she had to tell him
+that she had lost it years ago; and then he asked if he might take her
+photograph as she sat there in her high-backed chair. Drusilla was a
+little awed by this very confident young man, so she sat still while he
+took her photograph, and then when he was ready to depart, she
+hesitatingly said:
+
+"Young man, you have asked me a lot of questions. May I ask you one?"
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Certainly! As many as you want."
+
+"Well, why have you asked me so many things?"
+
+"I represent the New York _Times_, a newspaper, and we want to tell the
+people all about you."
+
+"About _me_? Why should they want to know about _me_?"
+
+The man laughed again, pleasantly, and said:
+
+"You know we like to know about our neighbors, and you are the newest
+neighbor."
+
+"But are you going to write all I said?"
+
+"Well, nearly all; but, Miss Doane, if there is anything you don't want
+written, I'll cut it."
+
+Drusilla was embarrassed.
+
+"Have I said anything that I shouldn't? If I had known you was from a
+paper, I'd 'a' waited until Mr. Thornton come."
+
+"I'm jolly glad you didn't. Little copy could have been squeezed from
+that old lawyer. But don't you worry, Miss Doane. There won't be
+anything that will hurt you. It's kind of you to see me. I have been
+trying for several days to get in, but couldn't get past that butler of
+yours. He sure is a wonder."
+
+"Did the butler stop you?"
+
+"Well, yes; he stood at the door like an armored cruiser. I wouldn't
+have made it to-day if I hadn't waited until I saw him go out. I knew
+the second man was at his home and only a maid in charge of you."
+
+Drusilla was unhappy.
+
+"Perhaps I shouldn't have seen you. It must have been Mr. Thornton's
+orders, and he knows what is best for me."
+
+She crossed over to the young man and looked rather pitifully up into
+his face.
+
+"You look like a nice young man," she said; "I like your eyes. You
+won't say nothing that'll make Mr. Thornton unhappy?"
+
+The reporter took the half-outstretched hand and smiled down into the
+kindly, wrinkled face. When he spoke there was almost a touch of
+tenderness in his voice.
+
+"I don't care about making Mr. Thornton unhappy, Miss Doane, but I
+wouldn't do anything to make _you_ unhappy for the world; and if you
+ever want anything of the papers, here is my card. Just you send for me
+and I'll do anything for you that I can."
+
+And so ended Drusilla's first interview.
+
+To her amazement the next Sunday there was spread before her the paper
+with great headlines: MISS DRUSILLA DOANE, OUR NEWEST MILLIONAIRE.
+There was the picture of the Doane home for old ladies; there were
+pictures of the home at Brookvale taken from many angles, pictures of
+the garden, the conservatories; and in the middle of the page there was
+Drusilla herself, sitting in the high-backed chair. The article was
+well written, filled with "heart interest." It told of her early
+struggles, her years of work, and her later life in the charity home.
+Evidently the young man had visited the village where she had lived and
+talked with all who knew her; and Mrs. Smith's hand could plainly be
+seen in the account of the life of the inmates of the institution over
+which she had charge. Even poor old Barbara had been called upon to
+tell about Drusilla, the many little acts of kindness which she had
+done for the poor and lonely. As Drusilla read it she laughed and said,
+"Well, I guess Barbara had her teeth in that day." The article ended
+with the account of the million dollar bequest, and suggested that
+quite likely the charities of New York would benefit by the newest
+acquisition to the ranks of its millionaires, as Miss Doane was alone
+in the world, and had no one on whom to lavish her enormous income or
+to leave the money when she was called to the other world.
+
+Drusilla did not know it, but this last addition of the facile
+reporter's pen set many heads of institutions to thinking, and caused
+many a person to wonder how they could gain the affections or the pity
+of this old lady, and separate her from at least a part of her
+new-found inheritance.
+
+Drusilla passed many hours among the flowers in the conservatories,
+where she won the heart of the gardener by the keen interest she took
+in his work. He would walk around with her and tell her the names of
+the plants strange to her, pointing out their beauties and their
+peculiarities. He soon saw that the orchids and the rare blooms from
+foreign lands did not appeal to her as did the old-fashioned flowers
+she knew, and they made a little bargain that in the spring she should
+have some beds of mignonette, phlox, verbenas, and moss rose. One
+morning she watched him giving directions to one of the under-gardeners
+for the potting of small plants for the spring.
+
+"Mr. Donald," she said, "I wish I could plant somethin'. It's been
+years since I dug around in the earth, and I want to plant somethin'
+and see it grow."
+
+"That's easy, ma'am," said Scotch Mr. Donald. "I'll fix a part of the
+house here and you can plant what you want in it"; and after that many
+mornings found Drusilla pottering happily around the conservatory with
+a trowel, planting seeds or "slipping" plants as she called it. It gave
+her something to do, and that was the one thing she needed. She missed
+the active life, the "doing something." Everything was done for
+her--she had no duties. She, who had passed her life in service for
+others, here had only to mention a wish and it was immediately carried
+out. She was not allowed even to look after her clothing. As soon as an
+article was removed it was whisked out of the room and when returned
+was brushed, mended, and ready for use again.
+
+One afternoon Drusilla sat down by the window to mend a tear on the
+bottom of her skirt. Jeanne, coming into the room, quickly took the
+garment from her.
+
+"Madame, she must not do that. _Quelle horreur!_ I will attend to it at
+once."
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"Can't I even patch my dress?" she said. "Jane, where are my stockin's?
+I am sure there must be some darnin'."
+
+Jeanne looked at her reproachfully.
+
+"Madame does not wear darned stockings."
+
+"Stuff and nonsense!" said Drusilla. "Why shouldn't I wear darned
+stockin's?"
+
+"Yes, but it would not be _au fait_ for Madame to wear darned
+stockings."
+
+Drusilla became a little angry.
+
+"How foolish you are, Jane! I've wore darned stockin's all my life. A
+few darns don't hurt one way or another. What becomes of my stockin's?
+I saw a hole in one the other day."
+
+Jeanne looked a little embarrassed.
+
+"Why--why--when they become not _convenable_ for Madame, I--I take
+them."
+
+"Oh," said shrewd Drusilla, looking at Jeanne over her glasses. "And I
+presume you are the judge of when they become '_convenable_'--whatever
+that means. But you'd better let me tell you when I think they're ready
+to be passed on."
+
+Drusilla sat back in the chair with folded hands for a few moments;
+then she looked down at them as they lay idly in her lap.
+
+"I don't see what I'm goin' to do with my hands. I've always had a
+work-basket by my side whenever I set down, and now you just expect me
+to set. Well, I'm tired of it; I want to _do_ something."
+
+A few of the neighbors, headed by Mrs. Thornton, the typical New York
+woman devoted to "society," made calls upon Drusilla; and when the
+first caller's card was brought to Drusilla, she went into the
+drawing-room and greeted the stylishly dressed lady who rose to meet
+her, wondering why she had come. The lady sat down and talked to
+Drusilla about the weather, asked how she liked Brookvale, spoke of the
+opera season and of a new singer, asked her if she cared for
+symphonies, which Drusilla thought at first was something to eat,
+mentioned a ball that was being given at Sherry's that night for
+charity; and then departed, leaving Drusilla still wondering why she
+came. Evidently she told her friends of her visit, as many came, some
+from curiosity and others from real kindliness and desire to be
+friendly with their newest neighbor.
+
+One day Daphne saw the cards.
+
+"Oh," she said, "has Mrs. Druer called, and Mrs. Cairns, and Mrs.
+Freeman. I am so glad. You must return the call."
+
+"Is that a call? What did they come for? I been wondering about it ever
+since they come."
+
+"They are your neighbors."
+
+"Oh, is that the way they are neighborly in the city? Set down and talk
+about nothing for ten minutes and then go home. Well, I don't see as
+it's very fillin'."
+
+"They want to get acquainted."
+
+"Well, why don't they stay a while and git acquainted? We jest git
+started to talkin' when they go away. Where I lived when a neighbor
+come to see you, they brought their sewin' and spent the afternoon. You
+can't git acquainted settin' opposite each other and wonderin' what to
+say. Why, they all look when they git ready to go, 'Well, I've done my
+duty; thank goodness it's over!'"
+
+Daphne laughed.
+
+"You must go and return the calls."
+
+"You mean that I must go to their houses and do what they done--set ten
+minutes and ask them about the weather and the opera and symphonies? I
+don't know nothin' about them things at all."
+
+"You needn't ask them about the opera, but you must return their calls."
+
+Drusilla shook her head.
+
+"No, I won't do it."
+
+"Oh, but you must."
+
+"But I won't, Miss Thornton," said Drusilla obstinately. "I don't know
+what to say."
+
+"I'll go with you, Miss Doane."
+
+"Well--" and Drusilla was a little pacified--"well, I'll go once and
+see what it's like. I'll do anything once, but I won't promise to do it
+much."
+
+"Never mind; you must return the first calls. I'll come for you
+to-morrow and we'll go. You have cards--I had them made for you; and
+I'll bring my new cardcase. No, I'll get you the dearest bag I saw
+downtown. Gray suede with a cardcase and mirror in it, and a pencil and
+everything you need."
+
+"What do I want a mirror in my hand satchel for?"
+
+"Why to powder your nose if it gets shiny, Miss Doane. You're not up to
+date. You must have a vanity box in your bag or you won't be in it at
+all now."
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"You ain't forgot how vain I was that first day when I peeked in all
+the mirrors at the hotel. But now I can pass one without lookin' in, if
+I ain't got a new dress on."
+
+"Speaking of dresses, Miss Doane, put on that dark gray velvet that
+Marcelle made you and the hat with the mauve. Oh, I wish it were cold,
+so you could wear your new furs. But--well--they'll see them all after
+a while. We mustn't astonish them _too_ much at first."
+
+"Do I have to fix up so much?"
+
+"But I want them to see how pretty you are."
+
+Drusilla blushed like a girl.
+
+"Pshaw, Miss Thornton, don't you know I'm past seventy years old? You
+shouldn't say such things."
+
+"Oh, but I mean it. Margaret Fairchild, who was here with her mother,
+told the girls the other night at the dance that she couldn't keep her
+eyes off of you, as you sat with the light on your hair, and your
+pretty dress that was so half old-fashioned and half the latest style.
+She said you looked as if you had just stepped out of a picture."
+
+"It's my clothes, I guess."
+
+"Yes, it's partly the clothes, and that's where Marcelle is clever. She
+makes the clothes suit _you_, and doesn't try to make a fashionable
+middle-aged woman out of you. She spoke of your hands too, said they
+looked so--so--sort of feminine as they lay on the arms of the chair.
+You are clever, Miss Doane, to always sit on one of those high-backed
+chairs when callers come; it makes a lovely background."
+
+"Does it? I hadn't thought of that. I generally set in the chair that's
+nearest the door; and I like one with arms that I can take hold of,
+'cause it makes me nervous to have the women stare at me, and sometimes
+when there is such a long time between talks, I hold on to the arm
+tight so's I won't show I'm nervous and wonderin' what to say to fill
+in. But I didn't think any one noticed my hands." She looked down at
+them rather sadly. "They've always worked hard and I guess they show
+the marks."
+
+"Oh, your hands are beautiful, Miss Doane. I can't ever believe you
+have worked with them."
+
+"Can't you? I never had my hands idle in my lap in all my life till I
+come here. But--well, they ought to have something happen to 'em the
+way Jane works with 'em. Whenever I let her she's fussin' with my hands
+with little sticks and knives, until sometimes I'd like to box her
+ears. How any one can spend so much time just settin' still and lettin'
+some one fuss with their hands, I don't see. But I let her do it, as I
+don't have much else to do here but just set still, and she'd better
+fool with my hands than spend her time talkin' with William, which she
+does enough as it is."
+
+"Oh, is Jeanne flirting?"
+
+"Now, I shouldn't say anything. But I can't help seein' things, even if
+they do think I'm an old woman with my eyes half shut."
+
+"I'll speak to Father about it."
+
+"No, you won't, Miss Thornton. Leave her alone. It ain't much company
+for a young girl like her just to wait on an old woman like me; and
+William seems a nice young man. I like him, Miss Thornton, but I jest
+can't bear the sight of James."
+
+Daphne turned quickly.
+
+"Has James been impertinent to you?"
+
+Drusilla shook her head.
+
+"No, not at all. I wish he would be impudent or _anything_ except jest
+stand around and look grand. He don't approve of me, Miss
+Thornton--even his back when he leaves the dining-room says he don't
+approve of me. I never seen a back that can say so much as his'n."
+
+"Well, if you don't like him I will speak to Father and he will get
+another butler."
+
+"No, don't do that. He don't do nothin' to lose his place for; and I'd
+hate to have to git used to another back. He never says a word, but he
+jest _looks_; but perhaps he'll git over it, or I'll git used to it, or
+maybe when I git more used to things I'll talk to him and ask him if he
+can't be a little more human, instead of lookin' like the chief mourner
+at a funeral. It sometimes makes me feel that I'm dead and he's takin'
+the last look."
+
+Daphne laughed.
+
+"Oh, that's his way. He's English, you know, and English servants are
+trained to look like mummies."
+
+"Well, he certainly had good trainin'. What time do we go callin'
+to-morrow? I want to git it over."
+
+"I'll come for you at four, and I'll tell them to have the small car
+ready. Good-by. I'm going to a great big tea where I am to pour. I love
+to give tea, although I always give the wrong person lemon."
+
+The next day Jeanne, being told that Drusilla was going to call upon
+the ladies of the neighborhood, took extra care in dressing her; and
+when Daphne came, Drusilla was a very richly, exquisitely dressed old
+lady waiting for her car. The bag delighted Drusilla and she examined
+the fittings, and looked at the little vanity case with its tiny powder
+puff and mirror. Daphne laughed as she saw her peep into the mirror.
+
+"Oh, Miss Doane, you're just like us all. We can't pass a mirror
+without a peep."
+
+Drusilla said: "I wonder if we ever git too old not to want to see
+ourselves. As long as I can have hats like this one, I won't. Ain't it
+funny what clothes can do for you. Now with my velvet dress I ain't a
+bit afraid to go in that big house, in the front door and set down in
+the parlor, while if I had on my old black dress, I'd feel that I
+belonged in the kitchen. Yet it's the same Drusilla Doane inside."
+
+Drusilla made many calls that afternoon. At some of the places, being
+told that the lady was not at home, a card was left.
+
+"Pshaw now," she said to Daphne, "will I have to come again, now she
+ain't at home?"
+
+"No," said Daphne; "she'll find your cards and know you have called.
+That's all you have to do."
+
+"Well, that's one good thing"--and Drusilla was relieved to find that
+the disagreeable duty was so quickly done. "If I'd a knowed that, I'd a
+sent William to tell me when they was out and then I'd a come."
+
+"Oh, but you'll like your neighbors when you know them. Here--Mrs.
+Crane is at home, I know"--and Drusilla spent a most miserable half
+hour sitting on the edge of a hard chair, wishing Daphne would rise as
+a signal to leave. Tea was served by a maid, and Drusilla held the cup
+awkwardly, while she ate the little wafer and infinitesimal sandwich
+which was passed with it.
+
+"Why didn't they have a table?" she asked when they were outside. "I
+was in mortal fear that I'd spill the tea on my new dress--and I don't
+eat well with my gloves on."
+
+Two more calls of the same kind were made and as they were turning into
+another gate, Drusilla leaned forward and said to the chauffeur:
+"Joseph, go straight ahead." Then, turning to Daphne, Drusilla said:
+"We're goin' for a ride now; we ain't goin' to spoil this lovely day
+with no more calls."
+
+Drusilla would not listen to Daphne's remonstrances, and the motor flew
+along the beautiful drive overlooking the Hudson. Drusilla did not
+speak for a time, simply enjoying the ride. Then she turned to the girl.
+
+"Daphne, what does subsidize mean."
+
+Daphne frowned for a moment.
+
+"I wonder if I can tell. I know what it means but it is hard to say it.
+It means to pay a certain sum of money to some one or some thing. For
+instance, the ships that carry the mails for some governments are
+subsidized; or if the government wants to aid some project, to enable
+it to start, it subsidizes it--that is, gives it a certain sum per year
+like a salary. Have I made myself clear? Father could tell you better
+than I can."
+
+"I guess I see what it is," Drusilla said.
+
+"Why do you want to know?" queried Daphne.
+
+"Well, I got a little mixed up in what it meant. I got a letter this
+morning from some man--some poet I guess he is--who said that I should
+leave my money to subsidize struggling poets, who had a great message
+to give the world, but who had to work so hard making a livin' that
+they didn't git no chance to give the message. I'm afraid I got kind of
+mixed up--I could think of nothin' but etherize. I guess it was the
+strugglin' that confused my mind, and I been wondering why I could
+etherize a lot of struggling young poets. But now I understand."
+
+"Well, of all the impertinence--"
+
+"I don't know, Daphne; there's some truth in what he said. He said that
+nations needed great thoughts as well as they needed great
+inventions--them's his words not mine--and often rich men subsidized a
+poor inventor or a poor scientist so's they could have time to make
+their inventions and not have to worry over their daily bread; so why
+shouldn't it be done for the poets who would then have time to give
+great thoughts to the people, thoughts that would inspire them to noble
+deeds and works. There's a lot of sense in what he says."
+
+"But you would never _think_ of doing such a thing--"
+
+"No, of course not; but I like to hear about it. And I been a studyin'
+a lot about that young man,--I am sure he was young or he wouldn't have
+had the courage to write me; it's only the young who have the courage
+to _try_."
+
+"I call it _nerve_," said Daphne scornfully; "plain _nerve_."
+
+"Yes, perhaps it is. But I was thinkin' about this young man who has
+got a feelin' inside of him that he could say somethin' that would make
+the world better, and he tries, then he's got to go to an office or
+somewhere and perhaps count rolls of cloth, or he may be a newspaper
+man who has to write stories of murders and divorces and--and--things
+like that, when beautiful things is just a chokin' him."
+
+She was silent for a moment.
+
+"It's an awful thing to be poor, Daphne--real poor. Yet--" she said
+musingly, "even when you're real poor you can always find somethin' to
+give. Like Mis' Sweet. Did I ever tell you about Mis' Sweet? She lived
+in our village and she was mortal poor all her life. When her husband
+lived he didn't do no more work than he had to and she had to git along
+as best she could, and then when he died she lived with her son, who
+was so mean and stingy that he made her go to bed at dark so's she
+wouldn't burn kerosene. She was so poor that she never had cookies or
+cakes to send her neighbors, and it kind o' cut her, because in the
+country we was always sendin' some little thing we'd been bakin' to
+each other, because that's about the only kind of presents country
+women can make to each other, somethin' they make themselves.
+
+"So Mis' Sweet felt kind o' bad that she couldn't make no return. But,
+as I says, one ain't never too poor but that they kin give something.
+Now Mis' Sweet and nothin' pretty in her house, and never saw much that
+was beautiful, but she had beautiful thoughts inside, and she loved the
+flowers and things that grew around her.
+
+"Mis' Sweet made paper flowers trying to say the beautiful things she
+felt inside, jest like that poet. She couldn't buy none of the pretty
+crinkled papers that we see nowadays; she never saw none of those; but
+she saved all the little pieces of tissue paper, and any scrap of silk,
+and the neighbors saved 'em for her too, and they saved their broom
+wire; and no one ever thought of throwin' away an old green window
+shade--it was sent to Mis' Sweet for her leaves. She twisted the broom
+wires with any piece of green paper that she could git hold of, and she
+cut the papers into flowers, the white ones into daisies and the little
+pieces of silk was colored with dyes that the neighbors give her that
+they had left over, and she made roses and apple blossoms and begonias
+and geraniums, and all the flowers that she knowed. If some were
+peculiar and didn't look like much o' anything she called them jest
+wild flowers. She made them all into bouquets. And there wasn't a new
+baby born in the village but that the mother found by her bedside a
+bouquet of Mis' Sweet's, and no bride went to the altar but she had a
+little piece o' orange blossom on her that had been lovingly pinned on
+by Mis' Sweet, and before the lid was closed over our dead--they had
+slipped in their fingers a little flower from their old neighbor. And
+do you think that we laughed at her stiff little bouquets? No! We all
+loved 'em and we understood, 'cause with each leaf made out of our old
+window shades and from each wire from our wore out brooms, there was a
+little love mixed in with the coverin'."
+
+She was silent for a few moments; then she added:
+
+"And I think that this young poet will find a way to give something to
+the world, if he really loves it and wants to give, same as Mis' Sweet
+did."
+
+They were returning home along the drive.
+
+"We haven't made half the calls that we should," Daphne said. "We must
+go another day."
+
+Drusilla shook her head decisively.
+
+"No; I won't make no more calls."
+
+"Oh, but, Miss Doane, you _must_. You must return your calls."
+
+"Oh, but I mustn't, and I won't," said Drusilla, shaking her head
+obstinately. "I most froze at some of them places, and I won't risk it
+again. I won't make calls. They can come to me, Miss Thornton, but I
+won't go back."
+
+"But they won't come to see you if you don't return the calls."
+
+"Well, they can stay at home then--it ain't much loss on either side."
+
+"But what will you do?"
+
+"I'll send William to know when they are out, and he can leave my cards
+jest as well as I can. I won't go into them rooms and drink tea out of
+my lap and eat with my gloves on, and talk about things I don't know
+nothin' about and don't care even if I did. I'm too old to begin such
+foolishness."
+
+"But what will I tell them when they ask why you don't return their
+calls?"
+
+"You can tell them anything you want to. I _won't_ go."
+
+Daphne said mischievously: "I'll say you are a _very_ old lady, and
+_feeble_, and cannot take the exertion of making calls."
+
+Drusilla sat up very straight and a slight flush appeared on her cheeks.
+
+"You'll say _no_ such thing, Daphne Thornton. You say the truth, that I
+don't see no sense in it. Old indeed! I'm not so old; and as to being
+feeble--"
+
+Daphne snuggled her face against the arm near her.
+
+"Oh, you are a dear, Miss Doane. I love to see you get angry. But _you_
+say you are old!"
+
+"That's different. I say it with my own meanin', and generally to pet
+out of doin' somethin' I don't want to do. But I'm growin' younger each
+minute. Perhaps"--she chuckled softly to herself--"it's my second
+childhood."
+
+They came to the door, and it was opened by James--stiff, correct,
+funereal.
+
+"No," almost groaned Drusilla; "there's James. Now I know I'm dead and
+only waitin' for the buryin'."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Drusilla grew more and more to feel that she was a part of her little
+world, where everything revolved around her and her wishes were law. It
+was only natural that she gained confidence in herself. She lost her
+awe of the servants, and even found courage to speak shortly to James,
+who, she learned from Jeanne, was relegating most of his duties to
+William, thinking Miss Doane would not know the difference.
+
+But after the excitement of the first few weeks was past she found the
+time heavy on her hands. She had no duties, she did not read, there was
+no sewing nor mending for her, and she could not always work in the
+conservatories among the flowers; consequently she began to long for
+something with which to occupy her thoughts and, above all, her hands.
+
+One morning when she was wandering aimlessly around the house she went
+into the pastry room. There she looked in delight at all the shining
+pans and the bowls arranged in graduated sizes on their shelves.
+
+"My, ain't it nice, and everything so handy!"
+
+She looked around for a minute; then a thought began to take shape in
+Drusilla's mind. She looked at the chef thoughtfully; then, evidently
+deciding, she gave her head a little toss and with a light laugh left
+the room, soon to return with a big gingham apron covering her pretty
+dress. The chef looked at her inquiringly.
+
+"Cook," Drusilla said, "I'm hungry for some home cookin' and I want to
+do it myself. I ain't cooked none fer a good many years, and my fingers
+is jest itchin' to git into the flour. Where's your flour and things to
+make cake?"
+
+The chef was shocked.
+
+"_Mais_, Madame."
+
+"Yes, Madame may, and she's goin' to; so show me where the things is."
+She rolled up her sleeves. "Now you git me that big yellow bowl, and
+give me the lard. I'm goin' to make doughnuts--fried cakes I used to
+call 'em, tho' it's more stylish to say doughnuts these days. I don't
+like them that's bought in the store with sugar sprinkled on top; sugar
+don't belong on fried cakes. It takes away their crispiness and you
+might jest as well be eatin' cake."
+
+Drusilla kept the chef busy waiting on her until she had all the
+articles needed. Then she turned upon him.
+
+"Now, you go away. Go up to your room, or down to James. I don't want
+you standin' round lookin' as if you was goin' to bust every minute.
+You got to git used to this. I'm goin' to have a bakin' day once a
+week, same as I did for forty year."
+
+Drusilla spent a happy morning. The "fried cakes" finished, she decided
+to make some cookies--the "old-fashioned kind that my mother's sister
+Jane give me the receipt of; I kind o' want to see if I have lost my
+hand."
+
+But the hand had not lost its cunning if the great dish of brown, crisp
+doughnuts, and the cookies and the gingerbread were a test. After they
+were baked and in a row on the table, she stepped back and surveyed her
+handiwork, with a proud expression on her kindly old face.
+
+"Now if I only had some one to come in and say, 'Drusilla, is them
+fresh fried cakes?' and I'd laugh and say, 'Yes; do try 'em,' and
+they'd eat three or four. Or if I only had some neighbors--"
+
+Drusilla stopped suddenly.
+
+"Now, why _shouldn't_ I! I've got neighbors that's all been tryin' to
+be neighborly to me in their way; why shouldn't I be neighborly in _my_
+way? I can't be neighborly jest leavin' a card, or drinkin' tea with my
+gloves on--Yes, I will! Drusilla'll be neighborly in _Drusilla's_ way."
+
+She was as delighted as a child at the thought. She hurried into the
+pantry and returned with some plates and napkins. She piled a few of
+her confections upon each plate, carefully covered it with a napkin,
+then called William.
+
+"William," she said, "you take that plate o' cookies over to Mis'
+Gale's, and tell her that I sent 'em, bein' it was my bakin' day. See
+she gets 'em and they don't stop in the kitchen. And take that plate o'
+gingerbread to Mis' Cairns; and them fried cakes to Mis' Freeman; and
+tell 'em all I sent 'em with my love. Tell 'em I made 'em myself."
+
+William looked at her but did not move.
+
+"What you lookin' at me fer? Take 'em as I said. Put 'em in a basket if
+you can't carry 'em, or have one of the girls help you."
+
+"But, ma'am, but--"
+
+"But what? Ain't you never took cookies to one before?"
+
+"Why--why--no, ma'am. Never in the houses where I've served--"
+
+"Now that'll do, William. Don't begin that. That's what James always
+says when he specially wants to be disagreeable. If you haven't ever
+took a neighbor a plate o' cookies or some gingerbread, right hot out
+of the oven, you've missed a lot. So do as I say!"
+
+"But--ma'am--I'm sure they have all the cakes they need. Mr. Cairns is
+a--very--very rich man, and they have a cook, a French cook. Why, he
+has an income of more than a million dollars a year, and--and--"
+
+Drusilla looked at him over her glasses.
+
+"Land o' Goshen, has he? That's a heap o' money; but I'm sure that if
+he has a French cook like mine, he'll be mighty glad to have an
+old-fashioned fried cake; so take that plate to him too, and I'll fix
+another for Mis' Freeman. He ain't never sence he was a boy set his
+teeth in better fried cakes. Perhaps the cookies won't be so much to
+his taste; but you tell 'em they're nice fer the children to slip in
+their apron pockets to eat at recess."
+
+William executed his errand, although with a feeling that the dignity
+of the place was not being upheld. There was a luncheon party at the
+Cairns mansion, and when the butler brought in the plate of cookies and
+the doughnuts and delivered the message, trying his best not to smile,
+Mrs. Cairns looked at them in dismay.
+
+"What did you say, John?"
+
+"Miss Doane sent them to you with her love. She said that it was her
+baking day, and that she had made them herself. The cookies are for the
+children to slip in their apron pockets and eat at recess," recited the
+butler with an immobile face.
+
+Mrs. Cairns raised the napkins and surveyed the cakes; then she looked
+at her husband and her guests. They laughed; that is, the guests did,
+but not Mr. Cairns.
+
+"Take them to the kitchen, John," Mrs. Cairns ordered. "The servants
+may have them."
+
+"No; bring them here, John," Mr. Cairns said sharply. "You may go and
+say that Mrs. Cairns thanks Miss Doane very much for her thoughtfulness
+in remembering her on her baking day, and that she is sure she will
+enjoy the doughnuts--and the cookies will be given to the children."
+
+The servant left the room, and Mr. Cairns sat very quietly looking at
+the plates before him. He took up one of the doughnuts, studied it,
+then finally took a bite of it.
+
+"Hot," he said, "and crispy."
+
+He was quiet a moment, with a far away look in his eye; then, as if
+noticing the silence of his guests, he said with a quiet laugh:
+
+"It takes me back--back--. Bless her old soul! I understand. And it
+takes me back--and--well, I'm a boy again and I can see Mother standing
+over the stove, and I can smell the hot cakes when I come in from
+school, and hear her say, 'Jimmie, take your hands out of that crock!
+No, you can't have but one. Well, two, but no more. Now take that plate
+over to Mis' Fisher and that one to Miss Corbin--'"
+
+He was quiet again for a few moments; then, as if coming back to the
+world beside him, he said in his usual even tones:
+
+"Shall we go into the library?"
+
+And the guests did not laugh again.
+
+Drusilla was neighborly in other ways besides that of sending cakes and
+cookies on her baking day. One day she heard that Mrs. Beaumont, who
+lived in the first house below her, was ill. "She has a bad cold," Miss
+Lee told her, "and they are afraid it might develop into pneumonia.
+But, between you and me, she's just bored to death and doesn't have
+enough to interest her."
+
+As soon as her visitor left, Drusilla went upstairs, and came down with
+a little package in her hand and an old-fashioned sunbonnet on her
+head. She went out of the gate and down the road until she came to the
+great gates that guarded the home of the multi-millionaire who lived
+there.
+
+She was told at the door that Mrs. Beaumont was not receiving, but she
+told the man to tell his mistress that she had something special for
+her and would not detain her but a moment. The man rather unwillingly
+took her message, and returning in a few moments conducted Drusilla
+into a luxurious bedroom, where a very beautiful woman was lying upon a
+chaise lounge, dressed in an elaborate peignoir, her hair covered by a
+marvelous creation that went by the name of boudoir cap. She languidly
+gave her hand to Drusilla.
+
+"You want to see me?" she murmured in a low, languid voice. "Won't you
+please sit down? And excuse my appearance. I am not
+receiving--but--but--I thought I would see _you_."
+
+Drusilla sat down.
+
+"Now that's real nice of you to see me. I heard you was sick--had a bad
+cold; and I thought I'd come in and see if I couldn't help you. I brung
+some boneset. I nursed a lot when I was younger, and I found that
+boneset is the best thing in the world fer a cold. Jest make a tea of
+it and drink it hot. It's kind of bitter, but you can put milk and
+sugar in it if you want to--though, to my notion, that makes it worse.
+Then git right into bed and cover up and sweat. It's the best thing in
+the world fer a cold--jest sweat it out of you. If you should put a hot
+brick or a hot flatiron at your back and another at your feet, it'd
+help. By to-morrow you won't know you got a cold."
+
+The woman's face was a study; but the doctor entered at that moment and
+saved her. She said:
+
+"Dr. Hodman, this is Miss Doane, my nearest neighbor."
+
+Drusilla shook his hand heartily.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you. I've brung Mis' Beaumont some herbs. A
+little boneset. I told her to make a good strong cup o' tea of it, and
+drink it hot, then git into bed and cover up warm, and sweat, and by
+to-morrow she wouldn't know she had a cold."
+
+The doctor looked from Drusilla to Mrs. Beaumont, hardly knowing what
+to say. This little old lady, with her sunbonnet and her boneset tea,
+was not the usual visitor he encountered in the homes of his
+fashionable patients.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Beaumont, "and--and--Miss Doane was telling me that a
+hot brick--what was it you said, Miss Doane?"
+
+"I was a tellin' her that a hot brick or a flatiron at her feet and
+another at the small of her back would help. It ain't comfortable jest
+at first, but she can have the hired girl wrap it in a piece o flannel,
+and after a while it feels real comfortin'. But I must be goin'. I see
+you're a lookin' at my bunnet, Mis' Beaumont. It don't look much like
+what you got on your head, but I work a lot in the garden, and if I
+don't have somethin' on my head my hair gets all frouzy. A hat don't
+seem to be the right thing to work in the garden with, and if I do wear
+one the sun burns the back of my neck when I stoop down; so I got me a
+bunnet, like I used to wear, and it makes me feel real to home.
+Good-by, good-by, doctor."
+
+She turned to Mrs. Beaumont:
+
+"Now, if the boneset tea don't do you no good, let me know. Perhaps
+your liver is teched a little and it makes you feel bad all over. I got
+some camomile leaves that's real good fer that. If you want any, I'll
+be real glad to bring 'em over."
+
+She was gone.
+
+The doctor looked at his patient and the patient looked at the doctor.
+Then Mrs. Beaumont put back her head and burst into a gale of laughter,
+in which the dignified doctor soon joined. They laughed and laughed,
+the woman wiping her tear-filled eyes. Finally, when she could stop
+long enough to talk, she said:
+
+"Did you ever hear of anything so funny in all your life--a hot
+brick--or a hot flatiron"--a peal of laugher--"at my feet--another one
+at the small of my back--Oh, I shall die, I shall surely die!" And she
+went off into another paroxysm of laughter.
+
+When the laughter ceased and the doctor returned to his professional
+manner, asking her how she felt and starting to feel her pulse, she
+said:
+
+"Doctor, she's cured me. I haven't had a laugh like that for years.
+It's better than all your medicine. Boneset tea--" and again she was
+off.
+
+Finally, when she had quieted, the doctor said:
+
+"I don't know but that her boneset tea is as good as anything else. All
+you need is a little quiet. You seem better than you were yesterday."
+
+"I tell you that I am well! All my system needed was a little shaking
+up, and Miss Doane has done it for me."
+
+The doctor rose to go.
+
+"I think that I shall take Miss Doane as a partner. Her herbs or her
+prescriptions seem to have a better effect than my medicines. Shall I
+come to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes; this may not last. Come to-morrow if you are near, though I am
+sure I won't need you."
+
+As the doctor's hand was on the door he turned:
+
+"If I were you, Mrs. Beaumont, I'd send for those camomile leaves."
+
+But with all her little acts of neighborliness, and her "baking day"
+and her attempts to find duties to fill the hours, time began to hang
+heavily upon the hands of active Drusilla. If she had been of a higher
+station in life she would have said that she was bored or was suffering
+from that general complaint of the rich--"enuyee."
+
+Here Providence stepped in. One morning when she was dressing she heard
+a peculiar little wailing cry. She listened. The cry was repeated. She
+listened again, but could not locate the sound. Then, thinking she
+might be mistaken, she continued with her dressing; but again that
+piercing wail was borne to her ears. She opened her window and then she
+heard it distinctly--a baby's cry. She listened in amazement. There was
+no baby on the place except the gardener's, and his cottage was too far
+from the big house to have his children's wails heard in that place
+given over to aristocratic quiet. Drusilla tried to see around the
+comer of the house, but she could not; so she rang for Jeanne.
+
+"Jane, I heard a baby cry. Go and find out where it is," she said.
+
+Jeanne was gone a long time, it seemed to Drusilla; and then she
+returned, with big frightened eyes, followed by the butler carrying a
+large basket. He stopped at the door.
+
+"Come in, James. What you standing there for? What you got?"
+
+Just then the wailing cry came from the basket, and Drusilla dropped
+the brush in her hand.
+
+"For the land's sake, what's in the basket? Come here!"
+
+James gingerly deposited the basket upon a chair.
+
+"It's a baby, ma'am--a live baby."
+
+"Well, upon my soul! Of course it is! You wouldn't expect it to not be
+alive. Let's see it."
+
+She went over to the basket and looked down at the lively little bundle
+that seemed to be protesting in its feeble way against the injustice of
+the world in leaving it at a chance doorstep. Drusilla looked at it
+admiringly.
+
+"Why, ain't it cunning, the pore little thing! It's done up warm. How'd
+it get here?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am. It must 'a' been left early this morning after
+the gates was opened. I'll ask the gardeners if they saw any one come
+in."
+
+"Never mind now, James. Here's a letter. It'll tell us all about it.
+Where are my glasses, Jane?"
+
+Drusilla put on her glasses and read the inscription on the letter.
+
+"_Miss Drusilla Doane_. Well, they know my name."
+
+She tore open the envelope and read aloud:
+
+"I read in the paper that you have no one and are alone and rich. My
+baby has no one but me, and I can't get work. Won't you take him? His
+name is John--that's all."
+
+"JOHN'S MOTHER."
+
+Drusilla pushed the glasses up on her forehead and used a slang
+expression that almost drew a smile from solemn James.
+
+"Now _what_ do you know about that!"
+
+She looked at James as if he should have an answer, and he said:
+
+"I'm sure, Miss Doane, I don't know anything about it at all."
+
+Drusilla looked down at the baby in the basket, and again at the
+letter, not knowing what to do; but, the little wail again rising, she
+reached down to take the baby into her arms, and found it securely
+pinned into the basket.
+
+"Poor little mother!" she said. "She didn't want you to get cold."
+
+As she took out the safety-pins and lifted the baby into her arms, she
+dislodged a bottle of milk.
+
+"Why, she thought of everything! She must 'a' loved you, little John,
+even though she left you on my doorstep."
+
+The baby, a healthy little youngster about eight months old, blinked up
+at Drusilla in a friendly manner, then clutched her hair. Drusilla
+laughed, as she drew her head away.
+
+"That's the first thing all babies make for, my hair. Bless his little
+heart, he's gettin' familiar already."
+
+James interrupted.
+
+"What'll I do with it, Miss Doane?"
+
+Drusilla looked up from the baby.
+
+"Do with what? The basket? Take it away."
+
+"No, ma'am; I meant _it_"--pointing to the baby.
+
+"James, it is not an _it_. It's a _he_. But you're right, James;
+what'll we do with it?" And she looked down at the little body in her
+arms.
+
+"Why--why--" stammered James, who plainly showed that disposing of
+babies left by chance at doorsteps was entirely out of the usual line
+of a well trained butler's duties, "I don't know, ma'am. It never
+happened before where I've served." Here he had an inspiration and his
+face cleared. "Perhaps we'd better send for Mr. Thornton."
+
+Drusilla looked up at him in a relieved way.
+
+"That's the first glimmer of sense you've ever showed, James; though
+what he knows about babies I don't see. I'm sure he never was one
+himself. Now I'll set down--this baby's heavy--and you go and
+telephone."
+
+"What'll I tell him, ma'am?"
+
+"Tell him? Why, tell him we've got a baby unexpected and we don't know
+what to do with it."
+
+James almost smiled again.
+
+"I'll break the news to him careful, ma'am," he said.
+
+When he was gone Drusilla scrutinized the baby's hood and coat.
+
+"Jane," she said, "his clothes is pretty---his mother must 'a' made
+'em; and his socks is knit, not bought ones."
+
+She examined each article of his clothing as carefully as would a
+mother inspecting her firstborn's wardrobe.
+
+"He's dressed real nice.... Did you get him?" as James entered the
+room. "What did he say?"
+
+"I did not speak to him, Miss Doane, but to Miss Daphne. She acted
+rather--well--rather excited, and said she would be over immediately
+with her father."
+
+"We'll wait in patience, I suppose. I'll lay this young man down. My
+arms must be a gettin' old because I feel him."
+
+She laid the baby on the couch and he protested with legs and arms and
+voice against being again laid upon his back. Drusilla took him up and
+he was happy again.
+
+"Well," laughed Drusilla, "I guess I've found somethin' to do with my
+hands."
+
+The baby stared at Drusilla for a few moments; then his wails commenced
+again. Drusilla trotted him, but that did not stop his cries.
+
+"Perhaps he is hungry, Miss Doane," Jeanne suggested.
+
+"Give me that bottle."
+
+Drusilla felt the bottle and found it cold.
+
+"It's cold, James. Go warm some milk and scald the bottle."
+
+James went away, his head held high, disapproval expressed in every
+line of his back. Within a few moments a motor was heard at the door
+and Daphne's young voice was calling:
+
+"Can we come in, Miss Doane? Where is the baby?"
+
+Daphne entered, interested and excited, followed by her father, stiff,
+erect, the correct lawyer troubled by unnecessary and petty affairs of
+the women world.
+
+Daphne came to the baby, who stopped his wails long enough to stare at
+the new visitor with round, wondering eyes.
+
+"Oh, _isn't_ he a dear! How did you find him?"
+
+Drusilla handed her the letter. "Read that, and then you'll know as
+much as me."
+
+Daphne read the note out loud.
+
+"Isn't it romantic, Father!" she exclaimed. "Just like you read about
+in books. Oh, look at James with the bottle!"
+
+James looked neither to the right nor to the left but handed the bottle
+to Drusilla. She felt it to test its warmth and gave it to the
+squirming baby, who settled down into the hollow of her arm with a
+little gurgle of content. The four stood around the baby and watched it
+for a few moments in silence. Soon its lids began to droop and it was
+off to slumberland.
+
+"What are you going to do with it, Miss Doane?" whispered Daphne.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know. That's why I sent for your father."
+
+"It's clearly a case for the police," Mr. Thornton said dryly. "I will
+telephone them."
+
+Drusilla looked at him inquiringly.
+
+"What did you say? Telephone the police? Why?"
+
+"I will ask them to call and take the child in charge."
+
+"Why, what's the baby done?"
+
+"Nothing, of course; but they will understand how to dispose of it."
+
+"What'll they do with it?"
+
+"They will get into connection with the proper authorities, and if the
+mother cannot be found, they will have the child committed to some
+institution."
+
+"Some institution. What kind of an institution?"
+
+"An orphan asylum--a home for waifs of this kind."
+
+Drusilla caught the word "home" and she sat up so suddenly that the
+bottle fell to the floor and the blue eyes opened and looked into
+Drusilla's face appealingly and the little wail arose again. Drusilla
+bent over and picked up the bottle, and when she arose her eyes were
+hard and two bright spots colored her wrinkled cheeks.
+
+"You said 'home.' What do you mean? I don't like the word."
+
+Mr. Thornton was plainly irritated.
+
+"A home for foundlings, where the proper care will be given it."
+
+"Yes, but how?" queried Drusilla. "What kind of care?"
+
+Daphne interrupted her father, who was plainly trying to find words to
+explain the exact meaning of an orphan asylum.
+
+"Oh, Father, that's horrid. It'll be put in with hundreds of other
+babies, all dressed alike, and all brought up on rules and bells and
+things--"
+
+"I know now what your father means--an orphan asylum. Just the same
+thing as an old ladies' home, only backwards. No, I lived in one o'
+them and I know what it is and," she settled back in her chair, "my
+baby ain't goin' there."
+
+"But," objected Mr. Thornton, looking helplessly at the obstinate face
+before him, "that is the only possible way to dispose of him."
+
+"But think of his poor mother, how she'd feel if she read in the paper
+that he'd been put in a home. She could 'a' done that herself."
+
+"She should have thought of that before leaving him," Mr. Thornton said
+dryly. "She should not have deserted the child, and does not deserve
+any consideration."
+
+"Well, we all do things we oughtn't to do. Even you do, 'cause I can
+see, lookin' closely at you, that you oughtn't to drink so much coffee,
+but you _do_; and the mother hadn't ought to have _had_ the baby in the
+first place, which she did, and she oughtn't 'a' left it on my stoop,
+but it's done. Now can't you think of something else to do with it
+except send it to a home? Ugh, that word makes a pizen in my blood!"
+
+Mr. Thornton clearly was exasperated that his very sensible advice was
+not acted upon immediately.
+
+"I have told you the only thing to do, and we are wasting time. I must
+go into the city. James, telephone the police."
+
+Drusilla sat up very erect.
+
+"James, you'll do nothing of the kind! I've decided. _I'll_ take the
+baby."
+
+_"What!"_ said Mr. Thornton, his exasperated look changing to one of
+consternation. "_What_!" said Daphne in delight. _"Quoi!"_ said Jeanne.
+James did not speak, but he stopped on his way to the telephone and
+expressed his astonishment as well as a well trained servant may
+express astonishment at the actions of an employer.
+
+Drusilla settled back in the chair and rocked back and forth with the
+sleeping baby in her arms, showing that she was enjoying the little
+explosive she had dropped in the midst of her family circle. There was
+silence for a few moments; then Mr. Thornton cleared his throat.
+
+"I really don't believe I understood you, Miss Doane," he said.
+
+Drusilla looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes.
+
+"I said in plain English that I'd take the baby."
+
+Mr. Thornton looked at her, evidently at a loss for words to express
+his disapproval. Drusilla watched him, waiting for him to speak; and
+then, finding that he was silent, she said.
+
+"Now you take that chair, and set down in front of me. Jane, go away.
+James, go downstairs. Now, Mr. Thornton, fix yourself real comfortable
+and we'll talk."
+
+"But Miss Doane--"
+
+"Now don't _but_ me, Mr. Thornton, 'cause I'm goin' to _talk_. I ain't
+used my voice much sence I been here, and it's gettin' tired o' doin'
+nothin', jest like I am. Now I've done everything you told me to. I've
+made visits I didn't like, I've talked with women who come here who
+didn't like me, and I've tried hard to live up to this house and be a
+lady and do nothin', and have nothin' to look after and no one to do
+for and worry about, and nothin' to think of; and I'm tired of it. I've
+done somethin' all my life, and took care of some one. I nussed my
+mother for most forty years, then I took care of the sick in all our
+county, and I looked after the old ladies in the home who wasn't able
+to look after themselves and now I can't jest _set_. I'm too old to
+learn new ways, and I got to have something or some one to do for, and
+the good Lord knowed I was gettin' restless and sent this here baby.
+Now--no, wait a minute--I ain't through yet," as Mr. Thornton tried to
+interrupt her. "I'm goin' to have my say, then your turn'll come,
+though it won't do you much good, as my mind is made up, and when a
+woman's mind is made up it's jest as foolish to try to change it as it
+is to try to set a hen before she begins to cluck."
+
+She stopped a moment and looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms.
+
+"I ain't a-thinkin' of myself alone and jest how good it'll be for me,
+but I'm a-thinkin' of the baby and I want to give him a chance like
+other babies."
+
+"But," said Mr. Thornton, "it's quite impossible! A home for such as he
+is the proper place for him."
+
+"Don't say that word _home_ to me. Mr. Thornton, I hate the word. I've
+et charity bread and it's bitter, and charity milk'd be the same."
+
+Mr. Thornton threw out his hands with an exasperated gesture.
+
+"But it is impossible, I tell you, quite impossible!"
+
+"Why impossible?" asked Drusilla. "Why, ain't the house big enough?"
+
+"But my late client, Mr. Elias Doane--"
+
+"Have you forgot the letter he wrote me: 'Spend the money your own way,
+Drusilla.'"
+
+"But he certainly did not mean--"
+
+"How do you know what he meant? He said spend it, and I ain't spent
+nothin' yet except on some foolish clothes. First thing I know I might
+die, then it wouldn't be spent, and I know I'd pass my days worryin'
+St. Peter to find out what had become of it."
+
+Mr. Thornton threw up his hands again.
+
+"Well, I don't know what to say more than I have said," he declared.
+"Have you decided on its disposition?"
+
+Drusilla, seeing that the lawyer was surrendering, said quite meekly:
+
+"I ain't figured out what is to be done jest now--"
+
+Here Daphne came to her rescue.
+
+"Why don't you give him to the gardener's wife until you find out what
+to do?"
+
+Drusilla reached over and patted Daphne's hand.
+
+"Daphne, there's some sense under them curls. Your father ought to take
+you in business with him. That's what we'll do. She has four already,
+but there's always room in a house where there's babies for one more.
+Send for her."
+
+"Should it not be medically examined before being placed with other
+children?" Mr. Thornton suggested.
+
+"Medically examined, stuff and nonsense! Why?"
+
+"A child left in the manner in which this infant was left may come from
+extremely unsanitary surroundings, and may carry disease with it. It is
+more than probable."
+
+"Disease nothin'!" said Drusilla, looking down at the baby. "I never
+saw a healthier child."
+
+At the word medical Daphne rose and went to a part of the room where
+she could be seen by Drusilla and not by her father, and when Drusilla
+looked up from inspecting the baby she caught sight of Daphne, who
+seemed to be staring at her fixedly with a meaning in her eye.
+
+Mr. Thornton, still intent upon the one subject where he saw a chance
+of having his advice acted upon, and consequently of retaining at least
+a semblance of authority, said: "I think a doctor should be sent for
+and the child medically examined."
+
+Drusilla commenced: "It's nonsense. There ain't--" but here she again
+caught Daphne's eye and saw a slight movement of the head which seemed
+to mean, "Say yes." Drusilla looked at her a moment uncomprehendingly;
+then, the nod being repeated more vigorously, she said:
+
+"Well--well--yes, if you believe it should be done, though for the life
+of me I don't see no sense in it. Who'll I send for?"
+
+"I would suggest Dr. Rathman. He is--"
+
+"Oh, Father!" interrupted Daphne. "He is so old and slow. He'd _never_
+get here. Why don't you ask Dr. Eaton? He lives near here."
+
+Mr. Thornton pursed up his lips.
+
+"He is far too young. He has not the experience of Dr. Rathman."
+
+"But, Father, the baby isn't dying."
+
+Drusilla's shrewd old eyes looked keenly at Daphne's flushed face, and
+she laughed.
+
+"I think Daphne is right. A young doctor's better. I don't think old
+doctors have a hand with babies."
+
+"But Dr. Eaton is very young," remonstrated Mr. Thornton.
+
+"The younger the better, then perhaps he ain't forgot how the
+stomach-ache feels himself. You telephone him, Daphne."
+
+"No," said Daphne, a little embarrassed. "I think James had better do
+that. Oh, here's Mrs. Donald."
+
+The baby was given into the motherly arms of Mrs. Donald; and Mr.
+Thornton drew on his gloves and said very coldly, feeling that he had
+lost ground on every point, "Come, Daphne; we will go. When you have
+decided upon the final disposition of the child, you may, as always,
+command my services, Miss Doane. Come, Daphne."
+
+"But, Father, I'll stay a while with Miss Doane."
+
+"No, Daphne; you will go with me. Your mother needs you."
+
+Daphne cast an imploring glance at Drusilla.
+
+"Can't Daphne stay a while? I'd like to talk with her," Drusilla said.
+
+"No," said her father, with a finality in his tone that caused Daphne
+to go with him meekly, if unwillingly; "Daphne must return with me."
+
+Drusilla looked at the set face a moment, and then at the rebellious
+face of Daphne, and her own face broke into the tiny wrinkles that
+accompanied her smiles.
+
+"Oh, I see! Well, never mind, child. There are lots of other days and
+this baby may need the services of a doctor often." And she accompanied
+them to the hall with a little light of understanding in her eyes as
+she watched Daphne's pouting face disappear in the motor.
+
+The young doctor came. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young athlete,
+not yet thirty, and his merry blue eyes and his cheery voice won
+Drusilla at once. They went to the gardener's cottage and inspected the
+baby. The doctor patted it and tickled it and tossed it in his arms
+until it was all gurgles of delight.
+
+"He's as sound as a dollar, Miss Doane," he said. "Couldn't be in
+better condition. He could run a Marathon this minute if his legs were
+long enough."
+
+Drusilla watched the proceedings with twinkling eyes.
+
+"Well, that's a new way to medically examine an ailin' child," she
+commented; "but it seems to work."
+
+"Ailing! He isn't ailing, Miss Doane. If he keeps this fit Mrs. Donald
+won't have to send for me often."
+
+"That's what I told Mr. Thornton; but he said I must have you."
+
+Dr. Eaton stopped tossing the baby and looked at Miss Doane in
+astonishment.
+
+"Are you telling me that Mr. Thornton asked you to send for me?"
+
+"Well," and Drusilla laughed, "he didn't exactly mention your name, but
+he said I should have a doctor for the baby."
+
+"I thought Mr. Thornton wasn't recommending me. Didn't he mention Dr.
+Rathman?"
+
+"Perhaps he did, but Miss Daphne seemed to feel that he was too old to
+answer a hurry call like this, so we sort of compromised, at least
+Daphne and me did, on you."
+
+There was a slight flush on the young man's face that did not miss the
+keen eyes of Drusilla.
+
+"Oh," he said, "I see." And then, in an attempt to change the subject:
+"Is this a new baby of Donald's? I haven't seen him around here before."
+
+"No," said Drusilla; "this is _my_ baby."
+
+Dr. Eaton looked at her, and then laughed with her.
+
+"Now what should I say, Miss Doane--many happy returns of the day, or--"
+
+"You jest say, Dr. Eaton, 'This _is_ a fine baby.' But come up to the
+house and have breakfast with me. I clean forgot it. And we'll talk it
+all over."
+
+They went slowly up the graveled walk to the breakfast-room, and over
+the coffee and the cakes Drusilla explained the unexpected arrival of
+the baby.
+
+"Now you know as much about it as I do," she ended; "and I suppose
+you'll say with Mr. Thornton that I'm a foolish old woman to say I'll
+take it. But it won't do you no good. I'm goin' to have my way, and
+I've found out in the last few weeks that I can get it, and I'm afraid
+it's spoilin' me. I'm goin' to keep the baby."
+
+The doctor leaned back in his chair. "May I light a cigarette? Thanks.
+That breakfast was corking. Now, about the baby. I think you are right.
+Why shouldn't you keep the baby?"
+
+"That's what I said--why shouldn't I?"
+
+"No reason in the world why you shouldn't."
+
+"I like you, Dr. Eaton. I like you more and more; and I see you
+understand how I feel. Here I am, an old woman all alone in this big
+house, with nothin' to do, and a lot of pesky servants that stand
+around and don't earn their salt, jest a-waitin' on me. I've always
+wanted babies, but never had a chance to have 'em, and I've jest spent
+my heart lovin' other people's, and seein' 'em in other people's arms
+and mine empty. Now I git a chance to have a baby most my own and I
+ain't goin' to lose it."
+
+The doctor looked at her face for a few moments in silence, and beneath
+the lines he saw the loneliness of the heart-hungry little old woman
+and he understood.
+
+"You are perfectly right, Miss Doane. There's nothing like a baby in
+all the world. It'll give you something to do and think about and it'll
+bring sunshine into the house. I envy you. Every time I go down to the
+'home' where I look after the health of some kiddies, I wish I could
+bundle every one of them up and take them to a real home with me."
+
+"That's what Mr. Thornton wanted me to do with it--put it in a home.
+I've lived in a home, Dr. Eaton, and though I wasn't treated bad and
+had all the comforts of four walls and enough to eat, such as it was,
+it ain't a place to die in, and it sure ain't a place to grow up in."
+
+"You're right again, Miss Doane. The kiddies up at our place get a bed
+and clothes and plenty of food; but there's something they don't get
+and that something is going to count in their life. They grow up
+without love, and are turned out on the world just little machines that
+have been taught that the world goes round at the tap of a bell.
+They've missed something that they can never get, and if they win out
+in life it's because they've got something pretty big inside of them
+which they've had to fight for all by themselves. And any fight is hard
+when it is made alone without a little tenderness to help over the hard
+places. Why, when I see the girls all in checked aprons, hair braided
+in two braids tied with a blue cord, all the boys in blue with hats
+just exactly alike with blue bands on them--all going to dinner at a
+regular time--all eating oatmeal out of a blue bowl, all just part of a
+thing that turns babies into a lot of little jelly-molds like a hundred
+other little jelly-molds--well, Miss Doane, it hurts something way deep
+inside of me. Keep the baby, Miss Doane, for your own sake and for the
+baby's."
+
+"I'm glad you see it my way. I'd made up my mind already, but you make
+it easier for me. I wonder that I'll do with it at first?"
+
+"Why don't you let the gardener's wife keep it until you can find out
+what you really want to do. You can pay her and she'll be glad to earn
+the extra money. It won't cost much."
+
+"I ain't thinkin' about the cost. I'm jest glad to get a chance to
+spend some money. Mr. Thornton come to me the other day and talked most
+an hour about the investment of my income, and when I got it through my
+head what he meant, I learnt that he has to hunt up ways to put out the
+money that's comin' to me all the time, so's it'll make more money. Now
+I don't want to invest my income, or save it. I want to spend it, and I
+don't see no better way than taking babies."
+
+She laughed softly.
+
+"I wouldn't mind a few more, Dr. Eaton, jest to keep that one company.
+But I guess I'll git along. Most people commence with one at a time."
+
+"Do you want more babies, Miss Doane?" asked Dr. Eaton, leaning forward
+interestedly. "I can get you as many as you want. I run across them
+every day--babies that lose their mothers in the hospitals, babies that
+are deserted. Why, babies that need homes are as thick as fleas, in New
+York."
+
+Drusilla put up her hand.
+
+"Now, I don't mean I want 'em all at once, Dr. Eaton. We won't be what
+you might call impulsive, 'cause if there's as many as you say, they
+can wait until I know about 'em. I'd rather like to pick and choose my
+family. Now I'll go upstairs and think a little about this one, and
+what we're goin' to do with him. It's all been rather sudden, you know,
+and I ain't used to so much excitement--though I think it is good fer
+me. I think it's going to keep me from dyin' of dry rot, which I've
+always been afeard of. I want to _wear_ out, not rust out, like so many
+old women do."
+
+Dr. Eaton rose to go and Miss Drusilla looked up at him as he stood
+straight and strong before her. She smiled, with the merry little
+wrinkles playing around the corners of her mouth.
+
+"I believe I'm rather ailin' myself, and will need to have a family
+doctor. You might look in every once in a while and see if my health is
+good."
+
+The doctor laughed as he said: "Well, I hope you won't ever need me
+professionally, but I'd like nothing better than to drop in and have a
+chat with you. Think over the baby question, Miss Doane. You'll find it
+the greatest question in the world to keep you up and coming. Good-by.
+Thank you for sending for me. Good-by."
+
+Drusilla watched him as he swung with his long stride down the drive
+and out of the gate, and then she chuckled to herself.
+
+"I can see now why Daphne is interested in the medical profession. I
+don't blame her; if I was fifty years younger, I'd be myself."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+One morning when Drusilla was sitting in the small library reading the
+morning paper her eyes caught the words: "Funeral of General Fairmont."
+She read of his death in the little town in the Middle West, attended
+by a few of the officers of his regiment and his lifelong friend, John
+Brierly.
+
+Drusilla dropped the paper with an exclamation.
+
+"John! And he's alive!"
+
+She spent the next few hours with folded hands, her mind far in the
+past that was recalled by seeing the name of John Brierly. She lived
+over again those girlhood years when the world with John in it seemed
+the most beautiful place on earth. She thought of her mother's failing
+health, her helplessness, her dependence. She could almost hear her
+cry, "Don't leave me, Drusilla, don't leave me!" when John went to her
+and asked that they might marry and meet life's battles together.
+Drusilla never for a moment blamed her mother for her selfishness in
+demanding all and giving nothing; and she never would admit, even to
+herself, that her mother's obstinacy in refusing either to go with John
+and Drusilla or to give her consent that they live with her, had ruined
+her life. Those years of bitterness were past, and now she remembered
+only the happy days when she and John were together and life seemed
+just one flowery path on which they walked together.
+
+At last she rose and rang for the butler and asked him to telephone Mr.
+Thornton. She could never get used to the telephone herself. She wanted
+Mr. Thornton to come to her on his way home.
+
+She passed the day impatiently awaiting his arrival. She could not
+occupy herself with the flowers, nor could the baby at the gardener's
+cottage evoke any enthusiasm, although she carefully looked over the
+clothing of one of the younger Donalds that kindly Mrs. Donald had
+contributed for the baby's use.
+
+At last the lawyer arrived. Drusilla hardly allowed him to be seated
+before she broached the subject.
+
+"Mr. Thornton, I want you to do me a great favor. I just read in the
+paper that an--an old friend of mine that I thought dead long ago, is
+living in a little town in southern Ohio. I want to know how he is
+getting along, what he is doing, how he is living. I want you to send
+some one out there and find out all about it. I want to know if he's
+comfortable off, and happy. He may be poor, and he may be lonely. Find
+out all about him, and let me know."
+
+The lawyer started to say something.
+
+"No, don't say a word, and don't talk about writin' out. That ain't
+what I want. I want to _know_, and letters won't tell me nothing. Do
+this for me--send some one; 'cause if you don't I'll start myself
+to-morrow. I'm goin' to know how life's usin' John Brierly."
+
+She leaned over and touched the lawyer's hand.
+
+"Don't always be agin me, Mr. Thornton. I got my heart in this. John
+Brierly meant all the world to me once, and although I'm old now I
+ain't forgot. There's _some_ things, you know, we don't forget."
+
+Mr. Thornton looked at the flushed old face before him, and a softness
+came into his voice that surprised even himself.
+
+"I'll do it at once, Miss Doane. I'm always glad to be of any service
+to you."
+
+"I'm glad to hear you say it; though sometimes you have to be backed
+into the shafts. But you will send at once--to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, I'll--let me see--I'll send Mr. Burns."
+
+"Send a bright young man, some one that'll nose around and find out
+everything. John's proud, and he may be poor, and I want to know jest
+how he's fixed; and I don't want him to feel that any one's inquiring
+into his affairs, 'cause then he'd shut up like a clam and I couldn't
+find out nothin'. Send some one with sense. Hadn't you better go
+yourself?"
+
+Mr. Thornton laughed.
+
+"That's the first compliment you ever gave me, Miss Doane; but I don't
+think it is necessary that I go myself. I have a very clever young man
+in the office who will do better than I would."
+
+"Well, have him go at once. Can't he start to-night?"
+
+"I don't think that is necessary either. He'd better wait until I give
+him all the details. But I'll start him off the first thing in the
+morning. Now you rest happy, and in a few days you'll know all about
+it."
+
+Drusilla passed the days impatiently waiting for the return of the man
+from Ohio. Finally he arrived and Mr. Thornton brought him to see her.
+
+Drusilla sat in her high-backed chair.
+
+"Well, begin!" she said impatiently. "I'm nigh as curious as a girl."
+
+The young clerk drew a bundle of papers from his pocket.
+
+"I found out as much as I could regarding the present circumstances of
+John Brierly. He is--"
+
+"What does he look like?" interrupted Drusilla. "I ain't seen him for
+mor'n forty years. Is he old lookin'? Is he sick?"
+
+The young man smiled at her impatience.
+
+"I should call him a singularly well preserved man for his years."
+
+"That sounds as if he was apple-sass, or somethin' to eat. What does he
+look like? Is he stoop-shoulderd?"
+
+"Not at all. He is a tall, spare man, with white hair and a gray
+Vandyke beard."
+
+"What's a Vandyke beard? You mean whiskers?"
+
+"Yes; whiskers trimmed to a point--rather aristocratic looking."
+
+"John always was a gentleman and looked it. Is he well lookin'?"
+
+"Yes, he was in the best of health."
+
+"Is he--is he--married?"
+
+"No; he never married."
+
+Drusilla was quiet for a moment, her eyes seeing beyond the men to the
+lover who had remained true to her throughout the years.
+
+"Does he live alone?"
+
+"He has two rooms in the home of some people with whom he has lived for
+a great many years."
+
+"Is he in business?"
+
+"No; he was in business until the panic of 1893, when he lost his
+business."
+
+"What does he live on? Is he poor?"
+
+"He saved a little out of the wreck of his business and lives on that."
+
+"How much has he?"
+
+"I think he has about five hundred dollars a year; just enough to keep
+him modestly in that little town."
+
+"Does he seem happy? Did you talk with him?"
+
+"Yes; I visited with him all of one afternoon. He does not seem
+unhappy, but he is a lonely old man. All of his friends are gone and he
+leads a lonely life."
+
+"What does he do?"
+
+"He has his books."
+
+"Yes; John always loved books. They used to say that if he'd attend to
+business more and books less, he'd git along better."
+
+The clerk laughed.
+
+"I'm afraid that's what they say out there, too. He is not a practical
+man, and he seems to have paid very little attention to the making of
+money, or--what is more--to the keeping of it after he had made it."
+
+Drusilla smiled.
+
+"That's just like John," she said softly. "Set him down somewhere with
+a book and he'd forgit that there was other things he ought to be doin'
+instead of readin'. He worked in Silas Graham's grocery store when he
+was a boy, and Silas had to keep pryin' him out from behind the barrels
+to wait on customers. Silas said when he let him go that John's
+business was clerkin' in a book store and not a grocery store. Well,
+well! John's just the same, I guess. He'd ought to had some one with
+common sense to keep him goin'."
+
+"Is there anything else you would like to know?"
+
+"No--" said Drusilla hesitatingly. "I guess that's all I need to know."
+
+She was quiet for a few moments. Then:
+
+"Does he seem strong?"
+
+"Yes; strong and well."
+
+"D'ye suppose he could travel by himself?"
+
+"Certainly; he seems perfectly able to travel by himself."
+
+"Then I guess I'll write him a letter. That's all, and I thank you very
+much, young man. I suppose you have a lot more on them papers, but I
+know all I want to. Good day."
+
+A few days after Drusilla's interview with the clerk, John Brierly
+received a letter in the handwriting that, although a little feeble,
+was still familiar to him. He took it home from the post-office and did
+not break the seal until he was in his sitting-room. Then he read it.
+
+DEAR JOHN:
+
+I jest heard where you are and how you are. You are alone and I'm
+alone. We are both two old ships that have sailed the seas alone and
+now we're nearing port. Why can't we make the rest of the voyage
+together? I have a home a great deal too big for one lone woman, and
+you have no home at all. Years ago your home would have been mine if
+you could a give it to me, and now I want to share mine with you. I'm
+not proposing to you, John; we're too old to think of such things, but
+I do want to die with my hand in some one's who cares for me and who I
+care for. You're the only one in all the world that's left from out my
+past, and I want you near me. Won't you come and see me? Then we can
+talk it over, and if you don't like it here you can go back. Come to
+me, John. Let me hear by the next mail that you're a coming.
+
+DRUSILLA.
+
+P. S. If you don't come to me, I'll come to you. This is a threat,
+John. You see if I _am_ seventy years old, I'm still your wilful
+Drusilla.
+
+Drusilla doubtless would have passed the next few days anxiously
+awaiting an answer to her letter if an unforeseen occurrence had not
+driven all thoughts of it from her head. Some one had told the
+newspapers about the baby left on her doorstep, and that she had
+refused to send it to the police, and one morning great headlines
+stared her in the face: DRUSILLA DOANE A TRUE PHILANTHROPIST. Again she
+saw her picture and the picture of the house in Brookvale, and read:
+
+I'll send no baby to a home. I've eaten charity bread and it was bitter
+and charity milk would be the same.
+
+That started for Drusilla a strenuous existence for a few days. The
+next morning a baby--a weak, sickly little thing--was found beside the
+locked gates, with a note pinned to its tiny jacket. "Won't you please
+take my baby too?" Drusilla took it into her motherly arms, looked with
+pitying eyes into its little white pinched face, and sent it to the
+butler's wife until she could determine what to do with it. The next
+morning there were two babies waiting; and that night at dinner the
+butler was called to the door by a ring, and when he opened it, he
+found a little boy about two years of age standing there with a note in
+his hand. The grounds were searched for the person who had brought the
+baby and left it standing there, but no one was found--and he, too, was
+added to the butler's growing family. In the next week eleven children
+were brought to the house in aristocratic Brookvale, and Drusilla was
+frightened at the inundation of young that she had brought upon
+herself. They were of all kinds and all descriptions. There were John
+and Hans and Gretchen, and Frieda and Mina and Guiseppi, Rachel,
+Polvana, Francois; even a little Greek was among the collection. Their
+names were pinned to their clothing, along with letters--some pitiful
+and some impertinent, but all asking for a home for the abandoned
+child. Drusilla was dismayed and sent for the young doctor, as Mr.
+Thornton's only word was the police and a "home," to both of which
+Drusilla shook her old gray head vigorously. But she saw that she could
+not parcel the children out indefinitely among the servants, and
+consequently Dr. Eaton was asked to come and help her decide what
+should be done.
+
+When he came in, his eyes twinkled mischievously at Drusilla.
+
+"I hear you have numerous additions to the family," he said.
+
+"Young man," Drusilla said, "you set right there and tell me what to
+do. You got me in all this trouble. Now you get me out of it."
+
+The doctor stopped in amazement.
+
+"_I_ got you in this trouble? How did I get you in this trouble?"
+
+"Now, don't you look that surprised way at me," said Drusilla severely.
+"Didn't you tell me all about orphan asylums and babies having to be
+all dressed in the same way, and have all their hair tied with blue
+cord, and eat porridge out of a blue bowl, and set down and stand up
+and go to bed at the ringin' of a bell. Didn't you tell me that?"
+
+"Certainly; I said a few things like that, but--"
+
+"And didn't you make my foolish old eyes jest fill up at the thought of
+any baby I'd ever held in my arms goin' to a place like that and bein'
+turned into a little jelly-mold--them's your words, a little
+jelly-mold--"
+
+"Well--I did mention jelly-molds, but still--"
+
+"And didn't you make me feel so bad that I couldn't let Mr. Thornton
+give that blessed little John in charge and be sent to a home?"
+
+"Why--why--you had already decided; but still--"
+
+"That's the third time you've said, 'but still,' and I don't see as it
+helps me any now."
+
+"What'll I say, Miss Doane?"
+
+"You jest help me out of this fix I'm in. I got eleven babies on my
+hands, and what am I goin' to do with 'em?"
+
+"Well, it is a question, isn't it?"
+
+"No, it ain't a question; it's a whole book of questions, and the
+answers ain't found. I wash my hands of it all. You got me in; now you
+get me out."
+
+And Drusilla sat back in her chair.
+
+"Why--why--you put rather a responsibility on me. What does Mr.
+Thornton say?"
+
+"Huh!" Drusilla nearly snorted, if the sound she emitted could have
+been called a snort. "He says jest what you'd suppose he'd say. Send
+for the police and put them where they belong."
+
+"I presume he is right," said Dr. Eaton a little sadly. "I don't see
+what else you can do with them; unless--"
+
+"Unless what? If that's all you can say, I needn't have sent for you.
+I've heard that with every baby that's come. Now I want somethin'
+different. What's your 'unless' mean?"
+
+"Unless you keep them, Miss Doane."
+
+"How'm I goin' to keep eleven babies and they comin' faster every day?"
+
+"I think you had better head off the rest."
+
+"How can I do that? They jest come and there ain't no one to give 'em
+to."
+
+"We will put a policeman on guard to watch the gates, and arrest the
+next one who leaves a bundle or a basket."
+
+"I hate to arrest any one, but--perhaps it's the only thing to do. But
+that don't help none with the ones I got now. And, Dr. Eaton, they're
+the cunningest lot of babies! I go round every night to see 'em
+undressed. I've took more exercise trotting to the different houses
+where I've put 'em just to look at 'em go to bed--well, I jest can't
+send 'em to a home."
+
+"Why should you? Now let's talk sensibly, Miss Doane. What are your
+plans for your own life?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"What are you going to do with yourself? How occupy yourself?"
+
+"I don't occupy myself. I'm jest settin' around waitin' to die; and,
+between you and me and the gate-post, Dr. Eaton, I'm not used to jest
+waitin'. I'm used to doin' somethin' if I _am_ an old woman."
+
+"That's just it--you are used to doing something. Now here's something
+that you can do that's worth while. There's a whole lot of babies in
+the world that need a home, and why can't you take your share of them
+and give them a chance in life?"
+
+"How can I give them a chance?"
+
+"Why, Miss Doane, who could give them a better chance? You have money--"
+
+"Yes--heaps of it; and I set wonderin' what to do with it. I want to
+spend it and I don't know how."
+
+"How can you spend it better than by taking care of all these babies,
+by seeing that they'll have love and care instead of being brought up
+by chance or charity, which is bound to kill every decent instinct a
+child may be born with."
+
+Here Dr. Eaton got up and began walking around the room. His eyes grew
+bright, his voice earnest and thrilling to the old woman who watched
+him as he walked up and down.
+
+"Miss Doane, you have a wonderful chance to do something great. I envy
+you for the chance. Just think of being able to take these little waifs
+and provide a place for them to grow up into the men and women that it
+was intended they should be! Whenever I go down to the orphan asylum
+and see all the little tads herded around in bunches by paid nurses,
+and no one really caring for them, no one tucking them up at night, no
+one singing them little songs, no one hearing their evening prayers, it
+seems to me that I _must_ take them all away with me. It seems that we
+are all wrong in a world where a Great Master whose teaching we are
+supposed to follow said, 'Suffer the little children to come unto me,'
+when we allow them to be turned into little machines, unloved and
+uncared for. Oh, Miss Doane, you've got a great chance. _Take it!"_
+
+Drusilla frankly wiped the tears from her eyes.
+
+"Dr. Eaton, you almost make me cry. But where'll I put 'em?"
+
+"How big is this house? You don't use it all, do you?"
+
+"Use it all! Well, I should say not. I feel like a pea in a tin can
+shakin' around loose. Young man, there's twelve empty bedrooms in this
+place and I don't know how many other rooms that's goin' to waste."
+
+"There you are! Why not fill them up? Of what use are they lying empty?"
+
+"That's what I often think, and I wonder why one old woman's got so
+many rooms when there's lots of people ain't got no place to go. It
+don't seem jest right."
+
+"Of course it isn't right. You've too much; a great many have nothing.
+Now even up."
+
+"Who'll I git to take care of 'em?"
+
+"We'll have to figure that out."
+
+"We'll have to figure it out mighty sudden. I got them young ones
+pretty well passeled out among the hired help, and they ain't enjyin'
+them so much as I am. First thing I know the hull cahoots of 'em'll
+leave, though speakin' for a few of 'em it wouldn't cause me to go to
+an early grave to be shet of some of 'em."
+
+"I must be off. I'll think it over and let you know what I've figured
+out for you."
+
+"Well, hurry up about it. It's a lot to think of. I never thought I'd
+take to raisin' children at my time of life; but you never can tell
+what you'll end as. I'm pretty old to begin, I'm afraid."
+
+"Come now, Miss Doane; don't get cold feet. One is never too old to try
+something. If it doesn't work, you can always send them to the police
+that Mr. Thornton tells you about. They're always there; so are the
+homes."
+
+"Yes; that's so. And they wouldn't be no worse off'n when they come.
+Well--you run along and start somethin'."
+
+"Yes, we'll start something, Miss Doane."
+
+Dr. Eaton went away, and the next morning he got an excited telephone
+call from Drusilla herself, which showed that it was of the utmost
+importance to her and even overcame her dislike of talking into a
+"box," as she called it.
+
+"Come right over, Dr. Eaton; come right over at once," she said. "I've
+got another baby and they've caught the mother."
+
+Dr. Eaton lost no time in coming to Drusilla, and he found a very
+excited little woman, with her hat and gloves on, waiting for him.
+
+"Don't come in; I'll tell you on the way. I've got the car and my
+bunnet's on, so we'll go along."
+
+Drusilla did not stop to explain but stepped into the car, and gave
+directions to the chauffeur.
+
+Dr. Eaton laughed.
+
+"Why all this hurry, Miss Doane? Is something afire?"
+
+"Yes; I'm afire, and I'm mad! They put a officer of some kind at the
+gate last night, and this morning he caught a woman leavin' a baby. An'
+how do you suppose he caught her? The man was hid and couldn't catch
+the woman when the baby was left, and he waited and pinched the baby
+and made it cry, and then the poor little mother who was waitin'
+somewhere to see her baby took in, come to see what was the matter, and
+they took her. I can jest see it all--the poor little mother in hidin',
+waitin' to see her baby took in the house, and, hearin' it cry, her
+mother heart drew it back to comfort it, and she was caught. Mr.
+Thornton tells me she was taken to court, and that's where we're
+a-goin' this minute. I want to see that mother, and find out why she
+left the baby."
+
+When they arrived at the court, Dr. Eaton and Drusilla found a seat up
+near the front. They were wedged in between wives with anxious faces
+wondering if their husbands would be taken away from them, or watching
+them pay in fines the dollars that were so badly needed in the home.
+They were all there, those hangers-on of misery--the policemen, the
+plain clothes men, the probation officers, the cheap lawyers, the
+reporters. Here and there was an artist or a writer looking for "copy,"
+or some woman from Fifth Avenue trying to get a new sensation from the
+troubles of her less fortunate sisters. Over it all there was a silence
+that was heavy and dead. A silence born of fear--the fear of the law.
+
+Several cases were called before the case for which Drusilla waited,
+and then a young girl not more than eighteen years old rose and stood
+before the Judge with a baby in her arms. At first she was so
+frightened that she could not answer the questions; but the Judge, a
+kindly man, waited for her to become more calm, and then, in a quiet
+voice, he began to question her.
+
+"Now do not be frightened; we will not hurt you. Just tell me why you
+left the baby."
+
+The scared voice spoke so low that her words could scarcely be heard.
+
+"I didn't know it was wrong."
+
+"If you didn't know it was wrong, why did you hide?"
+
+"I--I--wanted to see that nothin' happened to her. I kind of--kind
+of--wanted to see her as long as I could. She's my baby--and--and--I
+wouldn't see her again--and I just kind of waited round--" Here the
+girl started to cry. "I didn't know it was wrong. There was nothing
+else to do. I--I--"
+
+"You were willing to give her away, yet you cared enough to go to her
+when she cried. I don't understand it."
+
+"I don't know, but she cried and I thought somethin' might be hurtin'
+her or she wasn't covered up warm enough--and I wanted to touch her
+again--and--and--"
+
+"But if you feel that way, how could you leave her?"
+
+"What was I to do with her? I couldn't take her back home. I come from
+the country and I couldn't go back with a baby. No one would speak to
+me, and it would hurt Mother so. I jest _couldn't_. She's only two
+weeks old, and you know when you leave the hospital with a baby two
+weeks old in your arms, and you can't go home and you've no money, what
+are you goin' to do?"
+
+And she turned the tear-stained, questioning face of a child up to the
+Judge.
+
+"What were you going to do if the baby was taken in?"
+
+"I'd have tried to get work somewhere, but you can't get work with a
+baby."
+
+"Have you no friends?"
+
+"No; only some girls in the store where I worked."
+
+"How did you come to leave the baby where you did?"
+
+"A girl in the hospital read in a paper about an old lady who had no
+children and who took a baby left on her doorstep, and so I left mine,
+thinking that if she saw her once, she is so pretty that she'd _have_
+to love her, and she'd have a chance to grow up like other girls. And
+I'd 'a' gone to work feeling that my baby had a home which I knowed I
+couldn't give her."
+
+"But why didn't you go to some of the homes that are open to girls like
+you?"
+
+"Homes? I didn't know of any."
+
+"There are many institutions that would have helped you. Didn't any one
+tell you about them?"
+
+"No; I wouldn't talk much with people. I was afraid that they'd send
+word to Mother, and I didn't want her to know and feel bad, so I didn't
+talk about myself. It's been awful hard--" and the babyish lips began
+to tremble.
+
+"Do you want to keep the baby?"
+
+The girl's face brightened.
+
+"Do I want to--do I _want_ to--But I can't! They tell me there's no
+place for a girl with a baby."
+
+"Will you work?"
+
+"Oh, Judge," and she drew the baby closer to her, "jest give me a
+chance! I'll work my fingers off for her. She's all I've got now,
+and--I'm--I'm--_so_ lonely."
+
+The Judge started to say something, but he was interrupted by a little
+old lady rising from one of the seats.
+
+"Judge, jest you give me that girl and the baby. I'll take her."
+
+The Judge looked over his glasses at the excited, flushed face of the
+old lady in front of him.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"I said, jest you give me that girl and the baby, and I'll take her.
+I'll take her right home with me."
+
+The Judge looked at her a moment in silence; then the young man beside
+the lady came forward and said:
+
+"May I speak with you a moment, Judge Carlow?"
+
+There was a whispered conference between the Judge, Dr. Eaton, and the
+kindly-faced, white-haired probation officer, and then the Judge turned
+to the young girl.
+
+"Discharged in care of Miss Drusilla Doane," he said.
+
+The girl and her baby came with the doctor through the gates which
+separated those who were entwined in the meshes of the law from the
+onlookers; then, stopping to get Drusilla, Dr. Eaton and his charge
+left the court-room.
+
+The wondering girl was placed in the motor and whirled swiftly toward
+Brookvale.
+
+Drusilla was quiet for a time. Then:
+
+"Dr. Eaton," she said, "I believe we've found our nurses. Here's our
+first one. Why can't we find the other mothers?"
+
+"I am afraid that would be rather difficult."
+
+"Difficulties are made to get around. If this young girl is willin' to
+work to be with her baby, some of the other mothers must be the same.
+Perhaps some of 'em was in just the same fix as this one. Now, look at
+that letter of John's mother. It sounded as if she wouldn't 'a' left
+him if she could 'a' got work to keep him. Why can't we git as many
+mothers as we can and have them nurse the children? We got to have
+nurses of some kind, and the mothers'd be better than jest hired girls."
+
+"It's a good idea, Miss Doane; but how can we get them? They naturally
+didn't leave their addresses."
+
+"We'll advertise in the papers."
+
+"But that would scare them; they would be afraid it would be a trap to
+get them arrested."
+
+"Say in the papers that we won't arrest 'em, but that we'll give 'em a
+chance to support their babies and live with them while they're doin'
+it. Tell 'em I give my word that nothin'll happen to 'em. Git that
+young man that talked to me once. He said he'd do anything for me I
+asked him. Git him to write it all up."
+
+Dr Eaton pondered thoughtfully for a few moments.
+
+"It might work, and again it might not."
+
+"Well, there ain't no harm tryin'. Fix up a good advertisement and put
+it in all the papers--Dutch, Italian, French and Irish. The babies are
+all kinds."
+
+By the time they arrived at the big house in Brookvale Drusilla was
+very much interested in her new scheme.
+
+"No," she said firmly to Dr. Eaton when he intimated that he must
+leave; "you ain't goin' now. Jest you come with me. Jane, you take this
+girl and this baby up to one of the spare rooms and see she has a bath
+and the baby some milk. Have you had your dinner? No; of course not.
+Jane, git her somethin' to eat--somethin' solid; not them finicky
+things the cook makes. Git her all fixed up; then come to me. Dr.
+Eaton, you come with me to that big room I was a lookin' at the other
+day."
+
+She led the way to the third floor, where there was a big billiard room.
+
+"Isn't this just the right kind of a room for babies?" she exclaimed.
+"Look at them windows to let the sun in! Now, how many beds can I put
+here? We'll take them big tables out and we can put a lot of beds side
+by side; and the nurse can sleep in this room here that opens out of
+it, with the littlest babies near her."
+
+The doctor looked at the room.
+
+"It seems made for a nursery, doesn't it?" he commented. "Let's see.
+You could put six little beds along each side, and a couple in the
+other room with the nurse's bed. That would more than dispose of your
+dozen already."
+
+"And I been a-worryin' what to do with 'em all when I got this room! I
+ought 'a' been ashamed of myself! Now, you run right along and order
+the things we need--beds and whatever babies should have--and send them
+right up. Tell the storekeepers that they must git here at once or I
+won't take 'em. I can jest see James's face when I tell him his wife
+won't need to keep them five babies he's got any longer. I'll go and
+take my bunnet off and help move."
+
+Within the next two days twelve little beds were established in the
+billiard room, and the little mother was installed as first nurse, with
+Jane and a couple of girls hired as assistants.
+
+That evening Drusilla was sitting down to dinner--or supper, as she
+called it--when Mr. Thornton was ushered in. He was more severe and
+uncompromising than ever, and Drusilla said to herself, "I'm in for it.
+He's heard somethin'."
+
+But she did not show that she was a wee bit nervous. She said, as if it
+were the usual thing for him to make her an evening call,
+
+"Why, how do you do, Mr. Thornton? Won't you have some supper with me?"
+
+"No, thank you. I came to talk with you."
+
+"Now, that's real nice of you. I always like to talk. Set right down
+and we'll have a comfortable visit. You'd better change your mind and
+have some supper."
+
+"No; my dinner is waiting for me."
+
+"I eat my dinner in the middle of the day, though James will call it
+lunch. I think a great big dinner at night makes you dream of your
+grandmother, so I have mine like I used to."
+
+"I understand that you have been to court, and brought home with you
+that woman and her child."
+
+"Well, well! How news does travel! How did you hear that?"
+
+"It is in the evening papers."
+
+"Is it? Well, I do declare! It seems I can't do nothin' but what I git
+in the papers. I don't need to talk to git writ up; my money talks for
+me. What did they say?"
+
+The lawyer drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to Drusilla. She
+took her glasses from her forehead, where they had been resting, and
+read aloud: MISS DRUSILLA DOANE, THE FRIEND OF THE FRIENDLESS.
+
+"Well, ain't that nice of 'em!" she stopped to comment; then she went
+on reading.
+
+"They seem to have it all down," she said, handing the paper back to
+Mr. Thornton.
+
+He looked at her with the air he used when trying to frighten witnesses
+who opposed him.
+
+"Of course, you will deny all this. You will make a statement that it
+is all a mistake, and that you do not intend to give
+these--these--wanderers a home."
+
+"Now, that's a good word, Mr. Thornton; that's jest what they
+are--wanderers. But they won't be wanderers no more; they've found a
+home."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Jest what I said, Mr. Thornton. I mean to give that mother and her
+baby a home."
+
+"I do not understand you at all, Miss Doane; or at least I hope I am
+mistaken in your meaning."
+
+"I talk plain American."
+
+"I have been waiting for you to send those children that have been left
+here to the proper authorities."
+
+"Well, I'm an authority--or at least I seem to be one since I got all
+this money; and no one ain't ever said I wasn't proper."
+
+"You are evading the question. I have said with the advent of each
+child that it should be sent, along with the others, to the police.
+They would dispose of them in the homes ordained for them."
+
+"I ain't a Presbyterian, Mr. Thornton, and I don't believe in
+predestination and foreordination. Them babies of mine was never
+ordained for a home--the kind you mean; and I won't put 'em there. I
+got room and I got money to feed 'em and clothe 'em; so why shouldn't I
+keep 'em?"
+
+"It is quite impossible, _quite_ impossible!"
+
+"Why impossible?"
+
+"Why--why--my late client, Mr. Elias Doane--"
+
+"Now, don't throw him in my teeth again. Elias Doane don't care whether
+I keep babies or poodle dogs, and I like babies best. Now, don't let's
+quarrel, Mr. Thornton," as she saw him give an exasperated shake of his
+head and rise as if to go. "Set still and talk it over with me calm
+like. Can't you see _my_ side to it? I'm old and I'm lonesome, and I've
+always wanted babies but the Lord didn't see fit to let me have 'em,
+and now He's sent me these. I feel that I'd be a goin' against His
+plans if I didn't keep 'em. My old heart's jest full of love that's
+goin' to waste, and I want to give it to some one, and," laughing, "I
+can't waste much of it on you, can I? I don't want to die with it all
+shet up inside of me. I want to love these babies and learn 'em to love
+me. Why, what chance will a baby brung up in a 'home' have to know
+about love? How can they ever be learnt of the love of God when they
+grow up, if they don't learn something about love when they're little.
+They won't know the word. Don't be so set against it, Mr.
+Thornton"--she looked at him pleadingly for a moment, then her eyes
+twinkled--"though it won't do you much good as I'm set on this and I'm
+goin' to do it. Your late client, Mr. Elias Doane, said, 'Spend my
+money, Drusilla, in your own way'; and I'm takin' him at his word."
+
+Mr. Thornton rose.
+
+"Nothin more can be said then; but it is a disgrace to the neighborhood
+to have a home for waifs come to it."
+
+Drusilla flushed hotly.
+
+"Don't you call it that; and don't you call it a 'home'! It's a home,
+but not the kind you mean, and I won't hear it called that."
+
+"I wash my hands of the affair. You will get into trouble, and when you
+do you may call on me."
+
+Drusilla rose and laid her hand on Mr. Thornton's arm.
+
+"I'm sure to get into trouble," she said. "I always was a hand to do
+that. But when I do you'll be the true, kind friend I know you are, and
+help me out."
+
+Mr. Thornton smiled, against his will, as he looked down into the
+earnest face of the little old lady. He patted the hand on his arm.
+
+"Miss Doane, you are causing me a lot of trouble not connected with the
+business of the estate; but of course I'll always help you. Every one
+will--they can't help it."
+
+Drusilla drew a sigh of relief.
+
+"I'm glad to know you ain't agin me, 'cause I like you, even when you
+almost always come here to scold me. You ain't near so stiff inside as
+you are outside. We're friends now, ain't we, babies or no babies?"
+
+Mr. Thornton bent and kissed the withered old hand.
+
+"Always, Miss Doane, babies or no babies; but you had better--"
+
+"Never mind! You run along. Your dinner's cold by now. What you want to
+say'll keep till next time, and I know it ain't near as nice as what
+you said last. Good night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+John Brierly came.
+
+He first wrote Drusilla a long letter and Drusilla answered it by
+telegraph--an answer that brought a reminiscent smile to John Brierly's
+lips. It read:
+
+_"I can't talk by letter. Just come."_
+
+And John came.
+
+He was met at the station by the young man from the lawyer's office who
+had been to see him in Cliveden, and when he arrived at the house he
+found Drusilla awaiting him. After the young man left, Drusilla said:
+
+"John, come upstairs; I want to look at you, and I want to talk to you."
+
+She took him up to the small library, which looked very cozy with its
+fire in the big grate and the heavy English curtains drawn at the
+windows.
+
+"Now set down there in that chair, John. It was made for a man--no
+woman could ever get out of it without help once she got in--and tell
+me all about yourself, John."
+
+John looked around the luxurious room in a hesitating manner.
+
+"I hardly know what to say, Drusilla--I can't understand all this--I
+can't understand."
+
+"Never mind, John; it's all real. I know how you feel. I felt that way
+myself for the first few weeks; but now I'm gettin' used to it."
+
+"Is--is--this place yours, Drusilla?"
+
+"Yes, it's mine. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, but now I just
+want to talk to you and about you. You want to smoke, don't you? Light
+your pipe and be comfortable. It'll make you think better."
+
+John laughed.
+
+"I do want to smoke."
+
+He drew his pipe from some pocket and filled it from a worn tobacco
+pouch.
+
+Drusilla watched him interestedly.
+
+"Now I know what this room needed. It needs tobacco. It'll make the
+curtains smell as if people lived here. You know the greatest trouble I
+find with this place, John, is to have it feel human. Everything is so
+sort of--sort of--dead--with just me a-creepin' round, and James and
+William tip-toein', and the hired girls never speakin' except to say,
+'No, ma'am' or 'Yes, ma'am.' Why, sometimes I'd like to hear somebody
+drop somethin', or get mad, or stomp, or do _somethin'_ as if they was
+alive. Here, help me pull up the chair closer by the fire, where I can
+see you without putting on my specs. There, that is comfortable. Now
+tell me all about yourself."
+
+John looked into the fire dreamily.
+
+"Drusilla, I am afraid I have been a failure. Your mother was right;
+I've been always a dreamer and a failure."
+
+Drusilla leaned toward him.
+
+"Never you mind, John. So long as you haven't been a dreamer and a
+democrat, I can stand it. I never could abide democrats. Why didn't you
+ever marry?"
+
+John looked at her.
+
+"I couldn't, Drusilla."
+
+Drusilla flushed at the look in his face and sat back in her chair.
+
+"Oh--Oh--"
+
+John said again, earnestly: "I just couldn't, Drusilla. When I got you
+out of my heart enough to look at another woman, I was too old to care."
+
+"What are you going to do now?" Drusilla asked, to turn the
+conversation into another channel.
+
+"What I have done for the last few years--sit quietly by and wait for
+the messenger to come."
+
+"Stuff and nonsense, John! I don't believe in waitin' for messengers.
+That's meetin' them half way. I believe in bein' so busy that he'll
+have a hard time to catch up to me."
+
+"But I'm old, Drusilla, and--"
+
+"Old, nothin' of the sort! You ain't but two years older'n me and I'm
+jest beginnin' to live. Why I've jest took to raisin' children, John,
+and I'm goin' to watch 'em grow up; so I can't afford to think about
+being old or dyin'. I got to see these babies get started someway."
+
+John looked at her curiously.
+
+"Yes, you're surprised--so's everybody--and it kind of tickles me to
+surprise people. I've had to do the things expected of me all my life;
+I couldn't afford to surprise no one; so I feel like I'm breaking out
+now, and--and--" laughing, "I like it, John--I like it. Why, when Mr.
+Thornton stands up so stiff and straight and makes his mouth square and
+hard to say, _'Impossible!'_ why--why--my toes kind of wiggle around in
+delight like the babies do when you hold 'em to the fire. But I don't
+want to talk about myself; we got lots of time to do that. I want to
+know what you intend doin'."
+
+"Nothing, Drusilla. I have enough to live on in my little town; and
+with my books, and--"
+
+"But, John, you can't live with jest _books."_
+
+"That's all I have left, Drusilla. All my friends are gone."
+
+"That's what I wanted to hear. You ain't got no one that draws your
+heart back to that place in Ohio, have you?"
+
+"No one in the world, Drusilla."
+
+Drusilla settled back into her chair and gave a sigh of contentment.
+
+"Then what I've been dreamin' of ever sence I saw your name in the
+paper can come true."
+
+"What have you been a-dreaming of, Drusilla?"
+
+Drusilla was silent for a few moments, looking thoughtfully into the
+fire. Then she said softly:
+
+"Ever sence I knew you was alive, and after I sent that young man out
+to you and he told me about you, I jest been dreamin' of seein' you
+settin' there, smokin' your pipe, and me a-settin' here, talkin' to
+you, and I have come into this room more the last two weeks, lookin' at
+it, thinkin' how it would look with your things layin' around. You are
+alone, John, and I'm alone. As I wrote you, we are both two old ships
+that have sailed the seas alone for all these years, and now we're
+nearin' port. Why can't we make the rest of the voyage together? I have
+a home too big for one lone woman; you have no home at all. Years ago
+your home would 'a' been mine, if you could 'a' give it to me; and now
+I want to share mine with you. No--don't start," as she saw John make a
+movement, "I ain't proposin' to you, John. We're too old to think of
+such things, but I want to die with my hand in some one's who cares for
+me and who I care for. You're the only one in all the world that's left
+from out my past, and I want you near me."
+
+"But, Drusilla--"
+
+"Don't interrupt me, John. I want you to live here near me. These rooms
+are a man's rooms. I want to see a man in 'em; and, John, you're the
+man I want."
+
+"But, Drusilla--"
+
+"Now, John," raising her faded hand, "don't argue with me. I can see
+it's took you by surprise. But why shouldn't you live here, and me
+across the hall; and evenings, when the time is long, we can set before
+the fire like this and talk of the past. It's lonely, John, with no
+one."
+
+"But, Drusilla, I couldn't--I couldn't--"
+
+"Couldn't what, John? Couldn't you be happy here?"
+
+"It isn't that."
+
+"Well, what is it?"
+
+"Drusilla, I couldn't accept even your charity."
+
+"Now, John, I was afraid you'd say somethin' like that. When I was
+young, when we were young together, I'd 'a' give you all my life. What
+is a roof and the food you eat, compared to what I'd 'a' give you if
+things had been different?"
+
+"But, Drusilla--"
+
+"Yes, I know all you'd say. But see, John. I have more'n I can ever
+spend, though, goodness knows, I'm goin' to do my best; and there's
+some things I can't buy, John. I can't buy companionship and friends,
+John; and that's what we are, jest two old friends. We've drifted far
+apart, and now the winds has brought us together again, let's anchor
+side by side."
+
+They were both silent, staring into the fire. Then Drusilla rose.
+
+"Now we won't talk of it no more. These are your rooms. I want you to
+do what you want to do. If you'd feel that you could be happy here,
+send for your books and call this home, 'cause remember, John," and she
+went up to him and standing back of his chair put her hand around his
+head until it rested on his face, "remember, John, I always want you."
+
+John reached up and covered the soft little hand with one of his for a
+moment, then he brought it down and kissed it.
+
+Drusilla turned and left the room.
+
+The next few days were happy days for Drusilla. She took great pride in
+showing John the place, and they spent long hours in the gallery
+studying and discussing the pictures. The armor room was John's
+especial delight, after the library. He found a book on armor and
+learned the rules of chivalry. Drusilla said she could always tell
+where to find him--"a-studyin' them tin clothes."
+
+One sunshiny day they decided to visit the Doane home. John did not
+want to go where there were so many women, but Drusilla insisted.
+
+"I want 'em to see a man, John. They're shet up all day with nothin'
+but women, and they're tired of seein' 'em."
+
+"But I'm an old man, Drusilla."
+
+"Never mind how old you are, you're a _man,_ and any man'll look good
+to them. Even if most of the ladies is past seventy, they ain't dead
+yet, and they're still women. You'll see how they'll set up and take
+notice; Miss Lodema'll smooth back her hair as soon as you step on the
+porch. I want to give 'em some real pleasure. Barbara'd like to talk to
+you better'n gettin' new teeth even. We'll take the big car and take as
+many as we can git in it out for a ride."
+
+Drusilla had the cook make some cakes, for, as she confided to John, "I
+ain't a-goin' to take 'em a thing sensible. They git that every day.
+I'm goin' to have the cook make 'em as big cakes as he can, and put
+lots of frostin' and chocolate on 'em; and I've sent to town for twenty
+pounds of candy--the real fancy kind, that'll quite likely make 'em all
+sick, but they'll love it; and I've bought 'em a lot of things they
+don't need and that no one would think of givin' 'em. They're going to
+have a _real_ party when I come to see 'em, John."
+
+Drusilla was as excited as a child about her visit; but her excitement
+did not equal that of the old ladies when Drusilla was seen driving
+into the grounds in a big limousine with a man beside her.
+
+The women clustered around her and chattered and talked and asked
+questions, and fingered their gifts like a group of children at a visit
+of Santa Claus. After lunch Drusilla announced that five of the old
+ladies should go with her to the near-by city, where she was going to
+take Barbara to a dentist.
+
+"I don't want the dentist that would come here to see the 'inmates.'
+He'd give charity teeth. I want Barbara to have real teeth, so's she
+can chew a bone if she wants to, and I want to take Grandma Perkins.
+She's never been in a motor and she's near ninety, so she'd better
+hurry up or she'll be ridin' in a chariot and after that a motorcar
+wouldn't be excitin'."
+
+The old ladies were bundled up, Grandma Perkins was carried out to the
+car, and they were off to the city about twenty miles away. The women
+were awed at first, and rather uneasy, some of them a little
+frightened. Drusilla watched Grandma Perkins, to see that she was not
+nervous; but after a few miles had been passed, the old lady sat up
+straighter in her shawls, and her eyes became bright.
+
+"Drusilla," she asked, "how fast are we goin'?"
+
+"I don't know," Drusilla said. "We'll ask the man."
+
+Twenty-five miles an hour, the chauffeur told them.
+
+"We'll go slower if it scares you, Grandma," Drusilla said gently.
+
+The old lady looked at her with scorn.
+
+"Scares me, nothin'! I was only wonderin' if we couldn't go faster!"
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"That's jest what I said when I first rode in the car with Mr.
+Thornton."
+
+She gave the order and the car sped swiftly over the macadam road. The
+old lady settled back among her shawls, a look of absolute happiness on
+her wrinkled old face.
+
+They arrived at the city all too soon. Barbara was taken to the
+dentist, and Drusilla had the other ladies taken to a tea shop and
+given tea while she waited for Barbara.
+
+After tea they started home.
+
+"I don't want to go back, Drusilla," Grandma Perkins began to whimper.
+"Must we go back right away?"
+
+Drusilla looked puzzled.
+
+"I don't know what to do. Where'll we go if we don't go back?" She
+thought a moment. "I'll ask Joseph; he always knows everything." She
+turned to the waiting chauffeur. "Joseph, we don't want to go home.
+Ain't there anything we can see?"
+
+Joseph looked at the five old ladies, evidently at a loss as to what
+would please them; then a suggestion occurred to him.
+
+"You might go to a moving-picture show."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"It's--it's a kind of theater."
+
+"Well, I ain't never seen one," said Drusilla; and turned to the old
+ladies, who were waiting patiently to learn of their final disposal.
+"Do you want to go to a movin'-picture show?"
+
+"What's that?" came in chorus.
+
+"I don't know myself, but it's a sort of--sort of--"
+
+"Never mind what it is, we want to go."
+
+"Yes, let's go, Drusilla; let's not go home."
+
+And the patrons of the moving-picture house had a view of six old
+ladies, piloted by a smartly dressed chauffeur, who saw them seated in
+a box and then left them. It was really a very good moving-picture, and
+if the actors could have seen the delight of the box party they would
+have felt they had not toiled in vain. They sat for two hours entranced
+by the scenes that passed before them on the screen. One of the plays
+was a war-time drama, and the old ladies were quite likely the only
+ones in the house to whom the blue and the gray brought memories.
+
+At the end of the reel, Drusilla decided that they should be leaving,
+as supper would be ready at the home. One of the old ladies objected.
+
+"Let's not go home, Drusilla; let's miss supper."
+
+"It's bean night, anyway," said another. "Let's stay."
+
+Five pairs of dim old eyes looked at Drusilla beseechingly.
+
+"Well, we'll stay just a little while longer," she concluded.
+
+The little while quite likely would have been the rest of the evening
+if the performance had not finished for the afternoon. They rose with a
+sigh and left the theater. When they started to help Grandma Perkins
+into the car, she stopped with one foot on the step.
+
+"Drusilla, I want to ride with the man," she said.
+
+"Oh, but, Grandma, you'd catch cold," Drusilla objected.
+
+"I wouldn't," she wailed, "and I want to. I might jest as well die fer
+a sheep as a lamb, and I won't never git no chance again to feel myself
+goin' through the air with nothin' in front of me."
+
+"But, Grandma--"
+
+The old lip quivered, and the eyes filled childishly.
+
+"But I want to, Drusilla. I don't want to be all squshed up with a lot
+of old women where I can't see nothin'. I want to see, and I want to
+_feel."_
+
+Drusilla turned helplessly to the other women, and then Joseph came to
+her aid.
+
+"She can sit here, Ma'am. I'll fix the wind shield so's she won't catch
+cold, and you can put this rug around her. She'll be warm."
+
+Grandma Perkins was lifted into the seat by the driver, bundled up in a
+big fur rug so that only her bright eyes could be seen, and they were
+off. Twice on the way home Grandma Perkins was seen to lean towards the
+chauffeur and the car jumped forward until it seemed that they were
+flying. When at last they drove into the "home" grounds, they found a
+very anxious superintendent and John waiting for them, fearing
+something had happened.
+
+As Drusilla took her leave, Grandma Perkins chuckled childishly.
+
+"I always said, Drusilla, that I didn't want to die and go to Heaven;
+but I've changed my mind. I'll go any time now, 'cause I like flyin'
+and am willin' to be an angel."
+
+The superintendent was inclined to be angry with Drusilla--as angry as
+she could be with a woman who possessed a million dollars. She said
+stiffly:
+
+"I'm afraid the ladies will be ill to-morrow."
+
+One of them, hearing it, spoke up.
+
+"Of course we'll all be sick; but, then, it was worth it!"
+
+And Drusilla left with those words ringing in her ears.
+
+"John," she said, "perhaps all is vanity and a strivin' after wind; but
+the preacher didn't know much about women, or his wives didn't have
+motorcars."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+One morning James came to Drusilla.
+
+"There is a man downstairs who wishes to see you," he announced.
+
+"What does he want?" asked Drusilla.
+
+"He does not say; just says he wants to see you personally. He says he
+is from your home town or village."
+
+Drusilla looked up, pleased.
+
+"Is that so. Take him in one of the setting-rooms and I'll be right
+down."
+
+James hesitated.
+
+"What is it, James?"
+
+"He, well, he is not exactly a gentleman; he looks like a man from the
+country."
+
+"That ain't nothin' to disgrace him for life. I'm from the country too,
+and I'm real glad to see any one from the place where I was raised. I
+ain't seen no one from there for a long time."
+
+When she went downstairs she found a rather florid man, about fifty
+years of age, dressed as a farmer would dress when out on a holiday.
+She extended her hand cordially.
+
+"James tells me you are from Adams," she said. "I'm real glad to see
+somebody from there. Set down. Won't you take off your coat?"
+
+The man removed his overcoat and sat down.
+
+"I am John Gleason," he said; "the brother of James Gleason, who owns
+the Spring Valley Stock Farm, just out of Adams."
+
+Drusilla thought for a moment.
+
+"I don't seem to recall the name, but perhaps you moved there sence I
+went away."
+
+"I been there about thirty years. Of course you know William Fisher,
+the editor of the county paper? He is a friend of mine."
+
+Drusilla's face brightened.
+
+"Yes, indeed; I know him well. I nursed his wife through all her
+children and her last spell of sickness."
+
+"Is that so! His wife was a cousin of my wife's. Her name was Jenny
+Jameson before she married me."
+
+"The daughter of old Dr. Jameson! Well, I do declare, it's like meetin'
+old friends. How is she?"
+
+"I'm sorry to say she is not very well. We lost our little girl about
+two years ago, and she has been sick ever since."
+
+Kindly Drusilla was all sympathy at once.
+
+"Do tell me. What did she die of."
+
+"Diphtheria. She got it in school; it run through all the children in
+the county."
+
+"How old was she?"
+
+"She was eleven, and it near broke my wife's heart. She was our only
+child. I catch her settin' by the door waitin' for Julia to come home.
+It worries me very much."
+
+"Well, I'm so sorry. Have you had a doctor?"
+
+"Yes; we have had Dr. Friedman and another doctor from the city. But
+they don't seem to be doing her no good."
+
+"It's too bad! Now perhaps I got something that'll help her. I got some
+harbs that make the best tonic. I always give it to mothers who didn't
+get along well, and it made them have an appetite; and if one can eat
+well, they can ginerally git enough strength to throw off sorrow. You
+just set still a minute, and I'll make a package for you. I ain't got
+much left, 'cause I been kind of savin' of it; but I know it'll do your
+wife good, so I'm goin' to give you some."
+
+Drusilla left to go up to her room to find the "harbs" that she had
+been carefully cherishing for time of need. When she returned she
+handed the package to the man.
+
+"You have her bile them fifteen minutes and drink it like a tea," she
+said.
+
+They chatted for fifteen minutes about the families in Adams. Mr.
+Gleason seemed to be very familiar with them all, and Drusilla's eyes
+brightened as she heard the old names. She thoroughly enjoyed the visit.
+
+"John Brierly is upstairs," she said finally. "I'll call him. He'd like
+to hear all the news of the old neighbors, and perhaps he'll know about
+your father."
+
+The man looked embarrassed.
+
+"Well, Miss Doane," he stammered, "I'd like to see him, but I'm in a
+hurry. I want to get the eleven o'clock train home. I'm worried about
+leaving my wife. She's not sick, you know, but just peculiar and I
+don't like to leave her longer than I can help. I had to come down on
+business--I've been seeing about some cattle over in New Jersey,
+and--and--Miss Doane, I'm in trouble, and I don't know a soul in New
+York, and I didn't know who I could go to but you, and I remembered you
+was from Adams and might help me."
+
+Drusilla looked at him with inquiring, sympathetic eyes.
+
+"What can I do?" she asked.
+
+"Well,"--and the man was most embarrassed--"I've been farmer enough to
+have my pocket picked on the train. I was sleepy and went to sleep and
+when I woke up my pocketbook that I always carried right here"--showing
+an inside pocket in his coat--"was gone. It had all my money and my
+mileage ticket."
+
+"Well, I swan!" said Drusilla.
+
+"Yes; I didn't know _what_ to do. I tried to tell the man in the ticket
+office that I would send back my ticket money, but he wouldn't give it
+to me, and I--well--I don't know _what_ to do. I feel I ought to go
+home to my wife at once, and--and--"
+
+"How much is the ticket?"
+
+"The ticket is only about three dollars and sixty cents--"
+
+"Pshaw, that is very little. I'll get some money from James. I never
+have any."
+
+She rang the bell; and when James returned with fifteen dollars she
+handed it to the man.
+
+"You'd better have a little extra, as somethin' might happen," she said.
+
+He was more than thankful.
+
+"I'll never forget your kindness, and I'll send it to you as soon as I
+get home. You'll get it day after to-morrow. And I'll see my wife takes
+this tea. We'll never forget you, Miss Doane."
+
+He wrung her hand.
+
+"Can't I get you anything from the country," he asked. "But I suppose
+you have everything. I'd like to send you something to show you how I
+feel."
+
+Drusilla was touched.
+
+"Now that's real kind of you to think of it," she said; "but I don't
+need nothin'."
+
+She followed him to the door and helped him on with his overcoat.
+
+"Be sure and let me know how your wife gets on. Perhaps if the tea
+don't do no good, my doctor will know of something that'll help her.
+She might come down here for a few days; a change might take her mind
+off her sorrow."
+
+Again Mr. Gleason shook the kindly outstretched hand, and for a moment
+he seemed rather overcome by his feelings of gratitude.
+
+"I'll let you know at once, and I'll remember your offer. I must catch
+my train. Thank you again, Miss Doane."
+
+Drusilla watched him walk down the drive, and then she went up to tell
+John of his visit. As they were talking, Dr. Eaton's card was brought
+to her and Drusilla asked him to be shown to John's sitting-room.
+Drusilla met him with a happy smile on her face.
+
+"Come right in, Dr. Eaton. I'm always glad to see you. You're just
+youth and strength and it does my old eyes good to see you. John, this
+is Dr. Eaton, my family doctor. You didn't know I was an ailin' woman
+and have to have a doctor by the year."
+
+John looked at her anxiously.
+
+"You ain't sick, are you, Drusilla?"
+
+"Oh, money gives you lots of diseases that you didn't know you had till
+you could afford 'em."
+
+The doctor laughed.
+
+"Miss Doane'll never be sick in her life, Mr. Brierly. She's good for
+twenty-five years of hard work yet."
+
+"Don't speak that word to me, Dr. Eaton. I don't like the word _work_.
+It's stuck closer to me than a brother for too many years."
+
+"Oh, but there's work and work. But am I interrupting your visit with
+Mr. Brierly?"
+
+"No; I just been tellin' him about a visitor I had who comes from
+Adams, where we used to live when we was young. I wanted John to come
+and see him, but the man couldn't wait. He had to catch a train."
+
+"Was it an old friend? It's nice to see old friends."
+
+"No, he wasn't exactly an old friend, but he knowed a lot of people I
+knowed once. Poor man, he was in a lot of trouble. He had his pocket
+picked and couldn't get home and his wife was sick--"
+
+The doctor looked up quickly.
+
+"Did you lend him money, Miss Doane?"
+
+"Yes; I felt so sorry for him. He was so worried I let him have fifteen
+dollars. He'll send it back to me to-morrow. He was so grateful. It
+must be awful to be in a big city and know no one and have no money."
+
+"Yes; it must," the doctor remarked dryly.
+
+Drusilla looked at him quickly.
+
+"What you speakin' in that tone of voice for?"
+
+The doctor laughed rather hesitatingly.
+
+"I'm afraid, Miss Doane, that you're what the small boys call 'stung.'"
+
+"Stung? What do you mean?"
+
+"I rather imagine that was a little confidence game."
+
+"What is a confidence game?"
+
+"Oh, a man gets money from people on false pretenses. They work a lot
+of games. One of them is to go to people whom they have looked up, and
+claim to be a relation or from their home town."
+
+"But he knowed lots of names I knowed."
+
+"Yes; he might have found them in a local paper from the place."
+
+Drusilla sat back in her chair.
+
+"Well, do tell!" Then, after a moment's pause, "But I don't believe
+he's dishonest. He looked honest. He looked like a man from the
+country."
+
+"That's where they're clever. But don't worry; you can stand the
+touch--it wasn't much. You got off easy."
+
+"But I don't like to think I bin cheated. It makes me mad clean
+through. It always did. I remember once I bought a cow when mother was
+bad; paid forty dollars for her to Silas Graham. He said she was young
+and would give fifteen quarts of milk a day, and I figgered out I could
+give mother all the milk she'd need and sell the rest and in that way
+pay for her, because forty dollars was a lot of money for me in them
+days. Why, when I got that cow she never give enough milk to wet down a
+salt risin', and she was as old as Methuselah. All she could do was to
+eat, and she et her head off. I couldn't see her starve and I couldn't
+sell her. I kept her for two years, and finally a butcher come along
+and offered me eight dollars for her and I let her go. Wasn't I mad! I
+never could abide any one by the name of Silas after that."
+
+"Never mind; you're able to stand this loss. But you'd better write up
+to Adams and see if what he says is true. You can find it out easy
+enough."
+
+"No; I'll wait and see. I believe he'll send it back to me. But it
+makes me excited."
+
+"But, Miss Doane," said Dr. Eaton earnestly, "I want you to promise me
+one thing. You must not be annoyed. If the word gets around that you
+are 'easy' you'll be bothered to death. Now the next time that any one
+comes claiming to be from your home town, and asks you for money, for
+anything at all, just send for the police and have them arrested."
+
+"Oh, I'd hate to do that."
+
+"But you must, Miss Doane. You must protect yourself. Promise me that
+no matter who it is, or what kind of a con talk they give you, you'll
+send at once for the police."
+
+"Well--"
+
+"Please promise this, Miss Doane. You must make an example, or you'll
+have every confidence man in town working you. Will you do it, no
+matter what or who it is? If you are asked for money, and you don't
+know the man, have him locked up, and the story'll get around, and you
+won't be bothered any more."
+
+"Well, if you think it necessary--"
+
+"It is most necessary. You will promise?"
+
+"Yes, I'll promise. I'll do it, though I hate to."
+
+"All right; I have your word for it. Now be sure to do it. Don't
+believe a word they say, if you haven't known the person before. He's
+sure to be playing the old game, and I don't want them to think they
+can work you."
+
+"Well, all right. I'll send for the police if any one ever comes again
+and says he's from Adams. I guess you are right. Now let's change the
+subject. What did you come for particular, beside wanting to see me, of
+course."
+
+"Well, I wanted to see you, first of all, just for the pleasure of
+seeing you, and then I want to tell you about the mothers we've got by
+our advertisement."
+
+Drusilla was interested at once.
+
+"Did you git some? I told you we would. Did you advertise in all the
+papers?"
+
+"Yes; every paper in New York City--Jewish, German, Bohemian, Russian,
+everything; and I've found three mothers out of the bunch."
+
+"Well--well, I'm glad. Where are they, and who are they?"
+
+"One of them is little John's mother. You remember you thought she'd
+come and she did. The other two, we've had their stories investigated
+and found them all right. One is an American girl about twenty years of
+age whose husband deserted her when he couldn't get work, and she was
+practically starving, and the other is a little Jewish girl, who works
+in a flower factory."
+
+"The poor things! Did you bring them right up?"
+
+"No; I wanted to talk with you first, and with Mr. Thornton--"
+
+"Never mind talkin' with Mr. Thornton. This is my affair and not
+connected with the estate, as he calls it. It ain't none of his
+business, and you know what he'd say. I don't tell him more'n I have to
+till it's done, then he can't do nothin' and he's learnt he's wastin'
+his breath talkin'. You see he talks slow and I talk fast, and he don't
+git much chance."
+
+The doctor laughed.
+
+"I'm glad I don't have to talk this over with him, as he isn't what you
+might call sympathetic."
+
+"Yes; he's cold. Sometimes I look to see him drip like an icicle
+brought into a warm room, but I guess he's not so bad as he acts
+sometimes. But who's the little Jew girl?"
+
+"She is that little Jew kid's mother."
+
+"The baby with the black eyes and the big nose? Well, he ain't pretty,
+but he's clever."
+
+"The girl couldn't make but five dollars a week and she couldn't pay
+any one to keep the baby, and she had no people, so she gave it to you.
+But she's a nice little thing, and willing to work and be with her boy."
+
+"That makes four nurses, and perhaps there'll be more answer. Now you
+figger what I ought to pay 'em. I want to be just, but I ain't goin' to
+be extravagant. And send them up to-morrow. And, Doctor, I been a
+thinkin'. These mothers ought to be learnt somethin' so's they can make
+a livin' when they leave here. They can't live here forever, perhaps.
+Mis' Fearn was over here the other day and said somethin' about tryin'
+to get a good sewin' woman--some one who could make dresses in the
+house for the children and make over her old ones, and do odds and ends
+that she can't get the big dressmakers to do. She says she pays three
+dollars a day but that it's hard to get good ones. Why can't we get
+some one to teach our mothers to be dressmakers--real good ones--then
+they can always make a livin'."
+
+"That's an idea, Miss Doane, and a good one. We'll think it over."
+
+"Well, you figger it out; but we got enough to think about jest now.
+We've got a good start--twelve babies and four mothers. I think I'll
+stop with that. Twelve is a good number."
+
+Just then James came to the door with a disgusted look on his face. He
+glanced from one to the other in perplexity. Drusilla looked up.
+
+"What is it, James?"
+
+James was plainly embarrassed.
+
+"I'd--I'd--like to speak to Dr. Eaton. I think I'd better speak to him
+first."
+
+"What do you want to say to him you can't say to me? Has some one sent
+for him?"
+
+"No--no--"
+
+"Well, is it private? What you so nervous about, James? You look
+foolish."
+
+"Well--well--"
+
+"Say it! What is it?"
+
+"Well, ma'am--there's another baby come."
+
+"_What!"_ cried Drusilla, sitting erect in her chair.
+
+"What!" exclaimed Dr. Eaton. "Where's the watchman?"
+
+"I don't know, sir. The baby was found at the laundry door, and no one
+was in sight, though we all searched the grounds and the roads."
+
+"Well, I swan! I thought we'd stopped. What'll we do with it?"
+
+James said impressively: "We'd better send this one to the police
+station."
+
+"James," said Drusilla severely, "I've told you I won't send a baby to
+the police station. Bring it up and let me see it!"
+
+"But, ma'am, this is different--"
+
+Drusilla sniffed.
+
+"It can't be much different. A baby is a baby--"
+
+"But, ma'am--Dr. Eaton--I--"
+
+"James, I said bring it up. Now bring it up at once, I say!"
+
+James turned desperately and left the room. Soon he returned with a
+clothes-basket and put it on the library table. Drusilla, Dr. Eaton and
+John rose and went to the table and looked down in silence at the
+basket's contents, with consternation plainly written on their faces.
+There was a moment's silence, then Dr. Eaton burst into a roar of
+laughter. He put back his head and laughed until the tears ran down his
+face, and soon he was joined by John; but Drusilla was too amazed to
+laugh. She looked down at the baby in the big clothes-basket, at the
+round, black, wondering eyes that stared up at her from the coal-black
+face of a negro baby. There it lay, the little woolly head on a clean
+white pillow, a white blanket covering its little body. The baby looked
+at the laughing faces above it, as if wondering why the sight of him
+should cause such merriment; then, as if seeing the joke, opened his
+little mouth, showing the tip of a red tongue and dazzling baby teeth.
+It was too much for Drusilla. She sat down heavily in the nearest chair.
+
+"Well, I swan--I _swan!_ A nigger baby!"
+
+Drusilla went again to the basket, from which the squirming infant was
+evidently trying to get out. She looked at him for a moment and then
+turned to Dr. Eaton.
+
+"Take him out. I ain't never seen a colored baby close."
+
+The baby was found to be a boy about a year and a half old. He was not
+at all frightened, and stood up on his sturdy legs and tried to make
+friends in his baby fashion, showing his white teeth and rolling his
+round black eyes in a way that started Dr. Eaton and John off into
+another paroxysm of laughter.
+
+Drusilla looked at the baby; then at the two men. Then, as she did not
+know what to do, she became exasperated.
+
+"What's the matter with you two? Ain't you never seen a nigger baby
+before? What you laughing at?"
+
+The baby was trying to toddle across the floor. His toes struck a rug
+and he fell, showing above his white socks a pair of little fat legs
+that seemed to be made in ebony, so clearly were they in contrast to
+his white clothing. Even Drusilla sat back and joined the men in their
+merriment. The baby looked at them solemnly; then put his chubby fist
+into his mouth and his face puckered up and great tears came to his
+eyes. Drusilla was all kindness in an instant.
+
+"You poor little mite! They shan't laugh at you--no, they shan't! Come
+right here to Grandma--No, I can't be Grandma to a colored baby, can I?
+Well, never mind, come here to me."
+
+She held out her arms to the weeping baby, and he came toddling to her.
+She lifted him to her lap and cuddled him down against her breast.
+
+"There, there!" she soothed. "Now you're all right. Well," turning to
+the men, "he feels just like any other baby, black or white."
+
+Dr. Eaton looked at the white head bent over the black one and again he
+started to laugh, but Drusilla looked up with a slight flush on her
+face and a sparkle in her eyes that plainly said that she had had
+enough of laughter, and he stopped.
+
+"What are you going to do with this one? _Now_ we'd better send for Mr.
+Thornton."
+
+Drusilla looked at him severely.
+
+"Don't you be a fool, Dr. Eaton. I don't want Mr. Thornton to know
+nothin' about this one. I'd never hear the last of it."
+
+"Well, then you'd better let me take him to the police station."
+
+"Yes--" hesitatingly; "I suppose so. But--" and she looked down at the
+baby who was contentedly playing with the trimming on her dress--"I
+jest hate to send a baby there."
+
+"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Dr. Eaton. "There's a big colored
+orphan asylum out on the Elpham Road. Let's telephone up there, and
+I'll take it over myself."
+
+Drusilla hesitated again.
+
+"Another 'home.' I hate to--"
+
+"It's the only thing to do, Miss Doane. You can't mix the colors."
+
+"Well, perhaps you'd better."
+
+Dr. Eaton left the room, and returned after a few moments with a shake
+of his head.
+
+"No good! They say they're full. They can't take in another child. I
+telephoned another one downtown that they told me of, and they say the
+same thing. It seems there is a superfluity of colored babies just now.
+I guess it'll have to be the police station."
+
+"What'll they do with him? If we can't find a place to-night, they
+can't."
+
+"No; perhaps not. But they'll keep him until they do find a place."
+
+"Well, if they can keep him, so can I. I'll keep him until we find a
+place for him. Ring for James and Fanny and we'll put him to bed."
+
+James came and the little girl mother, and the baby was placed in
+James's outraged arms.
+
+"Now, James, don't drop him--he won't bite you. Take him to the
+children's room; and you, Fanny, see that he has something to eat and a
+bath. Now you be jest as nice to him as to the other babies. Give him
+your baby's bed and take your baby in with you to-night."
+
+As James left the room with the baby in his arms, which were stretched
+out as far from his body as he could carry them, and with his head held
+disdainfully in the air, Drusilla sat back in her chair and chuckled.
+
+"Ain't James havin' new experiences? His back says, 'This didn't never
+happen to me when I was in the Duke's house'!"
+
+Dr. Eaton rose to go.
+
+"I'll find some place to put him to-morrow, Miss Doane. It's good of
+you to take him tonight."
+
+Drusilla went with him to the door.
+
+"Good night, Doctor. Things do seem to be kind of comin' my way. I've
+got Swedes and Dutch and Irish and Jews, and now a nigger baby. It's a
+mighty good thing for me that the heathen Chinee is barred. Good night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Drusilla waited several days for the return of the money that she had
+loaned her visitor from Adams, and when it did not come she was
+prevailed upon to write to the son of her old friend, Dr. Friedman,
+asking him regarding the man. The doctor answered that there was no man
+by the name of John Gleason in Adams; that the Spring Valley Stock Farm
+was owned by a man named Gleason who had no brother; and that this
+particular man had never lived in the small village, where every one
+was known. Drusilla was thoroughly aroused. It was her first experience
+with a confidence man. It hurt her pride, as she had said; but it hurt
+her worse to know that people did such things.
+
+"It jest destroys my belief in human natur', and I'll never trust no
+one again," she said to John.
+
+It was only about a week after the receipt of the letter from the
+doctor, when she was still smarting from her wounded feelings, that she
+was told a clergyman wanted to see her personally. She found a quiet
+little man, dressed in black.
+
+"Miss Doane," he said with a smile, "I am the Presbyterian clergyman
+from Adams, your old home, and as I was in town I thought I would come
+to see you."
+
+Suspicion jumped into Drusilla's old eyes.
+
+"Won't you set down?" she said, rather coldly for her.
+
+The stranger sat down.
+
+"Did you take the place of old Dr. Smith?" Drusilla asked.
+
+"Yes; he's had another call, to a higher land"--motioning upward--"and
+I have his charge."
+
+The man chatted very intelligently regarding the people in Adams, and
+Drusilla began to thaw. She forgot her other visitor in her enjoyment
+of hearing the names of the people in her old church.
+
+"Miss Doane," the clergyman said finally, "we are in a little trouble
+in our church, and I thought that you might help us."
+
+Drusilla stiffened at once.
+
+"What can I do?" she asked.
+
+"We are trying to start a little fund to take care of some poor
+children of our parish, and as it is very hard to raise money in our
+little village, I thought you might be willing to head our
+subscription. I thought it better to come and see you personally
+instead of writing you."
+
+Drusilla looked at him a moment and then rose.
+
+"Will you excuse me a minute?" she said politely, and left the room.
+
+She went directly to the butler.
+
+"James, telephone for the police. There's another man in there from
+Adams and I want him arrested."
+
+She left the astonished James to carry out her orders, and returned to
+the room.
+
+"You say you have some children in Adams without homes?"
+
+"Not exactly without homes, but they are dependent upon the town for
+support. An Irish family moved in and the father died and the mother is
+ill, and we want part of the fund to help the family until the mother
+is able to support her little family of six. We want to keep them
+together--instead of putting them in asylums and separating them. And
+there are two children who have lost both parents--at least the mother
+is dead and the father cannot be found--and we must take care of them.
+They are too small to work and we thought we could get some one to take
+them by paying a small sum per week and--"
+
+He quite likely would have enumerated the rest of the charges of his
+parish if there had not been a discreet knock at the door, immediately
+followed by James, announcing:
+
+"The men you asked for, ma'am."
+
+Drusilla rose as the two police officers entered the room. She said,
+pointing to the astonished clergyman, "I want you to arrest this man.
+He is a confidence man."
+
+"What--what--" sputtered the clergyman.
+
+"I want you to take him to the police station," said Drusilla firmly.
+
+"Do you make a charge, ma'am?" asked one of the officers.
+
+"Yes. I don't know what it is, but I make it. Take him to jail."
+
+"But--but--" said the bewildered clergyman, "this is an outrage!"
+
+"I don't care what it is, _you_ go to jail. I promised the doctor I'd
+arrest the next man who tried to git money from me by saying he was
+from Adams. I don't believe you're a preacher; you don't look like one."
+
+The officers went up to the man, who was evidently struggling with
+emotion, trying to find some suitable words to express his surprise and
+anger.
+
+"Come along with me," said the officer gruffly. "Don't make no fuss; it
+won't go."
+
+They put their hands on his arms and he struggled.
+
+"Take your hands off of me! What do you mean? I tell you, I'm the
+Reverend Algernon Thompson, of Adams."
+
+"Don't you believe nothin' he says," insisted Drusilla. "Whoever heard
+of a name _Algernon_! He looks much worse'n the other man that was
+here. Just you take him along."
+
+Drusilla looked scornfully at the man, who was struggling with the
+officers. They led him to the door, where he again refused to go, and
+the policemen took him roughly by the shoulders and pushed him into the
+hall. He struggled wildly, and his face became convulsed as he turned
+to Drusilla.
+
+"I tell you I'm the Reverend Algernon Thompson; and this is an
+outrage--an outrage--"
+
+The officers shook him roughly.
+
+"Oh, can the hot air. We're used to your kind. Come along."
+
+And the last Drusilla could hear was the wail of the clergyman: "I tell
+you I am the Reverend Algernon Thompson--"
+
+After the noise had subsided and Drusilla knew the man was gone she
+went slowly upstairs to find John. He looked up from the book he was
+reading and said quickly as he saw her flushed face:
+
+"What is it, Drusilla. Has something upset you?"
+
+Drusilla sat down wearily in a chair.
+
+"Oh, John, it was another man from Adams. He said he was a preacher
+this time, and I had him arrested. It's upset me awful. Ring for
+William; I believe I'll take a glass of wine. I don't believe in
+spirits, but St. Paul says there's a time for everything, and this is
+the time."
+
+Drusilla was silent as she sipped the wine; then finally she looked up
+at John wistfully:
+
+"John, do you think I'd ought to 'a' done it?"
+
+"Certainly, Drusilla. The doctor told you to have any one arrested who
+asked you for money, claiming to be from your old home. He said you
+mustn't get the reputation of being easy, or you'd be bothered to
+death."
+
+"Yes, I know; but then--"
+
+"You did just right, Drusilla; so don't worry."
+
+Drusilla sighed.
+
+"I hate to do it, but I suppose I must. He didn't look a bit like a
+preacher, and he said his name was Algernon. He'd ought to be arrested
+for the name if for nothin' else, hadn't he?"
+
+John laughed.
+
+"Well, it's all right. Now let's talk of something else. Let me read
+you something."
+
+Drusilla sat back in her chair.
+
+"All right, John; read to me. I don't know nothin' that'll make me
+quiet and sleepy so quick as being read to. I can sleep as easy when
+you're readin' that poetry stuff to me as I can in my bed. Go on; it'll
+caam my nerves."
+
+John read to her for half an hour, his voice having the desired effect.
+Drusilla almost dozed; but when John raised his eyes and, seeing hers
+closed, stopped reading, Drusilla opened her eyes quickly.
+
+"I ain't all asleep, John, just half," she said; and John laughed and
+went on.
+
+They were interrupted by James.
+
+"Miss Doane, some one wishes to speak to you on the telephone."
+
+"But, James, let 'em talk to you. You know I don't never talk on the
+telephone."
+
+"It is some one from the police station, ma'am, and they say they must
+speak to you particular."
+
+"From the police station? Laws-a-massey! Well, then turn it on here."
+
+She went over to the telephone table and sat down. Soon John heard:
+
+"What's that you say?"
+
+"Laws-a-massey, he's _real!_"
+
+A murmur was heard from the telephone. Then Drusilla, excitedly:
+
+"He has letters and cards that prove that he is the Reverend Algernon
+Thompson, from Adams, and has given names in New York and you found out
+he is _real_."
+
+Again the murmur.
+
+"Wait a minute," said Drusilla; and turned to John.
+
+"John, I've done it! That man's a preacher, after all, and he says he's
+goin' to sue me, and--and--John, what'll I do?"
+
+John looked perplexed and ran his hand through his white hair.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know, Drusilla--I'm sure--"
+
+"What'll I do! What'll I do!" wailed Drusilla. "Just think of putting a
+preacher in jail. What'll ever become of me!"
+
+Here John had an inspiration.
+
+"Drusilla, send for Mr. Thornton; he is a lawyer and he'll know what to
+do."
+
+Drusilla drew a breath of relief.
+
+"John, that's the first glimmer of sense you ever showed, and it's the
+first time I ever wanted to see that lawyer." Turning to the telephone
+she said: "I'll send for my lawyer at once and he'll know what to do.
+Where's the man?"
+
+After a moment: "I'll send a car down and get him. Have him come here
+at once if he'll come."
+
+She left the telephone and turned a very scared face to John.
+
+"John, I'm just a plain old fool. Send the car to the police station,
+and tell Joseph to get that man if he has to tie him up! And you go
+telephone Mr. Thornton to come here at once. Now he'll have a chance to
+talk and I can't say a word."
+
+It was a very frightened and meek Drusilla that greeted Mr. Thornton
+and Daphne when they came into the room.
+
+"I came along, Miss Doane," Daphne explained, "because Mr. Brierly said
+you were in some trouble, and I thought perhaps I might help you."
+
+Drusilla laughed rather shakily.
+
+"I'm afraid, Daphne, this is a case for your father. I've arrested the
+wrong man."
+
+"What do you mean?" said Mr. Thornton quickly.
+
+"I've got a preacher in jail--or he was there unless Joseph can git him
+to come with him."
+
+Then she told the whole story. Mr. Thornton could not keep a twinkle
+from his eyes as he listened. But he did not laugh; he saw that
+Drusilla was too frightened and upset.
+
+"Now what am I goin' to do?" Drusilla finished. "You must get me out of
+this."
+
+The lawyer thought a moment.
+
+"The man wanted some money for some children, or the poor of his
+parish. Perhaps we can arrange it. Money is a balm that'll soothe most
+outraged feelings."
+
+"Give him anything, anything!" Drusilla hegged. "I never thought I'd
+arrest a preacher, and at my time of life. Poor man, and his name was
+Algernon, too!"
+
+A very angry man was brought into the room, and was met by a courteous
+lawyer; but Drusilla brushed him aside and went up to the man and,
+laying her hand on his arm looked up into his face appealingly.
+
+"I can't tell you how sorry I am! I don't know what to say or what to
+do! I won't never forgive myself, even if you forgive me, which I don't
+expect."
+
+The man looked down at her and the angry flush left his face.
+
+"I don't know what to say myself, Miss Doane," he replied. "It's rather
+a new experience for me, a police station--"
+
+"Well, I'm so ashamed and so sorry I can't talk. Just set down and let
+lawyer Thornton tell you all about it."
+
+The lawyer explained to him the circumstances of Mr. Gleason's visit,
+and that Drusilla had received instructions to arrest the next man who
+claimed to come from her former home.
+
+"It was unfortunate for me that I happened to be the next man," the
+clergyman said with a laugh. "But I understand, and it is all right."
+
+Drusilla looked at him gratefully.
+
+"You're a good man, if your name _is_ Algernon, and if five hundred
+dollars will help them children Mr. Thornton will give it to you
+tomorrow. And now you'll stay here and visit me until you finish your
+business in New York."
+
+The clergyman flushed, this time with pleasure.
+
+"You are more than kind, Miss Doane. I believe I'd be willing to go to
+the police station every day if I could help the poor of our little
+town so easily."
+
+"It is all right then," said Drusilla, "and jest you let me know when
+you want things and you can always count on me, 'cause I'm so relieved.
+But I know you're hungry. I'll have some supper brought up here and you
+can talk with John. Are you goin', Mr. Thornton?" as the lawyer rose.
+"Let Daphne stay a while with me. I want her to come to my room and
+talk a while. I'm real upset and tired and I can listen to Daphne
+without having to think."
+
+"That sounds as if I talked nothing but nonsense!" Daphne pouted.
+
+Drusilla put her arm around the young girl.
+
+"Never you mind, dear; I like your chatter, so come with me."
+
+And they went to Drusilla's room.
+
+They drew up two easy chairs before the fire and as Drusilla settled
+into the luxurious depths of hers she chuckled to herself.
+
+"Five hundred dollars! I always knowed preachers was a luxury--but--
+Well, talk to me, Daphne. What you been doin'?"
+
+"I'm so glad to get a chance to talk with you, Miss Doane. I've been
+intending to come over for a week, but I've been too busy. You know,
+Miss Doane, I have a real love affair on my hands, and it's giving me
+no end of trouble."
+
+Drusilla looked at her quickly.
+
+"Not your own love affair, Daphne?"
+
+Daphne flushed under the sharp gaze.
+
+"No," she said hastily; "Uncle Jim's."
+
+"I didn't know you had an Uncle Jim."
+
+"Oh, yes; Papa's younger brother."
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"Well, if he is like your father I should think he could manage his own
+love affairs."
+
+"He is and he can't. He's just like father, only worse. He's so sort of
+stiff and cold that he freezes people; but he can't help it. He's been
+engaged to the _nicest_ girl--Mary Deane. You know she lives in the big
+house on the Denham road. She's the dearest girl, and I adore her,
+although she's much older than I am. Oh, she's very old--she must be
+thirty. Uncle Jim and she were to be married, and then all at once she
+broke the engagement and went to Egypt. Uncle Jim would never say why
+it was, and I didn't know until she came back last week, when I found
+out all about it. She cried when she told me. She said he wasn't human;
+that she couldn't pass her life with him, he's always so cold and
+correct. She says he never unbends, sort of stands up straight even
+when he kisses her. Yet I know she loves him; and Uncle Jim hasn't been
+the same man at all since the engagement was broken."
+
+"What are you going to do about it? You can't make him over."
+
+"I know it; but if they'd only meet he might be different. She won't
+come to our house for fear she'll meet him, and he is too proud to go
+and see her. And I know they are just breaking their hearts for each
+other."
+
+She was quiet for a moment.
+
+"I wish I could find some way to have them meet accidentally.
+
+"Let's make a scheme, Daphne. Your father is going to Chicago next
+week, and he told me that his brother--I guess he means this Jim--would
+take his place with me. Now, why can't I get in some kind of
+trouble--that's always easy for me--and I'll telephone him to come over
+right away, and then you come in by chance with this young lady. Tell
+her that I'm a feeble old lady that needs some one to cheer her up.
+Tell her anything that'll git her here."
+
+"She'll come. I've told her about you and she said she wanted to come
+to see you."
+
+"It's easy then, and we'll trust to something turnin' up right."
+
+Daphne rose to go.
+
+"You're a--a--brick, Miss Doane."
+
+Drusilla shook her finger at the girl.
+
+"Young lady," she said severely, "I know where you got that. Dr. Eaton."
+
+Daphne's pretty face flushed and she put her cheek against the faded
+one.
+
+"We must not talk of--of Dr. Eaton. Father doesn't allow it, and--and
+Dr. Eaton thinks I'm only a flighty little girl, who is never serious,
+if he ever thinks of me at all--which I am afraid is not often--" She
+was quiet a moment, her hand resting against the soft white hair.
+"But--well, good night. I'll let you know when Mary will come, and then
+you can get into trouble right away."
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"You trust me for carrying out that part of it. Good night, dear."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+The following Wednesday Miss Doane received a message to the effect
+that Daphne and Mary Deane were going in to the matinee that day and
+would stop to see her on their return. She passed the day wondering how
+she could legitimately get Mr. James Thornton to stop on his way home
+from the office; then Providence came to her aid, as it always did.
+James brought her word that the chef wished to speak to her.
+
+"What does he want of me, James?"
+
+James coughed discreetly.
+
+"I think you had better see him, Miss Doane."
+
+Drusilla looked at him sharply a moment.
+
+"Well, send him here," she said.
+
+The chef came into the room. She looked at the fat, mustached Frenchman
+for a moment before she spoke.
+
+"What do you want to see me about, cook?"
+
+The chef drew himself up.
+
+"I wish to pay my compliments to Madame and say I can no longer serve
+her."
+
+"You mean you want to quit?"
+
+The Frenchman bowed.
+
+"Madame comprehends."
+
+"Speak English, cook. What did you say?"
+
+"I said that Madame understands perfectly."
+
+"Why do you want to leave?"
+
+The Frenchman drew himself up tragically. "I can no longer serve
+Madame: it is not convenable to my dignity."
+
+"What's hurtin' your dignity?"
+
+"It is not for me to cook for a lot of babies, and--and--a nigger baby."
+
+Drusilla looked at him silently for a moment.
+
+"Um-um--I see," she said. "You don't think you ought to cook for
+babies. There ain't much cookin'; they're mostly milk fed now."
+
+"There is the porridge in the morning, and the soft-boiled eggs,
+and--and--"
+
+"Oh, you object to cookin' eggs and porridge. It ain't hard."
+
+"It is not the deefeeculty; it is the disgrace. I am a great artist--a
+chef--it hurts the soul of the artist to--"
+
+"I don't want an artist in the kitchen. I want a cook. Artists paint
+picters; they don't boil potatoes. What do you mean?"
+
+"You do not understand, Madame. I am an artist; I have cooked in the
+best houses."
+
+"Ain't this a good house?"
+
+"It was, Madame; and I was proud to serve you until the house was
+turned into an orphan asylum, a--a--home for children of the street,
+and--"
+
+Drusilla flushed suddenly.
+
+"That'll do, cook. I've heard all I want. Perhaps you're a great cook,
+but when you cook for me you'll cook for whoever is under my roof. And
+I want you to understand that this is not an orphan asylum. These
+children are my visitors; and so long as they're in my house, they'll
+eat, and if you don't want to cook for them, well--you can cook for
+some one else. You can go, cook. Mr. Thornton'll give you your money."
+
+And Drusilla sat down a very angry and ruffled Drusilla.
+
+"Orphan asylum, indeed! He'll be callin' it a home next. What does
+anybody want with a man in the kitchen--especially a man who's got more
+hair under his nose than on his head!"
+
+She was quiet for a while; then she laughed softly to herself.
+
+"The Lord takes care of his own. Now I been wondering all day how to
+get that man here, and here's my chance. Jane, tell some one to
+telephone Mr. Thornton's brother to stop here on his way from the
+office. I want to speak to him particularly."
+
+It was nearly six o'clock before the lawyer's motor stopped before
+Drusilla's door. When the lawyer came in Drusilla said to herself, "I
+don't blame his girl none. He's worse'n his brother;" but she turned
+smilingly to him.
+
+"I'm afraid that I've called you in on business that'll seem mighty
+little to a man," she said; "but it's big to a woman. I'm changin'
+cooks."
+
+Mr. Thornton smiled.
+
+"I don't see where you require my services--"
+
+"Oh, yes, I do. You know the expenses of this house are kept up by the
+estate, and you pay all the servants. Now I don't like to send a cook
+away unless I tell you. But this cook's _goin'_ and he's goin' sudden."
+
+"Isn't he a good cook?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose he is; but, between you and me and the gatepost, I
+won't be sorry to see the last of him. I guess he's a fine cook for
+fancy cookin', but I been used to plain things all my life and I'm
+tired of things with French names. When I have a stew I like to have a
+stew, and I'd like real American vittles once in a while. Some good
+pork and beans and cabbage that ain't all covered up with flummadiddles
+so that I don't know I'm eatin' cabbage; an' I like vegetables that
+ain't all cut up in fancy picters, and green corn on a cob without a
+silver stick in the end of it. I liked his things real well at first;
+but he can't make pie and his cakes is too fancy--and, well--he got
+sassy and said he wouldn't cook for a lot of babies, and he's goin'.
+You just be sure of that, Mr. Thornton; he's _goin'."_
+
+Mr. Thornton said dryly: "I presume it is a little lowering to the
+dignity of a French chef to cook for a lot of waifs--"
+
+"Now you be careful, Mr. Thornton, or you'll go trottin' along with the
+cook. I'm a little bit techy about them babies--"
+
+The man flushed and rose to go.
+
+"I did not mean to offend you, Miss Doane. We are at your service. What
+do you want me to do?"
+
+"I want you to get me a woman cook--by the way, what did you pay that
+cook?"
+
+"I think, if I remember rightly, he receives a hundred and fifty
+dollars."
+
+Drusilla sat back in her chair aghast.
+
+"One hundred and fifty dollars a month for a cook! Elias Doane must 'a'
+been out of his head!"
+
+"I think that is not an exorbitant price for a cook with the reputation
+of this one. He was for many years with Mr. Doane."
+
+"To think of it costin' one hundred and fifty dollars a month before
+you got anything to eat, and all give to that fat, lazy Frenchman! If
+I'd 'a' knowed it, his things would 'a' choked me. And your brother
+talked to me about the expense of keepin' my children! Why, you git me
+a fat Irish woman, who likes real vittles, and who ain't above cookin'
+oatmeal, and pay her about fifty dollars a month, and she'll suit me
+and we'll be savin' enough to pay for the babies."
+
+She was quiet a moment.
+
+"You talked kind of mean about my babies, and I know you was thinkin'
+about my colored baby." Then, looking at him suddenly: "Did you ever
+see a colored baby when he's nothin' on but a little white shirt?"
+
+The lawyer shook his head stiffly.
+
+"I'm afraid my duties have not called me in the neighborhood of colored
+babies dressed only in white shirts."
+
+"Well," said Drusilla, "you've missed a lot. But I'm goin' to begin
+your education right away. It's just bedtime. You come with me."
+
+And before the astonished lawyer could voice his protest he was being
+hurried down the hall and up the wide stairs to the big nursery,
+Drusilla pattering along at his side, talking all the time.
+
+"You know every one wonders why I keep this little Rastus--the doctor
+give him that name--but I keep him just to make me laugh. Some of the
+other babies make me want to cry, they're so sickly and puny, but you
+can't cry at Rastus. He's goin' away next week to some people who'll
+take him till he's old enough to go to that big colored school that's
+run by Mr. Washington, where I'm goin' to see that he's made a man of,
+and show people what's in a little black boy. But just look at
+him--here he is!"
+
+She led the way down the long room, lined with beds on each side, to
+where a girl was preparing a very happy black baby for bed. As Drusilla
+said, he was clothed only in a little white shirt; and as his plump
+body lay over the nurse's lap he exposed to view a very fat little back
+and a pair of dimpled legs that were kicking in evident enjoyment of
+the rubbing his back was receiving at the hands of the nurse.
+
+The lawyer stopped at the nurse's side and watched the baby for a
+moment. Then he broke into a jolly laugh.
+
+"You're right, Miss Doane. You can't help it." And before he was really
+aware of what he did, he bent over the squirming baby and gave it a
+little spank.
+
+The baby twisted an astonished face around the nurse's knee. Seeing the
+man looking down at him, he puckered up his little face and the big
+eyes filled with tears.
+
+Mr. Thornton stooped quickly.
+
+"You poor little tad!" he said. "Did I scare you? Here"--as the wails
+became louder--"come here." He took the baby into his arms and tossed
+him high over his head. "It's all right, baby; I didn't mean it."
+
+As he was holding the baby above him, laughing into the now laughing
+face, a voice from the doorway said, "Jim."
+
+Mr. Thornton nearly dropped the baby in his astonishment. He looked at
+the vision of the pretty woman standing in the doorway, and then
+hastily deposited the baby in the nurse's lap.
+
+"Mary!" he said. "Mary!"
+
+She came to him, seeing nothing in the room but the man.
+
+"Oh, Jim, you are human after all. You are, you are!"
+
+The astonished nurse saw a woman folded in a man's arms and a woman
+crying happily on a man's shoulders.
+
+Drusilla watched them for a moment and then went to the door, where
+Daphne was waiting. The girl took Drusilla's hand excitedly.
+
+"It worked, didn't it, Miss Doane; it worked!"
+
+They waited in Drusilla's room for quite a while before two shamefaced
+but happy looking people appeared, hand in hand. Mr. Thornton went up
+to Drusilla and took her hand in both his own.
+
+"Miss Doane," he said enthusiastically, "start all the asylums--red,
+black, or yellow--that you want. Take the whole African race if you
+want to, and I'll see that you get cooks enough for them."
+
+Mary Deane laughed--the laugh of a happy woman who has come into her
+own.
+
+"And, Miss Doane," she added, "we'll do better than that. Rastus isn't
+your colored baby any more. He's Jim's and mine. We're going to see to
+his education, for if it hadn't been for Rastus--well--perhaps there'd
+never have been a happy Mary."
+
+"Or," said Mr. Thornton with a glad laugh, "or a Sunny Jim."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+A light tap was heard on the door of John's sitting-room.
+
+"John, are you still up? Can I come in?"
+
+Before John could answer, Drusilla was in the room.
+
+"John, I'm ashamed of you! Has this been goin' on all the time, and I
+didn't know it. It's past twelve."
+
+John said apologetically: "It isn't late, is it, Drusilla? I didn't
+think of the time."
+
+"Late! It's past twelve, I tell you, and you had ought to be in bed
+gettin' your beauty sleep. Nights was made for sleepin', John Brierly."
+John shook his head.
+
+"Oh, no, Drusilla; nights were made for reading. There is no joy like a
+long quiet evening and Carlyle, for example, for company."
+
+"He couldn't be company for me at this time o' night. But you don't ask
+me nothin' about my dinner party, my first dinner party, and my dance."
+
+John looked longingly at his book, then carefully placed a marker in it
+and closed it.
+
+"Now don't sigh, John. I'm goin' to tell you about it whether you want
+to hear it or not. I know you'd rather read, but I been in society and
+I must talk."
+
+"I'm only anxious to hear all about it, Drusilla."
+
+Drusilla pulled off her gloves and sat down in an easy chair before the
+fire.
+
+"John, there's no more guile in you than in a stick of molasses candy,
+but you're like a sermon, comfortin', if sort of uninteresting, and I
+can talk at you if I can't talk with you. Ask me all about it, git me
+started somehow. I'm as full of conversation as an egg is of meat, but
+I don't know where to begin."
+
+"Did you enjoy the dinner?"
+
+"Did I enjoy the dinner! That's like a man to think about the vittles
+first. I never thought of them. They was numerous and plenty, one thing
+after another and too many forks. I couldn't help wonderin' how they
+ever washed all the dishes."
+
+"Where was it, Drusilla? I don't remember if you spoke of it to me."
+
+"John Brierly, you'll be the death of me yet. You don't think you heard
+me speak of it, and I didn't talk of nothin' else for three days,
+tryin' to make up my mind whether I'd go or not, only Mrs. Thornton was
+so particular about me comin'."
+
+"Yes, I do remember hearing you speak of it. It was at the Thorntons'."
+
+"Well, it's about time you remember. Yes, it was a dinner
+dance--whatever that is. There was about forty people to dinner and a
+lot of young people come in afterwards to dance. I wish you could 'a'
+seen it, John.
+
+"A butler about like James met us in the hall and we took off our wraps
+in a room and went into the parlor. 'Tisn't as big as our'n and I was a
+little late and they was all there, standin' around, and Mis' Thornton
+introduced me to a lot of people, and then a man handed around
+somethin' in glasses--cocktails I think she said; anyway it tasted like
+hair oil--and little pieces of toast with spoiled fish eggs on 'em;
+arid we et 'em standin' up. I thought I'd gag, but I said, 'Drusilla
+Doane, be a sport and do everything that other people do.' And I done
+it, although to-morrow I'll quite likely have to stay in bed. Finally
+everybody give their arm to some one else, at least the men did, and an
+old man come to me and I took his arm and we went into the dining-room.
+There was five small tables and they was pretty with candles and
+flowers and I had a little card at my place to tell me where to set.
+The old man was so feeble he couldn't hardly push my chair in.
+
+"John, I'm glad you ain't doddering. Let's never git doddering and brag
+about our diseases. It seems that that's all some men have to brag
+about when they git old, how much rheumatiz they can hold, as if it's a
+thing to be proud of.
+
+"I listened to that chronic grunter tell me his troubles for a while,
+then I turned to the young man on the other side, who was one of them
+shrewd-eyed business men; and I hadn't been settin' there five minutes
+before I knowed that he had asked to set by me and that he had schemes.
+Tried to git me interested in some business venture where they would be
+able to pay about eight hundred per cent. I told him I hadn't heard of
+nothin' paying eight hundred per cent, except guinea pigs or rabbits,
+and I didn't want to invest in them, and after a while he saw it wasn't
+worth while to try to git me interested in mines in Alaska or coal
+fields in Ohio, so he kind of laughed and we got to be good friends. He
+ain't bad, as he laughed when he saw it wasn't no use, and it's a great
+strain on a person's religion to laugh when he knows he's beat. Then
+lie told me who the people was and a lot about 'em, and then they all
+got to talkin' and a woman was there who believed in women votin' and
+being self-supportin' and not dependin' on their husbands, and I said I
+thought a self-supportin' wife was as much use as a self-rockin'
+cradle. They talked and argued but this woman was set in her ideas, and
+you might as well try to argue a dog out of a bone as a woman like that
+out of an idee once she's got it fixed in her head. I don't like a
+woman with one idee; it's like a goose settin' on one egg. They use up
+lots of time and git skinny and don't git much result after all.
+
+"Then another man at the table who had a head three sizes too big for
+him talked a lot of stuff I couldn't foller, and the man next me said
+he was the brainiest man in New York. He looked as if he had
+indigestion and he didn't eat nothin', and I couldn't help thinkin'
+that a good reliable set of insides would be more use to him than any
+quantity of brains, but I didn't say it."
+
+"I'm surprised you didn't, Drusilla."
+
+"What's that? Well, I guess I would if I'd a thought of it in time, but
+I was interested in the talk about the 'new woman'--I guess that's what
+they called her. I said I didn't believe too much in the over-education
+of females. That I'd rather be looked down to in lovin' tenderness than
+up to in silent awe, and that men can't love and wonder at the same
+time. I don't think men want to set women so high up that they're all
+the time wonderin' how she got there an' if they dare to bring her down
+to their level. I said that it seemed to me that love exchanged for
+learnin' was a mighty poor bargain for the woman if she wanted
+happiness; and one of the women that set at the table--the kind of
+woman that can't hold a baby without its clothes comin' apart--said I
+represented the old school. That things was changed now; that marriage
+was not the ultimate objective--es, that's what she said, the ultimate
+objective of women. I asked her what was the ultimate objective, and
+she said, 'the cultivation of her own individuality, the freeing of her
+soul.' I asked, couldn't she do it just as well with a man? and she
+said, no, that man impeded woman's progress. I said that I guessed that
+most women who said that hadn't never had no chance to git close enough
+to a man to have him git in her way. I said I'd seen lots of women who
+said they hated men, but they generally hadn't had a chance to find out
+whether they could love 'em. I guess I was like a blind mule then,
+kicking out in space and hittin' something accidental, 'cause she got
+red and then I was sorry and I sort of tried to make it up. I said, 'Of
+course there's lots of marriages that's mistakes, 'cause a lot of
+people git married like they learn a job, take about three weeks to it,
+and that's the reason there's so many poor workmen and poor marriage
+jobs, but marriage must be a pretty good thing after all, 'cause I
+never saw a widow who wasn't ready to try it again.'
+
+"They all laughed after that and they got real talkative and human. One
+little woman was awful pretty, and, John, she had on the littlest
+amount of clothes above her waist that I ever saw on a person outside a
+bedroom. She said she envied me my motors and my money, and I laughed
+and asked her if she envied me my seventy years too. She said, 'No,
+but--' and I said to her, 'I know what you feel; I've wanted things
+too; and it's just as much misery to want a motorcar as it is to want a
+shirt.' One man there, who looked like a dried up herrin', laughed and
+laughed and said that he hadn't laughed so much for years. I said that
+it was good for him, and if he'd come and see me every mornin' I'd
+agree to make him laugh once a day, 'cause if you don't laugh before
+you die, you'll go out of the world without laughing, and you don't
+know whether there'll be anything to laugh at in the next. He said he
+was comin' to see me. Why don't you look jealous, John? Wait till I
+tell you who he is. That big John Craydon, who owns all of America as
+far as I heard. They say he's the hardest man in New York, and that
+when he come within an inch of dyin' last year no one would 'a' cared
+if he had 'a' come within an inch of bein' born, as he ain't done
+nothin' but make money. I'm goin' to show him my babies, especially
+Rastus, and I know he ain't hard. Any man that can laugh as hearty as
+he did, if he only does it once a year, ain't got an iron heart.
+
+"The old man on the other side of me didn't like Mr. Craydon. He
+mumbled to me, 'What doth it profit a man to gain the whole world and
+lose his own soul'; and I said it was accordin' to the size of the
+soul, and then he quoted that old thing about it being easier for a
+camel to go through the eye of a needle--you know the thing people who
+ain't got money is always quoting about people who has. I said that,
+according to Scripter, Heaven might look like a circus parade, it'd be
+so full of camels; but I didn't have a chance to explain what I meant
+and the women got up and went into the parlor, where we had coffee.
+Pretty soon the men come in and we all went into the dancin'-room.
+
+"And, John, I've had a revelation. St. John's was nothin' compared to
+mine. A lot of young men come in, men with no chins and high collars,
+and young girls that had ought to have had gimps put in their dresses;
+and the way they slithered around that room hugging each other--well,
+for once in my life, I couldn't talk. I just looked. It wasn't only the
+young men with soft heads and loud laughs that danced. By the way, they
+was some of them the descendants of the big men we read about in the
+papers, and, between you and me, John, great descent was what most of
+'em was sufferin' with. But old men and women danced--old men
+especially that had ought to been at home rubbin' their backs with
+goose grease. I just thought as I saw them old men foolin' around,
+'It's hard for an old dog to learn new tricks, but an old man hasn't
+got sense enough not to try.' And what do you think, one of them young
+nin-com-poops come and asked me if I wouldn't like to turkey trot.
+That's what he said, turkey trot. When I got my breath, I said, 'Young
+man, there's two things in life I ain't never prepared for. One's
+twins, the other's to turkey trot--whatever that is--so you run along
+to the chicken yard; you've mistook the place.'
+
+"Then I moved over to a corner by some paam trees, as I was afraid one
+of them old men'd come and ask me to bunny hug next, and I always been
+respectable. As I was a settin' there, some one come and set down, and
+I couldn't help hearin' what they said. He wanted to go home and she
+didn't want to go, and he said he was tired and had to git up early and
+that he'd been out four nights this week, and she said he was selfish
+and didn't want her to enjoy herself, and they talked a lot and then he
+got up in a huff and went away. I heard a little sniffle and I looked
+around the paams and there set that pretty girl that got married about
+three months ago and lives in the Red House. I smiled at her and she
+stopped cryin' and tried to pretend she hadn't been, and then I got up
+and went and set down by her and took her hand an' kind of patted it,
+and let her dry her eyes. When she seemed better I said, 'Every wise
+woman buildeth her own home, but the foolish one plucketh it down with
+her own hands.' Isn't that what you are doin', my dear?
+
+"She sniffed again and I thought she was going to begin all over, but
+she didn't. She said, 'Bert used to love to be at dances with me, but
+now he always says he's tired and wants to go home.'
+
+"'Well, dear,' I said, 'you're his wife now, and it's different. He can
+see you at home, and have you to himself. You're not just the girl he
+dances with. The things a man wants in his wife ain't the things he
+wants in the girl he just dances with, any more than the vittles he
+wants for breakfast is like them he wants for dinner. It's all
+different when you're married.'
+
+"'But Bert is selfish; he isn't trying to make me happy.'
+
+"'Does this give you happiness?' I asked.
+
+"'Why, of course; it's so gay,' she said.
+
+"'But is it _happiness_?' I asked again. 'Happiness and bein' gay is
+different, and you don't need to go to things like this for happiness.
+You find it at home if you stop huntin' for it outside. It's like my
+specs that I go lookin' all over the house for and find up on my
+forehead where they was all the time. Now, dear, don't make a mistake
+and go fishing for happiness with a red rag instead of a real live
+worm, and then think there ain't no fish 'cause they won't bite. You
+got the right kind of bait in your pretty self, in your nice home, and
+in that great big husband, who, a person can see as plain as a wart on
+a white neck, is all over in love with you, and the sea'll be just full
+of fish for you."
+
+"I patted her hand again, as I was afraid she'd think I was
+interferin', but she didn't. She set quiet a while, then she squeezed
+my hand, and I said, 'Now I'm goin' home. Git on your bunnet and find
+your Bert and I'll drop you both at your house; and when you git home
+git him something fillin' to eat and something he likes to drink, and
+light his seegar for him and set down by the fire and tell him that
+real hugs is better'n all the bunny hugs in the world, and you'll find
+you won't be lonesome.'
+
+"And she did, John; at least I took 'em home, and they held hands all
+the way there, though they didn't know I saw 'em."
+
+"Well, Drusilla, you did have a nice time after all. I suppose you'll
+be going out every night now."
+
+"John, you got more hair then sense. I'm glad I haven't died before I
+seen this dinner dancin'; but it's like them spoiled fish
+sandwiches--one taste's enough."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+One afternoon Drusilla was working in her corner of the greenhouse
+transplanting lily bulbs. She did not notice the entrance of Daphne
+until she heard the fresh young voice at her side.
+
+"Good morning, Miss Doane. I have come on business. I am an agent to
+enlist your services."
+
+Drusilla pushed her near-seeing glasses up on her forehead so that she
+could the better regard the pretty face before her.
+
+"Well, now, what company is hirin' you? They have a good agent. Is it a
+book or a washin' machine?"
+
+Daphne laughed.
+
+"Neither, Miss Doane. How shocking! I am working in a great cause--the
+cause of the poor."
+
+"So--" said Drusilla. "What do _you_ know about the poor?"
+
+"Oh, I know a lot, Miss Doane. I am one of the volunteer workers in a
+Settlement house in the slums."
+
+"What's that? I seem to disremember what I have read about such things,
+if I have ever read about them."
+
+"A Settlement is a lot of nice people who go down to live among the
+poor, and they have clubs where the boys and girls can come evenings,
+and they have sometimes a kindergarten or a day nursery where the
+mothers who go out to work by the day can leave their children while
+they are away, and they give free baths and have a medical clinic. Dr.
+Eaton gives his services to one twice a week, and there is a district
+nurse, and--Oh lots of things are done for the poor in the neighborhood
+of the Settlement house."
+
+Drusilla put down her trowel and looked interested.
+
+"Do tell! How nice of 'em. Are they paid to do it?"
+
+"Yes; the workers who live in the Settlement get a salary. But girls
+like myself give a day a week, or every once in a while go there and
+help."
+
+"What do you do?" asked Drusilla.
+
+"I--I--teach sewing. I have a class."
+
+Drusilla looked at her a moment in astonishment.
+
+"_You_ teach sewing? _You_ have a sewing class? I didn't know you
+sewed."
+
+"I--don't--_much_, but I can do enough for a class like I have. They're
+just making gymnasium suits, and we buy the pattern and I get along
+some way."
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"Well, for a girl who has all her clothes made and keeps a maid to sew
+on her buttons, I think it is very nice of you to learn girls how to
+sew. You must be a great help in that work."
+
+Daphne flushed.
+
+"Now you're laughing at me, Miss Doane."
+
+"No, I'm not laughin'; but it seems to me--how many girls you got in
+your class?"
+
+"I have ten."
+
+"How old are they?"
+
+"About twelve to fourteen years."
+
+"When do you learn 'em?"
+
+"Saturday afternoon."
+
+"Well--well! You must let me go down with you some day and see you
+learn girls to make their dresses. I'd surely enjoy the sight."
+
+"That's why I came to you to-day. Our Settlement wants me to bring you
+down."
+
+Drusilla looked up inquiringly and a little suspiciously.
+
+"Why do they want you to bring me down?"
+
+Daphne said rather hesitatingly: "Well--they would like to interest you
+in their mother's summer home."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"They have a home in the country where they send some of the poor
+mothers who live in the tenements and can't get away for the summer."
+
+"I s'picioned it was a subscription they want; but it sounds like a
+good thing, and I'd like to know about it."
+
+"Won't you come with me to-day? We'll talk with Mrs. Harris, the head
+worker, and she'll tell you all about it."
+
+"Well--I don't know--" looking at her plants. "I'd ought--"
+
+"Oh, please come, Miss Doane. You haven't anything to do, have you?"
+
+"I don't know as I have anything _particular_, though sence I got these
+babies, my days is as full as a wine cup. But if you want me--"
+
+"That's right; I knew you would! Come right away--I must get to my
+class."
+
+Drusilla wiped her hands on her apron and went into the house. Soon she
+was ready and they were being whirled swiftly toward the East Side, a
+part of New York that Drusilla had never visited. She was interested in
+the women as they sat upon the tenement steps, and in the many, many
+children playing in the streets. Spring was in the air, although it
+could hardly be recognized here except by the people loitering in the
+streets in order to get away from the crowded homes.
+
+"What a lot of people!" said Drusilla. "Where do they all come
+from--and the children! I never saw so many children in my life."
+
+"Oh, but you should see it in July and August," Daphne laughed. "Then
+it _is_ crowded, and the people sleep on the fire-escapes and even on
+the sidewalks in some of the smaller streets. It is so hot in their
+stuffy rooms."
+
+Soon they drew up before the door of the Settlement, and were received
+in the parlor by the head worker. Daphne left Drusilla, to go to her
+sewing-class, and Mrs. Harris conducted Drusilla over the Settlement.
+She was shown the kindergarten, the club rooms where the boys and girls
+of the neighborhood danced in the evening, the clinic, the public
+baths, and the play yard. Then she asked to be taken to see Daphne with
+her sewing-class, as she could not get over the idea that it was a joke
+of some kind for Daphne to teach sewing, knowing that the girl knew
+nothing about the work. They found Daphne absorbed in cutting out very
+full trousers and middy blouses by the aid of a paper pattern, while
+eight girls were basting and stitching them. Drusilla watched them for
+a while.
+
+"Is this all the sewing-class you have?" she asked.
+
+"It is all we have at present," Mrs. Harris answered.
+
+"Do the girls in the neighborhood, the grown girls, learn it?"
+
+"No; they all work, and have only their evenings."
+
+"Why don't you have an evening class?"
+
+"We have thought of that, but it is hard to get a girl like Daphne to
+come down in the evening."
+
+Drusilla watched Daphne frowning over the intricacies of the pattern.
+
+"Now I think it is nice of Daphne," she said, "to want to come here and
+help them girls learn to sew; but it seems to me that she'd be doin' a
+good deal more good to the girls if she hired a woman, some one who
+needed the work and knowed dressmaking, to come and really learn the
+girls to make their dresses. Learn 'em from the start, from cuttin' out
+the cloth to sewin' up the seams and makin' the last buttonhole. Them
+girls don't want to learn how to make them big pants and that shirt;
+they want to make their clothes--something pretty they can wear. I
+think a lot of Daphne, but she'd be doin' more good if she hired some
+one who knowed her business instead of tryin' to do somethin' she don't
+know nothin' about. Quite likely it does _her_ good, but so far as I
+can see it don't do the girls much good."
+
+The head worker flushed, as did Daphne.
+
+"We like to interest the girls from homes like Miss Thornton's to come
+down and help the people less fortunate than themselves."
+
+"Yes, that's good too; interest them. I saw Daphne pay five dollars for
+a box of candy the other day, and it's bad for her complexion. Instead
+of buying them things let her hire some one, I say. She can come just
+the same, but let a dressmaker or a sewing woman learn 'em to sew; not
+a girl who ain't even sewed a button on her own clothes or made a
+pocket handkerchief. And then she'd be helpin' the dressmaker too, who
+might need the money. If you had some sensible sewing learnt you might
+git some of the girls who work days to come in evenings and learn, but
+no girl is goin' to waste her time fiddlin' around with things like
+that, that they ain't goin' to use, or don't have no need of."
+
+"But they do need them. They are gymnasium suits."
+
+"What's gymnasium suits?"
+
+"Suits to take exercise in, physical exercise."
+
+"Do they need special clothes to take exercise in? What's the matter
+with the clothes they got on?"
+
+"They restrict the movements."
+
+"You mean they can't move their arms and legs. Fudge and fiddlesticks!
+Put them girls out to play and they'd move their arms and legs quick
+enough without fancy clothin'. If they can't move 'em with the
+exercises you give 'em, give 'em other kinds. It seems to me that if
+these people are as poor as you tell me, exercise ain't what they want.
+They want to learn things to help 'em pay the rent at home, or save a
+little money once in a while by makin' their things."
+
+Mrs. Harris was a little angry.
+
+"I am sorry, Miss Doane," she said stiffly, "that you don't approve of
+our sewing-class."
+
+"No, I don't approve of it. With a teacher like Daphne it's about as
+much use as squirtin' rose-water on a garbage tin. If the rest of your
+work is like this, I guess I'll go home--"
+
+She started to leave the room, but at the door she stopped.
+
+"What's that Daphne was tellin' me about a home for mothers in the
+country?"
+
+The head worker's face brightened. Here she had something that would
+appeal to the old lady, who was reputed to be very fond of children.
+
+"I am so glad you came to-day. I can show you some of the mothers we
+were hoping to take to the country. We want to enlarge our house, we
+can only accommodate twelve mothers with their children, and we should
+have a place for at least twenty-five, as we have so many applications."
+
+"How long do you keep 'em?"
+
+"We try to give each mother a two weeks' vacation; and she brings with
+her the small children she cannot leave at home."
+
+"I like the idee. I like children and I like mothers, and from what
+I've seen it seems to me that it'd be heaven for these people to git
+away from the noise for a while. It most drives me crazy to hear it for
+an hour, and it must be awful to live with."
+
+"They get used to it; but they do need a change. Some of the poor
+mothers are completely worn out and break down in the hot weather. If
+they could get into the country, even for a short time, it would save
+many a life."
+
+"Pshaw, is it so bad as that?" said sympathetic Drusilla.
+
+"Yes; this year is especially bad. We had hoped to have the money to
+build an additional wing to the house and take all our people; but we
+have not been able to get the money, so we have to tell a great many
+whom we have promised that they cannot go this year, and--I am afraid
+it will be a great disappointment."
+
+Here an inspiration came to Mrs. Harris.
+
+"By the way, Miss Doane, I was going this afternoon to tell one of the
+mothers that she cannot go this year. Would you like to come with me,
+then you can see for yourself how very much the place is needed."
+
+Drusilla brightened.
+
+"I'd like to go," she said.
+
+The worker hesitated.
+
+"You are not afraid of contagion?"
+
+"There ain't nothin' catchin' in the house, is there? I don't want to
+git the smallpox at my time of life, or the mumps--"
+
+Mrs. Harris laughed.
+
+"No, nothing as bad as that; but the tenements are not overly clean,
+you know."
+
+"Pshaw, I don't care about that. If they can live in 'em all the year,
+I guess it won't hurt me to visit 'em for ten minutes."
+
+They entered the motor, surrounded by a crowd of noisy children who
+clung to the footboard and hung on the back and made themselves into a
+noisy escort until the tenement was reached. There Drusilla and Mrs.
+Harris climbed three flights of stairs. In answer to the knock, a soft
+voice said, _Entre lei_, and they stepped into a room that was
+evidently the kitchen, living- and dining-room.
+
+Near the only window in the room was a kitchen table. Around it sat the
+father, the mother, a little boy of nine, two younger girls, and a
+little round-faced boy of four, while two other children, mere babies,
+were playing on the floor. The people at the table were sticking
+marguerites onto wreaths, about ten flowers to a wreath. The flowers
+were in bundles stuck together, and the little boy took them apart and
+handed them to the other children, who took yellow stems from other
+bundles, dipped them into paste, then into the center of the marguerite
+and handed the finished flower to the father or mother, who placed it
+in position on the wreath. They worked quickly, showing long practice.
+
+The mother gave chairs to her guests; then went back to her work.
+
+"I have come, Mrs. Tolenti," Mrs. Harris said, "to tell you about the
+country."
+
+"Si," and the dark Italian face brightened. "I ready go any day."
+
+"I am sorry, awfully sorry, but we have no place for you this year."
+
+The Italian woman looked at the speaker uncomprehendingly.
+
+_"Si?"_
+
+"I am sorry," Mrs. Harris began again, speaking slowly, "that we cannot
+take you. We have not been able to enlarge the house, and there were so
+many applications ahead of you."
+
+The woman looked at her blankly for a moment, then Drusilla saw that
+she understood. Her mouth drooped and quivered, her hands faltered in
+their work, but only for a moment. Mechanically she put the flower into
+the paste, then placed it on the wreath. She worked quietly for several
+moments.
+
+"I hope next year, Mrs. Tolenti--"
+
+But Mrs. Harris was interrupted.
+
+"I no wanta next year. I wanta dis year, I wanta _now!_ I tired. I
+wanta see da country. I wanta see da flower, not dese tings--I hata
+dem." She gave the flowers in front of her a push. "I hata dem! I wanta
+see da rosa on da bush, I wanta see da leaves on da tree. I wanta put
+ma face in da grass lak when I young girl in Capri. I wanta look at da
+sky, I wanta smell da field. I wanta lie at night wi ma bambini and
+hear da rain. I no can wait one year, I wanta go _now!"_
+
+"But, Mrs. Tolenti," Mrs. Harris said, secretly a little elated at the
+storm she had raised, which she could see was impressing Miss Doane, "I
+had no idea you felt it so strongly--"
+
+"Yes," the low voice continued, "I feel it _here_," pointing to her
+breast. She was quiet for a while, then went on in the low, monotonous
+voice of the desperate poor. "This winter ver had. My man no work.
+Sometime go wood yard, but only fifty cents one day. He walk, walk,
+walk, looka for work. We must eat, we must pay rent. We all work maka
+da flower, but no can maka da mon. Fi' cent a gross for da wreath. It
+taka long time to maka one dozen wreath, and only git fi' cent. No can
+live. I canno' live every day, every day da same. Nine year I stay here
+maka da flower, always maka da flower. Nine year I no go away from dis
+street. But dis year I tink I go to da country. When I set here maka da
+flower I say three mont more, two mont more, one mont more, den I see
+da grass, I hear da bird, I shuta ma eyes, I tink I again in my
+Capri--Oh, Dio mio!" She turned suddenly and let her face fall upon her
+arms, stretched out on the pile of flowers before her. "Der ain't no
+God for poor man, der ain't no God!"
+
+Mrs. Harris looked at her sadly and said nothing; but the tears were
+streaming down the face of Drusilla and she impulsively rose from her
+seat and coming to the mother, put her arms round the shaking
+shoulders, and said quietly:
+
+"You certainly shall go to the country with your babies. You certainly
+shall go. Don't think a moment again about it."
+
+The woman did not raise her face nor seem to understand; dry sobs
+shaking her worn and wasted body. She seemed utterly broken and
+disheartened.
+
+Drusilla turned to Mrs. Harris.
+
+"Will you make her understand?"
+
+The worker said something to the father, and he nodded his head and
+they went from the room. Drusilla stopped at the door to take a last
+look around the room, at the wondering faces of the children who
+watched her with great black eyes, but who did not stop their fingers
+from separating and placing the flowers together again. She saw the
+babies on the floor playing quietly, as if they too were oppressed by
+the tragedy that was always before them, and then she looked at the
+blank wall outside the window, and it seemed to her that the lives of
+these hopeless poor were like that window, only a blank wall to face.
+
+They arrived at the Settlement house and Mrs. Harris ordered tea to be
+brought to her sitting-room. She was delighted at the effect of her
+visit, and her imagination ran riot in the thought of the additions
+that might be made to the summer home for mothers.
+
+Drusilla was quiet during tea, but when it was carried away she spoke.
+
+"Now tell me about your home. You say you want to make an addition, add
+an ell or something."
+
+"Yes; we think by adding a wing we can double our capacity. But I have
+the plans of the new work, and a picture and plans of the present
+house."
+
+She brought a book of views with an architect's drawings of the new
+hoped-for wing, and the pictures and plans of the present house.
+Drusilla drew her glasses from her bag and bent over the new plans;
+then she turned her attention to the house now in use.
+
+"You say this is where they are at present? Which is the rooms you use
+for the mothers?"
+
+The worker pointed them out.
+
+"We have six beds in this room, and four beds in this, and five beds in
+this room. In this long room we can put about twelve cots for the
+children that do not have to be with their mothers during the night.
+This is the dining-room; this the living-room."
+
+Drusilla caught sight of some rooms upstairs.
+
+"What's these three rooms. Who're they for?"
+
+"Those are for the workers who go out for the week-end."
+
+"What do you mean by the week-end?"
+
+"From Saturday to Monday."
+
+"You mean the women who work here like yourself go out there and spend
+Saturday and Sunday?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But why do you need three rooms?"
+
+"Well, you see there are a great many workers here, and they take
+turns, and often three or four of them go out."
+
+"They each have a room to themselves?"
+
+"Yes, you see they are in the noise here all the week, and they must
+have a place where they can rest and have quiet."
+
+Drusilla looked at her sharply.
+
+"What do you do with the rooms the rest of the time?"
+
+"They are vacant."
+
+"You don't put none of the mothers in 'em?"
+
+"Certainly not. We could not use them if they had been occupied by the
+class of people we send out."
+
+"Why don't you double up when you go out, and not take so much room?
+You could put four beds in that room and all be together and use them
+other rooms for mothers."
+
+"That would be hard on our workers. They like their privacy. And then
+we would not like the mothers and their children so close to us. They
+would disturb us and we could not get the rest we need."
+
+Drusilla was quiet for a moment, drumming lightly on the table with her
+fingers.
+
+"I don't see how you can rest or sleep at night with a cry in your ears
+like that I jest heard from that mother. I'd sleep on a board by the
+side of the fence to let her get a chance to 'put her face in the
+grass' as she says. How can you talk about privacy and quiet when you
+see such misery and unhappiness as that I jest saw? No, don't stop
+me--" as she saw Mrs. Harris raise her flushed face and open her lips
+as if to speak--"I'm all wrought up. I'll hear that mother's cry and
+see her poor body bent over that table, and those babies settin' there
+workin' when they ought to be out playin' as long as I live. And you
+see them and hear them every day and yet can talk about havin' to have
+quiet and privacy! And you take the three best rooms in a house that's
+supported by people who think they are giving some poor Italian family
+an outin' in the country! You could all go in one room and that would
+mean that five or six more mothers could go; the woman we left up there
+could go--instead of keeping the rooms for women who have a nice place
+like your'n here." She looked with scorn around the cozily furnished
+room. "And you keep them for only one or two days a week! I can't talk,
+I'm all wrought up."
+
+Drusilla sat back in her chair and fanned herself with the book of
+views.
+
+The worker was aghast. She had not thought of any possible outcome
+except the one for which she had been planning.
+
+"But you see, Miss Doane, when we have a wing--"
+
+"I'd 'a' give you a wing, or two wings, or a whole batch of wings, if I
+hadn't seen them three rooms. How'd I know that you wouldn't take the
+best rooms for the rest of your workers; or perhaps your cook might
+need rest or privacy for a part of the week. No--" shaking her old head
+vigorously--"I'll build my own wings where I can watch 'em."
+
+She rose then.
+
+"I must be goin'. Will you send for Daphne? I want to think about what
+I can do for that family. I'll give her my own room if I have to, but
+she's goin' to the country!"
+
+Daphne came in soon, and looked quickly at Drusilla's flushed, excited
+face.
+
+"Did you have a nice time, Miss Doane? Isn't it a wonderful work?"
+
+"Yes, I had a lovely time, and I learnt a lot. Thank you so much for
+your tea, Mis' Harris. I'm real glad I come."
+
+And before the chagrined hostess could find words in which to try to
+rectify her mistake, Drusilla was in the motor.
+
+Daphne looked at the angry old lady curiously.
+
+"Weren't you interested, Miss Doane? Aren't you going to help the
+Settlement? They need money so badly for their summer home--"
+
+"Now, Daphne, don't talk to me about the summer home! You know we got a
+big lot of things and people that always is asking me for money. I git
+a heap of letters every morning from preachers, and charity workers and
+beggars and poor people, and people who are trying to make a fool of
+me, and git my money. I guess there ain't a person in New York or an
+institution that's got a want, but they feel that it won't do no harm
+for to try me."
+
+"Why, I didn't know you were bothered. Why don't you have them all sent
+to Father?"
+
+"Humph--mighty little attention they'd git. No, I go over 'em all
+myself, with Dr. Eaton. You didn't know he was my private advisor, did
+you? He's a fine young man and he's got a head on his shoulders; and
+him and me go over all the letters and them that he thinks that is
+honest, he sees, and then he tells me what he thinks we had better do.
+He's got sense and don't let me git foolish, because sometimes the
+letters or the cases is so pitiful that I can't help cryin', and
+generally them's the ones he finds is no good. I been visitin'
+institutions with him, orphan asylums, and rescue homes. We got a lot
+of new babies and their mothers comin' to the house next week; we got
+them from the hospitals. He's workin' out a plan for me, and now I want
+to talk to him about them mothers and the country. We are going by his
+office, as I can't wait until he comes out to-night."
+
+Daphne flushed.
+
+"We might take him out with us."
+
+"That's a good idea, Daphne. You go up to his office and tell him to
+come down an we'll take him home. I want to talk and he can stay to
+dinner."
+
+"Can't I stay too--" shyly said Daphne, slipping her hand into
+Drusilla's.
+
+Drusilla looked down at her and laughed.
+
+"No, you can't. Your father wouldn't like it, and besides if you are
+there the doctor won't talk sense. He'll jest set and look at you."
+
+Daphne laughed happily.
+
+"I wish I thought he liked to look at me, but--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"Well--he doesn't ever seem very anxious to see me. He's invited to
+lots of places where he knows I will be, and he doesn't come."
+
+"You mean dances and things like that. Laws sakes, Daphne, ain't he got
+nothin' better than to go to dances and daddle around the room with a
+fool girl--"
+
+"But I'm not a fool girl."
+
+"No one would know it by your actions sometimes."
+
+"I guess you are right, Miss Doane. I do act as if nothing were worth
+while but having a good time."
+
+"Yes; I seen a lot of your friends and I often think that a young man's
+takin' a lot of risk by marryin' one of you unless he's got nothin' to
+do in the world but to go to parties and to make money to buy you
+clothes and motorcars. But never mind--here we are. You go upstairs and
+get the doctor. Tell him I want to talk to him particular."
+
+Daphne was gone longer than was actually needed to go to an office and
+fetch a man to the motor car, but Drusilla only smiled when they came
+down.
+
+"Did we keep you waiting? I am so sorry," murmured Daphne.
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"Yes, you look worried to death; but I won't scold you. You don't git
+much chance to talk alone together, and I suppose you wanted to discuss
+the latest improvements in medicine. It's a big subject and would take
+time."
+
+"Oh, no, we didn't talk at all--the doctor--was busy--"
+
+The doctor laughed.
+
+"What is it you want to see me about, Miss Doane?"
+
+"I want to talk to you about mothers and their babies. I'll tell you
+all about it after dinner. Daphne's goin' home and you and me and
+John'll set down and talk it all over. John ain't no good; he ain't
+what you call sensible, but he's comfortable. And I got some new things
+on my mind.
+
+"Yes," broke in Daphne. "Miss Doane has been visiting our Settlement."
+
+The doctor smiled.
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+Before Drusilla could reply, Daphne said: "What do you think Dr. Eaton
+calls them, Miss Doane? It's dreadful. He calls them the 'decayed
+gentle ladies' refuge.'"
+
+The doctor flushed.
+
+"Daphne--"
+
+"Do you?" queried Drusilla, interestedly. "Why?"
+
+"Well--" the doctor said rather apologetically, "perhaps I shouldn't;
+but most of the settlements that I know are filled with workers who are
+charming women, too good to be stenographers or clerks or housekeepers.
+They come to the settlements, where they receive a good salary and keep
+their social position, which they feel they could not do if they
+worked. You see it's rather a fad to be a social settlement worker, and
+most of the women couldn't make their living to save their soul at work
+that really took trained brains or executive ability."
+
+"Do tell!" said Drusilla. "I kind of thought something like that when I
+saw Mrs. Harris, but she seemed to be real pert."
+
+"Oh, I am only generalizing. Some of them, the heads especially, are
+competent women, but the great average--" and he spread his hands out
+expressively.
+
+"Well, anyway, Dr. Eaton--you remember that big blue pencil that we use
+to draw across the names that ain't no good?--I got a new name to-day
+to add to that list--settlements--and I want to git home and sharpen
+the pencil."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Drusilla had one neighbor whom, to use her own words, she "couldn't
+abide." Miss Sarah Lee lived across the road from her, in a small house
+left her by her father. This old man had also left her money enough to
+live in a modest way, and an unkind Providence had left her high and
+dry on the matrimonial shores, and she was embittered. She had been
+born and reared in Brookvale and had seen the other girls married and
+settled in their homes, with their children growing up around them. She
+had tried for years to get a husband, but finally, at the age of
+thirty-eight, had given up the fight; and instead of sharing in the
+happiness of her lifelong neighbors, she had drifted into being the
+neighborhood gossip, picking flaws in everything and searching with
+microscopic eye to find the failures in the lives of those around her,
+trying to find satisfaction in her unmarried state by seeing only the
+darker side of the matrimonial adventures around her. If a man came
+home late after dining well but not wisely with his companions, be sure
+Sarah Lee heard of it. She would take her sewing and go to some
+neighbor and say in her softly purring voice, "Isn't it too bad that
+Mr. Smith neglects his wife so dreadfully, and it is shocking the way
+he drinks. Now the other night, etc., etc.," until her garrulous tongue
+would make a great crime of perhaps only a small indiscretion. Drusilla
+had been a joy to her, as she was new in the neighborhood, and she
+regaled her with all the gossip, much to Drusilla's disgust and
+discomfiture; but she was too kindly to be rude to the bitter-tongued
+woman, who was the only one of her neighbors who "ran in" or who
+brought their sewing and sat down for a "real visit."
+
+One morning Drusilla was sitting in the sun parlor, looking at a great
+box of baby clothing that had been sent her from the city, when Miss
+Lee came in. She had her tatting with her and Drusilla saw that she was
+in for a visitation. She tried to interest her guest in the wonders of
+the baby frocks, but Miss Lee only shook her head and would not notice
+them.
+
+"I don't care for children nor their clothing, Miss Doane, and I can
+never see how you care to burden yourself with all those waifs at your
+time of life. Now I, if I had your money, would enjoy myself."
+
+"But I am enjoying myself," said Drusilla. "Why I take more comfort in
+them babies than I've ever had in all my seventy years."
+
+"But they are such a care, such a bother."
+
+"Bother, my aunt!" said Drusilla emphatically. "They ain't no bother.
+They give me something to think about. Now, look at these clothes. I
+been all mornin' lookin' at 'em and sortin' 'em out. Look at that
+petticoat. See how soft and warm it is. I wish I'd made it myself. I
+can sit here and imagine how some mother'd feel makin' a petticoat like
+that fer her baby. I'm goin' to buy a lot of cloth and git some
+patterns and let the mothers make 'em themselves. When it's a little
+warmer they can set under the trees and sew while the babies is playin'
+around them."
+
+"But the mothers you have here--will--do you think that class--those
+kind of mothers will care to sew?"
+
+Drusilla flushed and an angry gleam came into her kindly eyes.
+
+"Sew? Why shouldn't they sew, and what do you mean by that class? All
+the mothers I got here seem jest like any other mothers."
+
+"We must admit," went on the refined, querulous voice, "that they are
+not the usual mothers--with husbands--"
+
+Drusilla's eyes distinctly darkened, and the flush deepened.
+
+"Never mind about their husbands. We don't need 'em to sew--and a
+mother's a mother, and she likes to make things fer her baby."
+
+Miss Lee noted the flush and changed the subject.
+
+"I hear you are going to take some Italians and their children here for
+the summer."
+
+Drusilla's eyes lighted up, and the angry gleam fled instantly.
+
+"Now, how did you hear that?"
+
+"It's all over the neighborhood. And--"
+
+"Is it? Then I suppose I might as well let the neighbors git it direct.
+Yes, I been visitin' places where I've traipsed up and down stairs till
+I'm most knee sprung, but I've learnt a lot of things, and sense I've
+seen how some of 'em live, I couldn't sleep nights unless I done
+somethin' fer 'em; and givin' a mother and her babies two weeks in the
+country is the least I kin do. Why, I look at all this grass, jest made
+fer babies to roll on, and I see the trees that ain't doin' what a tree
+should do unless it has some one under it, and I lay awake nights to
+plan things; and Dr. Eaton don't git no time to see his patients, I
+keep him so busy. Him and me's been goin' over the house and there's
+twelve spare bedrooms goin' to waste besides the settin'-rooms that's
+jined to 'em. And we was talkin' about the big armor room, that place
+with the tin men and horses. Now, I don't care much fer tin men,
+although John moons over 'em a lot, but there's a lot of people who
+like to look at 'em, and don't git a chance' cause they're shut up here
+doin' no good to no one. Dr. Eaton says that the Metropolitan Museum in
+the city'd be glad to have 'em as a loan, and then everybody who likes
+such things could go and see 'em, and I can make the room into a big
+playroom or day nursery, as folks call it."
+
+Miss Lee looked up, horrified.
+
+"Do you mean to say that you are goin' to spoil this beautiful house
+and these beautiful grounds?"
+
+"Spoil 'em? How'll it spoil 'em? They're goin' to waste as it is."
+
+"Why, having that class of women in your house, and the children on the
+lawns, will certainly take away from their artistic beauty."
+
+"Will it? Then it'll have to be not so artistic and more useful.
+Nothin' ain't beauty unless it's doin' something fer somebody, and God
+didn't intend no sixty acres of His land to be lyin' here jest fer me
+and a lot of rich people to admire, when women and children are pantin'
+fer air in hot tenements. And as fer the house, land knows it's big
+enough, and I feel like a lone pea in a tin can shakin' around loose in
+it, and I won't never need to see no one unless I want to. But I want
+to see 'em, I want to see life around me, and life that's bein' made a
+little happier because of Drusilla Doane. What do you suppose God give
+me all this big place fer, and all the money, if it wasn't to use fer
+His people?"
+
+"What shockin' ideas you have, Miss Doane, to bring God into the
+subject! You are most sacrilegious, dear Miss Doane."
+
+"Yes, I guess I am; most people seem to be afraid to mention Him."
+
+"But the neighbors are feeling very indignant that you are turning the
+show place of the country into an orphan asylum and a mother's home."
+
+Drusilla looked up quickly, as word had come to her of her neighbors'
+disapproval.
+
+"I don't see that it's none of their concern," she said.
+
+"But, you see, it lowers the value of their property."
+
+"Let 'em move away."
+
+"Oh, but they can't."
+
+"Well, let 'em stay."
+
+"But it's very annoying to see a lot of dirty children."
+
+"They won't be dirty children, and the neighbors don't need to look
+over the hedge if they don't want to. It's high enough."
+
+"I am just telling you what they say, Miss Doane. There was a meeting
+the other day of the people of Brookvale, and they decided to appoint a
+committee to wait upon you and express their disapproval of your
+actions, and request you to change your plans in some way."
+
+Drusilla looked over her glasses.
+
+"You don't tell me!" she ejaculated. "When be they comin'?"
+
+"Mr. Carrington, the chairman of the Committee, is coming to see you
+to-night, I am told."
+
+"Who's he?"
+
+"He lives in the big gray house near the river, and he feels very
+strongly on the subject."
+
+Drusilla said with asperity: "Well, he'll feel stronger when he leaves."
+
+Miss Lee felt that she had gone far enough on that subject, so she
+changed it.
+
+"Poor Mrs. Carrington! They feel very bad about children since they
+lost their little boy about a year ago."
+
+"How did they lose him?"
+
+"He died, and they have never recovered from the shock."
+
+"If they lost their child, I should think they'd want to see other
+children happy, then. They must be queer people."
+
+"It has changed them a great deal, as sorrow often does."
+
+"It hasn't changed them the right way, as true sorrow does. What've
+they done?"
+
+"Mrs. Carrington--she was Elsie Young before she married Robert
+Carrington--is a very beautiful woman, and she was wrapped up in her
+boy. But since his death she has given herself wholly to society, and
+they say--now of course I don't know how true it is, but they
+_say_--that she and her husband have grown apart since the child is
+gone. He kept them together, and now--well, she simply lives for
+amusement. And--now, of course I don't say it is true--but I do know
+that she is going to Europe in the summer and they say--that is the
+ladies who know her well--that it means a separation. She is going to
+get a divorce in Paris."
+
+Drusilla put down the dress in her hand.
+
+"You don't tell me! Just because she lost her baby! Why don't she have
+more? Lots of people have lost babies, but it ain't cause for divorce.
+It'd ought to bring 'em closer together."
+
+"Yes," sighed Miss Lee; "but it hasn't in this case. They've just grown
+apart. They are never together. She goes her way and he goes his, and
+their paths never seem to meet. It is very sad, because she was such an
+exceedingly fine girl. So many marriages end unhappily."
+
+Drusilla sniffed.
+
+"I guess if they was poor people and had to work or if she had to git
+the dinner for her man and wonder if he liked chicken with dumplings
+better'n with saleratus biscuit, she wouldn't find time to want to go
+to Paris. The trouble with the rich women around here is that they are
+thinkin' too much of how to pass the time, instead of doin' somethin'
+for their men."
+
+"But what can they do? They all have servants to do the work for them.
+You can't expect women like Mrs. Carrington to _cook_." And Miss Lee
+plainly showed what she thought of a woman who cooked.
+
+"No, I suppose they can't cook; but a man's a man, and he likes to feel
+that his woman is thinkin' about him and what he'll eat, and not leave
+it all to a servant. A man's like a baby: he wants a lot of attention,
+especially about his vittles. Now I know John don't like some things
+and he does like others, and I see he gits 'em; and I know he likes to
+smoke just as soon as he's done eatin', and I see that his pipe and
+tobacco is put where he can reach it when he's havin' his coffee. It
+ain't much, but it tells him I'm thinkin' about his comfort, and men
+like their comfort in their own way."
+
+Miss Lee was quiet a few moments.
+
+"You--you are speaking of--of--this old gentleman who is living here?"
+
+Drusilla looked up suddenly.
+
+"John ain't so old. He's only two years older'n me, and I don't call
+myself old yet--unless it's to git me out of doin' somethin' that I
+don't like to do, like makin' calls."
+
+"Is--is Mr. Brierly a relation of yours?"
+
+"No, John ain't no relation; he's just a friend."
+
+"Is he--is he making you a long visit?"
+
+"I hope so. He's goin' to live here always with me if I can make him."
+
+Again Miss Lee tatted industriously. Then she looked up with what she
+tried to make a most friendly smile.
+
+"Now you know, Miss Doane, I _never_ gossip, but I am a friend of yours
+and I think you ought to be told. The neighbors think it queer that you
+have this man live here, who is no relative of yours."
+
+"How's it queer?"
+
+"Well, it's unconventional, to say the least."
+
+"What do you mean by unconventional?"
+
+"I don't know how I can say it so that you will understand. Not quite
+proper, you know."
+
+Drusilla sat back in her chair. A bright spot appeared on her faded
+cheek and there was an ominous light in her eyes.
+
+"So my neighbors think I'm improper! Well, that's news and I'm glad to
+hear it. I've always wanted to do something unconventional, as you call
+it, but I ain't never had no chance. I always had to do what was
+expected of me. I had to live a life just about as broad as a needle,
+just because I had to make my livin' and couldn't afford to do nothin'
+that'd be different from what other folks done. But now I got a chance,
+and I'm glad I ain't too old yet to shock my neighbors. I'd keep John
+now if I had to tie him in his chair."
+
+Miss Lee saw the light in the eyes, and hastened to say:
+
+"Now, please, dear Miss Doane, don't think that I am blaming you. I
+understand perfectly--_perfectly_. I just feel that you ought to know
+what is being said."
+
+"You're real kind, Miss Lee. People won't miss what's bein' said about
+'em if you don't git paralyzed in your tongue."
+
+Miss Lee flushed and gathered her threads together.
+
+"Well, my intentions are always of the best, I assure you. I must be
+going. I see my maid talking to one of your gardeners. It must be
+stopped."
+
+"Yes, I'd stop it if I was you. She might be enjoyin' herself. Good-by.
+And when you stop at your next place, tell 'em that I'm waitin' for
+that Committee, and that I'm enjoyin' John Brierly's visit, and that
+he's goin' to live here, and so's my babies, and that they don't need
+to know what's goin' on in my grounds if they don't stretch their necks
+to see over the walls when they ride by. Good-by."
+
+Drusilla watched the woman as she went down the road and as she
+disappeared she heaved a sigh.
+
+"Well, the Lord sendeth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed--I guess I'll
+go see John."
+
+She went up to the small library where she knew she would find him
+poring over a book.
+
+John looked up as she entered the room, and Drusilla sat down in a
+chair and looked into the fire, as if seeing pictures there. John went
+on with his reading, but finally, seeing Drusilla looking at him
+intently, he spoke.
+
+"What is it, Drusilla?"
+
+Drusilla said softly: "John, do you remember when we used to walk down
+Willow Lane in the moonlight, and one night some of the neighbors saw
+your arm around me and they went to mother and said we was carryin' on
+and it ought to be put a stop to? Well, the neighbors say we are
+carryin' on again."
+
+John closed the book in his hand.
+
+"What do you mean, Drusilla?"
+
+"The neighbors say we are carryin' on. They think that because you
+ain't a relation that's it's unconventional, them's her words,
+unconventional that you stay here."
+
+A pained look came into kindly John's eyes.
+
+"Why, Drusilla, I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps I'd better go."
+
+Drusilla reached over and patted his hand.
+
+"Just you set right still, John Brierly, and don't get excited. I ain't
+felt so young sence mother scolded me for walkin' out with you." She
+laughed a little happy laugh. "Why, it takes me back fifty years!"
+
+"Oh, Drusilla," murmured John. "If it makes you talked about--"
+
+"Makes me talked about! Why, who'd 'a' thought when Mis' Fisher come to
+mother when we was young and said that our carryin's on was
+disgraceful, that in fifty years another Mis' Fisher-kind would say the
+same thing. Oh, John, why don't you laugh?"
+
+"I don't see anything to laugh about, Drusilla."
+
+"You never had a sense of humor, John; but you was born without it.
+But, I tell you, it makes me young again. Why, it makes a woman old to
+feel she can do just as she pleases and not git talked about; and I
+feel I ain't got one foot in the grave to know that I can still be
+carryin' on--Oh, I guess, I'll go and put on my new dress that's just
+come home. I ain't seventy--I'm still a girl!"
+
+And, chuckling to herself, she went out of the room, followed by John's
+wondering eyes. He sat quietly a moment, then went back to his book,
+feeling that woman's reasoning was far beyond his ken.
+
+That night, as she and John were sitting down to their seven o'clock
+dinner, a frightened nurse came running in.
+
+"Oh, Miss Doane," she said, "one of the babies is very sick. He don't
+seem able to breathe."
+
+Drusilla put down her napkin and started immediately for the nursery,
+where she found one of the younger babies struggling for its breath,
+evidently in the earlier stages of pneumonia. She looked at it a
+moment, then said:
+
+"Now you git one of the babies' bathtubs filled with hot water and I'll
+be back in a minute. Have some one telephone for Dr. Eaton."
+
+She hurried to her rooms and put on a big white apron, then to the
+linen closet and got a piece of white flannel, and was just starting
+for the nursery again, when a card was brought her. She read on it:
+_James Carrington_.
+
+"He's part of the Committee," she said; and as she passed through the
+hall she went up to him.
+
+"You're Mr. Carrington," she began abruptly.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you. I know what you come for, but I ain't got
+time to talk now. You come with me and we'll talk afterwards."
+
+And before the chairman of the Committee could say a word he was
+hurried upstairs and into a small room, where a couple of frightened
+nurses were looking at a baby whose flushed face and labored breathing
+showed that he was very ill. Drusilla went to the small bathtub that
+was placed on the floor.
+
+"Come here, Mr. Carrington," she said; "you're stronger than I am. Lift
+this up on them two chairs. So--that's right. Now put this thermometer
+in the water and see if it's 100 degrees. I can't see to read it. Is it
+right? Now--we'll take the baby--take off your coat and hat--yes, you'd
+better take off that coat too"--seeing that the man was in evening
+dress--"and turn up your sleeves--you'll git your cuffs wet. Now take
+off the baby's clothes, Mary. So--poor little thing!--take 'em all off,
+shirt and all, and we'll put him in this piece of flannel. Now you hold
+him like this, Mr. Carrington. Hold him in the hot water. There--jest
+so's his face is out--don't let him slip! So--now he's breathin' better
+already. Don't let the water git cold, Mary. Put a little more hot
+water in--there--that's right. Yes, he's gittin' red, Mr. Carrington,
+but he wants to git red. See, he's breathin' better. Does your arm
+ache? Hold him a little longer; I'm goin' to git some goose grease that
+I brought along with me from the home. I'll be back in a minute. Don't
+let the water git cool."
+
+She returned in a few moments with a bottle in her hand, and handed it
+to one of the nurses.
+
+"Warm it, put it in hot water till it runs. Now--"
+
+Just then the door opened and a woman stood in the doorway, an angry
+look on her pretty, petulant face. She was covered with a big white
+evening wrap, and was most impatient. She looked at the scene before
+her without comprehending it, and her voice said angrily:
+
+"Robert, we will be late for the opera! What do you mean by--"
+
+Drusilla looked from the baby to the woman in the doorway.
+
+"Come right in, Mis' Carrington. I'm glad you come. Take off your coat.
+Yes, we need you. Lay it over there on the bed."
+
+And before the astonished woman knew what she was doing her wrap was
+laid upon a small white bed and she was standing in her elaborate
+evening gown looking down at a very red baby being held in a hot bath
+by the hands of her husband.
+
+"Now, Mis' Carrington, lay that other piece of flannel on the bed, and
+we'll put the baby in it. I think he's boiled most of his cold out.
+So--that's right, roll him out--and we'll rub him with the grease. You
+do it, Mis' Carrington; your hands is younger and not so stiff as mine.
+Put lots on his chest and around his throat. And turn him over on his
+back, Mr. Carrington. Put a lot on his back. So--that's right. Rub it
+in well. And now we'll put him in the bed. There, poor little mite, he
+breathes better now, don't he?" They stood around the bed, looking down
+at the child, whose regular breathing showed that he had stopped
+fighting for his breath and the battle was won. Soon his eyes, which
+had been staring so pitifully closed, and with a little sigh the baby
+slept.
+
+Drusilla turned to say something, to speak a few words of thanks for
+their help; but she stopped at the sight of the two people standing on
+opposite sides of the little bed. The man with his coat off, his white
+waistcoat and shirt gleaming in the light, the woman opposite him
+clothed in her decolette' gown, with jewels glistening in her hair and
+on her neck. But she did not notice the dress, when she saw the light
+in the woman's eyes as they rested on the man. They looked into each
+other's faces for a full moment; then the woman reached over her hand,
+and in a low, broken voice said, "Robert, is it too late? Shall we try
+again?" The man's quivering lips could say nothing, but the hand that
+clasped the one that came to him so timidly was answer enough.
+
+The doctor entered at that moment and the baby was turned over to him,
+while Drusilla's guests put on their wraps and followed her downstairs.
+At the door of her sitting-room Drusilla turned to them.
+
+"Won't you come in? You wished to see me about--"
+
+Mr. Carrington said hastily:
+
+"No; we will let the matter wait. We are on our way to the opera--"
+
+"No, Miss Doane," the wife interrupted; "we _were_ on our way to the
+opera, but now--we're going home, Robert." Turning to the man beside
+her she repeated: "We're going _home,_ Robert. Do you understand, we're
+going _home!"_
+
+Drusilla stood in the hall until the motor started.
+
+"The Bible says a lot of things that's true," she murmured to herself,
+"and one of 'em is, 'A little child shall lead 'em.'"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+The next morning Drusilla was at breakfast when she heard the chug-chug
+of a motor. Mrs. Carrington's card was brought in; but before she could
+say to William that she would see her visitor, the happy laughing face
+of Mrs. Carrington looked in at the door.
+
+"May I come in? I am sure you will see me."
+
+Drusilla rose with a smile on her sweet old face, and extended her hand.
+
+"Yes, do. You're just in time to have a cup of good coffee with me."
+
+"Am I so early? I motored down with Robert this morning and felt that I
+must stop and see you on the way home."
+
+"No, you're not early at all; but I'm gettin' lazy in my old age. I git
+up early in the mornin' and have some coffee and then go and see all my
+babies. I like to see 'em git their bath, and then I help dress 'em.
+Then I come back and have my real breakfast. Now, you set right there,
+so's the sun'll shine on you, and William'll git another cup and plate."
+
+"But I have had my breakfast."
+
+"Pshaw, one can always drink coffee in the mornin'. And you've been
+clear down town."
+
+Mrs. Carrington settled herself comfortably in her chair, threw back
+her coat, and smiled across at Drusilla.
+
+"Yes, I've taken Robert down town the first time for more than a year.
+Oh, it seemed just like old times to take him to his office again."
+
+Drusilla looked at her smilingly.
+
+"Well, it seems to have made you pert-lookin' this mornin'. Your face
+is a-shinin'. Do you take one lump or two? Cream? Is that the right
+color? I'm particular about the color of my coffee."
+
+"Yes, that's just right. It smells delicious," said Mrs. Carrington,
+taking the cup. "No, I won't have anything to eat. Well--I don't know
+whether I can resist those hot rolls. Just a half of one, then. Is that
+honey? I ought not to eat sweets--I know my fate if I do; but I can't
+resist hot rolls and honey."
+
+She was quiet for a few moments. Then she looked up at Drusilla and
+said, half hesitatingly, "I presume you are wondering why I have come
+to make this early morning visit, Miss Doane?"
+
+"No; I ain't wonderin' at all. I'm just glad you come."
+
+"Well," and Mrs. Carrington laughed happily, "I'm so happy I just had
+to talk to some one. You know I have not been to see you before,
+because I expected to go to France next month for--for a--for rather an
+extended trip. And I thought there was no use in calling when I was
+going away so soon."
+
+"Yes; I heard you was goin' away," Drusilla said.
+
+Mrs. Carrington looked up quickly.
+
+"Oh, did you? I didn't know that people knew it. Who told you?"
+
+"The circulatin' family story-paper," laughed Drusilla, "Miss Lee."
+
+Mrs. Carrington frowned for a moment; then she laughed.
+
+"Oh, well, if Sarah knows it, it is no secret in Brookvale. But I am
+_not_ going away, so her story will have to be revised. What else did
+she say, Miss Doane?"
+
+"Well--I jest can't remember all she said--but--you said jest now you
+was happy. Miss Lee'll lose all interest in you now. There's nothin' so
+uninteresting to old maids as their married friends when they're happy."
+
+"I might just as well tell you myself, and it's all past now and I can
+talk without breaking my heart. Did Sarah tell you that we lost our
+little boy about a year ago?"
+
+"Yes; she told me, and I'm sorry for you. It must be a sad thing to
+lose a baby."
+
+"It nearly killed me, and--and--I began to think about myself too
+much--I can see that now. I began to feel that Robert did not
+understand me, that he did not miss our boy nor care as much as I
+did--that he was hard and occupied himself too much with business and
+neglected me--and--and--"
+
+"I understand," said Drusilla. "You didn't know that to a man work is
+the whole dinner, and love the pie that he has to finish it off and
+make the dinner perfect for him. Perhaps you didn't understand him no
+more than he did you?"
+
+"Perhaps that's so, but he didn't seem to share my trouble--"
+
+"Now, my dear," said Drusilla, reaching over and softly touching the
+pretty hand that was lying on the arm of the chair, "it ain't so much
+the troubles and sorrows they share, but the bridge parties and dances
+that they don't share that makes most of the troubles between husbands
+and wives."
+
+"Yes; perhaps that's so. I did get to caring too much for dancing and
+society, and went out too much without Robert. I was bored--"
+
+"That's the kind of tired feelin' women git who ain't got nothin' to
+do."
+
+"Oh, but I have had a great deal to do. I belong to a great many clubs
+and take an active interest in charities, and go to so many committee
+meetings--they can't say that I have had nothing to do."
+
+"But that ain't the right kind of doin'. Let people like Sarah Lee sew
+shirts for the heathen and go to the clubs; and as for charity, I seen
+a lot of charity done by women who go to church and then turn their
+hired girls out of doors if they git in trouble. That ain't what you
+want, women with husbands and babies--"
+
+"But I have no baby--"
+
+"But you got a husband. _Have_ babies, just swathes of 'em. You can
+afford 'em. It's women like you that ought to have big families. Don't
+your husband like babies?"
+
+"Yes, he adores them, but--"
+
+"Of course he does! Ain't he a man? Men just love babies when they're
+their own. It feeds their vanity to show the world how they're
+improvin' the human race. Now look here, Mis' Carrington, let an old
+woman talk. I'm old and I got wrinkles in my face but there ain't none
+in my heart, and the only way to keep 'em out of your heart is just to
+fill it to bustin' with love. Keep the skin tight; don't let it git
+slack. Why, you'll find you been goin' without love and it's like
+eatin' without an appetite. It's fillin' your life with somethin' that
+don't satisfy. Even if you feel you ain't got the best man in the
+world, make the best of the one you got, and, just 'cause he's yourn,
+you'll believe after a while you drew the only sweet orange in the
+grove and all the rest was sour. We all know that marriage is like the
+weather, mighty uncertain, but that ain't no reason for you to live in
+the cyclone cellar expecting the tornado to come. Set in the sun parlor
+and you'll git more enjoyment."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Now, let me talk. I like to talk, and when I git on the subject of
+love, though I ain't had much of it in my life except what I give
+myself, I know what it is, and I learnt that you mustn't pick it to
+pieces, any mor'n you'd pick that rose beside you to pieces and expect
+to have it keep its color and its smell. If you do that there ain't
+nothin' left in your hands but dead leaves. And, dear, don't look at it
+through a microscope; it'll make the little things look too big.
+Quarrel once in a while if you must, but don't criticize his kind of
+love. A person's love is his own kind, same as his nose--"
+
+"Oh, we never quarrel. Robert is a perfect gentleman."
+
+"Now that's too bad. Perhaps if he wasn't such a gentleman, instead of
+goin' to his club when he was mad, he'd turn in and you'd have a real
+old-fashioned row, just like common people, and when the storm was
+passed you'd have a chance to kiss and make up. Don't be too much of a
+lady, just be human and act like people, and things'll come out better.
+It's these awful polite people who grate on one, especially when you're
+mad!"
+
+"I know I am not a good wife--I wish I were better--but my
+temperament--"
+
+"Don't say it! I can't abide that word. It's only rich women who have
+temperament; in poor women it's just a nasty disposition. But, my dear,
+you are good enough. Don't try to be an angel--you'd bore your Robert
+to death. He'd rather see you with a pretty hat than a halo any day;
+and I know your kind, Mis' Carrington. You'll go into fits and have to
+be put to bed if your dress don't fit, but if your Robert lost his
+money, you'd give him your diamonds to sell so's to start him
+again--and I'm sure he knows it too."
+
+Mrs. Carrington was quiet for a few moments. Then she looked up with
+the tears glistening on her pretty lashes.
+
+"Oh, Miss Doane, you do make me feel that we are going to be happy. I
+am going to understand Robert better and he will understand me--"
+
+"Don't worry about him understanding you. Don't think about your inside
+feelin's; just talk it all out with him. If he don't understand what
+you're thinkin', shake him and tell him he is stupid, and he'll laugh
+and you'll laugh--and then you'll kiss each other--and then, where are
+you?"
+
+Mrs. Carrington again was quiet. Drusilla watched her for a moment;
+then she rose and came over to her chair and, bending down, put her
+arms around the young shoulders.
+
+"Dear, jest do this--so fill your heart with sweetness that there won't
+be room for the memory of any wrong."
+
+Mrs. Carrington reached up her hands and drew the kindly old face to
+hers and kissed the lips; and the tears that had been in her eyes
+rolled unheeded down her cheeks.
+
+"Oh, Miss Doane, you are so good! I love you. We are going to begin all
+over again."
+
+"That's right, dear. Go to lookin' for the lost heart's desire and if
+you look in the right place you'll find it."
+
+As Drusilla was standing by the chair James entered, and, seeing Mrs.
+Carrington, started to leave the room. Drusilla turned.
+
+"What is it, James?"
+
+"It's no moment now, Miss Doane, the matter can wait."
+
+"Well, but what is it? Does some one want to see me?"
+
+"Yes; the laundry man. I took the liberty of telling him that you might
+see him--"
+
+"Is he in trouble, James?"
+
+"Yes," hesitatingly; "and as I have known him for a great many years
+and know he is pretty straight and honest, I--as I said, ma'am--took
+the liberty of telling him you might see him, as you are so kind to so
+many that come here for help."
+
+"Ssh--ssh--James; you mustn't talk about it. Tell him to come up."
+
+Mrs. Carrington rose to go.
+
+"No, don't go," begged Drusilla. "You know," looking around the room,
+"I'm just like a girl that's afraid of gettin' found out. I see a lot
+of people that I don't let Mr. Thornton know about. He tried to keep me
+from seein' any one who comes here in trouble, but I get around him. I
+see every one who comes. James has his orders from Mr. Thornton to keep
+'em out, and he has his orders from me to let 'em in, and he's more
+afeered of me than he is of Mr. Thornton."
+
+"But, my dear Miss Doane, I should think you would be worried to death."
+
+"No, it keeps me alive. I got a chance to hear people's troubles and
+understand what they're fighting against, and I'm seein' life and
+gettin' a chance to help people in my own way."
+
+"But don't they impose upon you? Aren't lots of the people dishonest?"
+
+"Well, I don't do nothin' sudden. I hear 'em talk and then I git Dr.
+Eaton to find out if it's true; and he's a clever young man, Mis'
+Carrington--they're pretty sharp to git around him. We call it the
+Doane Eaton Associated Charities. But"--laughing--"I'm awful selfish in
+it. I like people, and I like to be in their lives, and if I done what
+Mr. Thornton wanted me to do, I'd set here and die of dry rot."
+
+James entered then, followed by a little man who bowed awkwardly to
+Miss Doane.
+
+"This is Mr. Henderson, Miss Doane," James said.
+
+Drusilla looked at him critically.
+
+"Set down, Mr. Henderson. James tells me that you are in trouble."
+
+"Yes, Miss Doane. I hardly know which way to turn. Mr. Hawkins told me
+you might be good enough to help me."
+
+"What is it you want? You are the laundry man, ain't you?"
+
+"Yes; I have done the outside work for the place here for twelve years,
+and"--turning to Mrs. Carrington--"I think Mrs. Carrington will
+remember me. I work for her and worked for her mother before her."
+
+"Certainly I know you, Mr. Henderson," said Mrs. Carrington. "I
+remember I used to coax you for a ride in your wagon when I was a
+little girl."
+
+The man smiled.
+
+"Yes, I've given all the children in Brookvale a ride some time or
+other."
+
+"Now that we know who you are," said Drusilla, "jest tell me what the
+trouble is."
+
+"It's this way, Miss Doane. The last year business has been bad and I
+have had to buy new machinery, and I put a mortgage on the place to pay
+for the machines, and then my wife was sick for most eight months and
+the doctor's bills and the nurses eat up all my ready money, and I find
+I'm in a corner and can't pay the interest on the mortgage, and can't
+get good help, because I can't pay the wages. I'm afraid I will lose my
+business."
+
+"Is it a good business?"
+
+"Yes. It's always been able to give me a good livin', nothin' more, but
+it's all I got, and I don't know nothin' else to do. If I lose it I'll
+have to go into some one else's laundry, and it's hard after fifteen
+years--" He looked down with a catch in his voice.
+
+"How much will it take to put you on your feet?"
+
+"If I could get eight hundred dollars it would pay up the debts that's
+pressin' me and would give me a start."
+
+"Can't you borrow at the bank?"
+
+"No, because I've no security. The place is mortgaged all it can stand."
+
+"Well, now you give your name and address to James, and I'll talk it
+over with Dr. Eaton, and we'll see what can be done. You understand we
+ain't givin' you the money, even if we find out you're all right. We'll
+lend to you, and Dr. Eaton asks interest the same as at the bank, but
+we take your word for security. You understand, we're a lending on your
+reputation, and what you stand for in your community."
+
+"I understand, ma'am, and I'm willin' to stand on my reputation in the
+neighborhood."
+
+"Well," as he rose to go, "Dr. Eaton'll come and talk it over with you,
+and we'll see. How's your wife now?"
+
+"She is much better."
+
+"Is she in bed?"
+
+"Yes; she only sets up a couple of hours a day."
+
+"Pshaw, that's too bad! Wait till I see James."
+
+She rang the bell and James appeared.
+
+"James, fix a basket of things to eat and send it home with Mr.
+Henderson. Perhaps a change of cookin'll make her eat better. A sick
+person gits awful tired of the same kind of vittles."
+
+When the man left with a new look of hope on his face Drusilla turned
+to Mrs. Carrington.
+
+"Now, Mis' Carrington, them's the kind of people that need help. You
+ain't no idee how many men in this city have got little businesses
+that's jest makin' them a livin' but nothin' over for a rainy day, and
+when the day comes they've nothin' to fall back on. And if they could
+tide themselves over the bad times, whether it's sickness or bad
+business, they'd be all right. That's just like the truck gardener down
+on the Fulham Lane. Ain't you seen his place? The hail broke all his
+glass cases, and he couldn't buy new and he most lost his little place,
+and if he hadn't 'a' been helped he'd 'a' had to git out."
+
+"Did you help him?"
+
+Drusilla looked rather shamefaced.
+
+"Now, don't you whisper it to a soul. I'm so feered that Mr.
+Thornton'll find it out that I'm scared to hear a door slam for fear
+he's heard somethin' and comin' to talk to me. I didn't do nothin' for
+him as he knows on, but Dr. Eaton went his security at the bank so's he
+could borrow, and he'll be able to pay back in a couple of years."
+
+Mrs. Carrington laughed.
+
+"Oh, you are a dear!" she exclaimed.
+
+"No, that's jest what I can't make Dr. Eaton see either, that I'm
+selfish in it all. I like to talk to people, I like to know about 'em.
+I've always set outside the fence before and peeked into the ball game,
+now I kin set in the front row and sometimes catch a ball that comes my
+way. You know, Mis' Carrington, I set up nights wonderin' how I kin
+leave my million dollars so's it'll do some good and not be fooled
+away. I pester Dr. Eaton to death to find a way, and he thinks he's got
+some kind of a poor man's bank figgered out. He's brought up some men
+and we've talked ourselves hoarse trying to figger out a charity that
+ain't a charity. By the way, what is your husband?"
+
+"He is a banker."
+
+"Now, that's jest the thing. Bring him over some night and we'll git
+'em all together and have a real talk about it all. Tell him what I'm
+tryin' to do. No--I'll send Dr. Eaton to talk with him. I like your
+husband, Mis' Carrington. A man that can hold a sick baby so tender in
+a pan of hot water has got heart; and what we want in this is heart as
+well as brains and money."
+
+Mrs. Carrington rose to go.
+
+"I'm glad I came to you this morning, and I'm glad you like my husband,
+because, Miss Doane--let me whisper it to you--I believe I do too!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+Drusilla was called to the 'phone and a nervous, trembly-voiced Daphne
+spoke to her.
+
+"May I come over, Miss Doane? I--I--want to get away from the house and
+talk to some one--May I come over?"
+
+Drusilla answered quickly: "Come right along, and come to spend the
+day. I got to go to the home, and I'll take you with me."
+
+Soon Daphne came up the driveway and stopped to look at two big baskets
+being put into the motor car, and before she could ring the bell
+Drusilla dressed for driving came to the door.
+
+"Git right in, Daphne," Drusilla said, putting on her gloves. "Push
+that basket more to the front--there, that's right. Have you got that
+bundle, Joseph? Don't lose it out. Now go just as fast as you can, but
+don't git arrested." As she sat down by the side of Daphne she added:
+"I'm always in mortal fear of being arrested, 'cause I like to go fast.
+I don't care about the arrested part, but it'd git my name in the
+papers again and then your father'd make me one of his 'severity'
+visits, and I don't seem never to git used to them. When James tells me
+your father is waitin' for me it makes me feel jest like I used to when
+I done somethin' wrong and was called into the parlor, where I always
+got my scoldings, 'cause mother knew the kitchen wouldn't awe me.
+But"--and she chuckled--"I'm gittin' kind of used even to him, and I'm
+gittin' so independent there ain't no livin' with me. I even show it
+the way I walk. When I was ordered around by everybody, I used to sort
+of tiptoe around so's not to call attention to myself. Now I come down
+so hard on my heels I have to wear rubber ones so's not to jar my
+spine. But"--she looked keenly at the pale face beside her and the eyes
+that showed signs of recent tears--"what's the matter, dear? Have you
+been cryin'?"
+
+"Oh, I'm in _such_ trouble, Miss Doane," Daphne said with a choke in
+her voice.
+
+Drusilla patted her hand.
+
+"It can't be great trouble, Daphne."
+
+"Yes, it is, Miss Doane. No one has such trouble as I have, I'm sure."
+
+"Hush, dear, hush! Wait a minute. Let me show you a letter I got last
+night from Barbara, and then you'll know what real trouble means."
+
+She drew from her bag a folded piece of paper and handed it to Daphne.
+
+"Read that," she said; and Daphne read a badly spelled, badly written
+scrawl, in the writing of an old woman unused to holding a pen:
+
+DEAR DRUSILLA:
+
+I wish you'd come and see us. Mis Abbott has took poison that she got
+out of the medcin closet, cause she's lost her money and can't pay her
+board no more and she says she'd ruther die than be charity, cause
+she's always looked down on charity, and bin so stuck up about her
+family. They got it out of her with a stumak pump and she won't die
+this time but she says she'll do it again cause she can't live and be
+charity. Won't you come and see her and perhaps you can do something
+with her, we can't.
+
+BARBARA.
+
+Daphne handed the note back to Drusilla, who put it carefully into her
+bag before she spoke.
+
+"Now, do you see what real trouble is? Do you remember me tellin' you
+about Mis' Abbott, whose father was a general and whose husband was
+some sort of official down South? Well, they're all dead and her only
+daughter died when she was a little girl and she hadn't nothin' left
+but memories and just enough money to keep her in the home. It was in
+some railroad stock and now I guess it's gone too. She was awful proud,
+and I can see how she feels. She always looked down on me 'cause I was
+charity, but I don't hold it agin her. She's had her arms full of
+sorrow and now they're too old to carry more."
+
+"Poor woman!" said Daphne softly. "What are you going to do?"
+
+"I ain't got it all figgered out yet. I talked it over with John till
+late last night, and then afterward it come to me. I guess I can do
+somethin'. The main thing is to make her want to live, make her think
+some one wants her. You know, Daphne, that's the great sorrow of the
+old; to feel that they ain't needed no more; that every one can git
+along just as well if not a little better without 'em than with 'em.
+When they see that, they want to die."
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry I said anything about my troubles--they are so little!
+Yet they seemed so big last night--and this morning--this morning--"
+
+"Well, what happened this mornin'? Tell me, dear; it'll make you feel
+better and then you'll see they ain't so very bad after all."
+
+"This morning Mother talked to me, and Father was nasty to me at the
+breakfast table and--" and again the pretty eyes filled with tears.
+
+"Who is it about this time?"
+
+"There's no _this time;_ it's always the same. It's--it's--Dr. Eaton."
+
+Drusilla laughed.
+
+"I knowed it! I seen it a-comin' a long time. What you and Dr. Eaton
+been doin'?"
+
+"We haven't been doing anything. Only I walked home with him from your
+house last night, and we walked a while and--and--Mother and Father
+talked to me, and--"
+
+"Yes, your father's held some forth to me about Dr. Eaton, but I only
+laugh at him. I like that young man."
+
+Daphne snuggled her hand into Drusilla's.
+
+"That's the reason I can talk to you; you will understand--because--"
+
+Drusilla laughed again.
+
+"Because--because--you like him too." Daphne's pretty face colored.
+
+"Well, why shouldn't you?" said Drusilla.
+
+"Mother says that he's only a poor doctor, that he's not the kind
+that'll ever make money."
+
+"Money--money! Why, he'll always make enough for you to live on, and
+more money'd only be used to buy amusements to keep you from thinkin';
+but the way you and him could live together, you'd like to think. So
+what's the use of money?"
+
+"But Mother says--"
+
+"Now, Daphne, I don't want to say nothin' about your mother. She's been
+real neighborly to me so far as she knows how, but she's too society
+for me, and we ain't got one thing that we can talk to each other
+about. She thinks more about the polish of a person's fingernails or
+the set of her dress than she does about the color of a soul or the
+heart that looks out from the eyes, but--I shouldn't say that--your
+mother is your mother and she means well by you, and you must respect
+her judgments."
+
+Daphne looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.
+
+"Her judgment in regard to Dr. Eaton, too?"
+
+"Well," said Drusilla, "I wouldn't go so far as _that;_ but--what else
+did she say besides that you wouldn't have enough to eat?"
+
+"Oh, of course she didn't say that, but she said that he could never
+afford to give me a motor car or--"
+
+"Well, if you don't have but one car you'll have to ride around with
+him in his'n, and that won't be no hardship. Just think what a nice
+time you could have ridin' around these roads in that noisy, smelly
+little car of his, and waitin' at the gate when he went in to see the
+Smith baby. Why--why--I'd like to do it myself!"
+
+"Yes, I'd like it too; but Mother is always saying that it's a pity
+that he is a general practitioner instead of a specialist. It's only
+the specialists that make money and get on."
+
+"Pshaw, you tell her that Dr. Eaton is a general practitioner in his
+business, but a specialist in his love affairs, and that's all that you
+need worry about."
+
+"Then, you don't think it would be hard to economize?"
+
+"Daphne, you won't have to economize on love, and with lots of that you
+won't miss the other things. Now, Daphne, I suppose I shouldn't meddle
+in this, it ain't none of my business, but I like Dr. Eaton, and I
+more'n like you, and I don't want you to make a mistake. Dr. Eaton
+won't promise you a life of roses and leave you to pull out all the
+thorns. I know him. And I jest want you two young things to share the
+very best things in life when you're young, and when you grow old
+together you won't see the bald spot on his head gittin' bigger, and he
+won't see your gray hairs a-comin', 'cause you won't ever be lookin'
+above each other's eyes. You know, Daphne, I'm seventy years old and
+I've looked on lots of things with my old eyes, and it ain't always the
+rich that have found the most precious jewel; it's the poor couple
+who've got just enough to live on--and each other."
+
+Daphne smiled up at Drusilla.
+
+"Oh, Miss Doane, you make it seem so heavenly!"
+
+"Yes, it is Heaven, and love is the bridge that you cross on, and when
+you git across you can't always be singin' the weddin'-march--but
+afterwards--well, you can hum a lullaby.
+
+"Now we're comin' to the house"--as they turned into the drive--"and I
+jest want to say this, dear--" She took Daphne's face in her two hands
+and looked into her eyes. "Life is a wonderful garden, dear, a garden
+where the air is filled with perfume, a garden filled with flowers,
+with heart's-ease and forget-me-nots, and if you wander down its
+moonlit pathway with your loved one's hand in yours, you're bound to
+find the enchanted palace where love's dream comes true--So dream, my
+dear, jest dream.
+
+"Now, there's Miss Smith," as the motor stopped. "How do you do, Mis'
+Smith? How do you do, Barbara? You was lookin' for me? Yes, I come jest
+as soon as I could. How is Mis' Abbott? Take them baskets on the porch,
+and that bundle goes upstairs. Can I go up and see Mis' Abbott?"
+
+"Yes, come right up. I told her you were coming, but she says she won't
+see you. But I think she will," said Mrs. Smith.
+
+"Of course she will. I'm comin' right along. Daphne, you go out on the
+porch there with the ladies and open them baskets. I worked half the
+night and kept the cook up the other half to get the things ready. The
+names is on the things. You give 'em to the ladies, and jest stay and
+let 'em look at you. It'll be a treat as good as the things in the
+baskets."
+
+She followed Barbara up the long stairs. At the door she turned.
+
+"Don't come in, Barbara; I'll go in alone." And she went into the
+"best" room of the home, because Mrs. Abbott had been able to pay a
+little more than that paid by the other guests.
+
+Drusilla found the little woman in bed, with her face turned to the
+wall. She did not move until Drusilla put her hand on her shoulder.
+
+"I've come to see you, Mis' Abbott."
+
+The woman looked up at Drusilla a moment, then put her faded old hands
+over her face.
+
+"I don't want to see you, Drusilla, I don't want to see you."
+
+"Pshaw, now," answered Drusilla, "yes, you do, Mis' Abbott. I come jest
+a purpose to see you."
+
+"Oh, but I don't want to see you," wailed the feeble old voice. "I
+always called you 'charity' and now I'm charity myself. I wish I could
+die, I wish I could _die!"_
+
+"No, you don't," said Drusilla softly. "You want to live and you're
+glad to see me."
+
+"I ain't! I tell you, I ain't! I called you charity!"
+
+"Yes, but I didn't mind, and if I hadn't been charity, Elias Doane
+wouldn't 'a' found me, and I wouldn't be here goin' to take you home
+with me."
+
+"What!" said the old lady, looking up. "What'd you say, Drusilla?"
+
+"I said I'm goin' to take you home with me."
+
+"You are--you are--going to take me away from here--here where all the
+ladies'll laugh at me because I'm charity? But--but--Oh, I'll have to
+come back again even if you do take me, I'll have to come back again
+and be--Oh, I want to die--I'd rather _die!"_
+
+Drusilla took the hands from the wrinkled face and held them in her own.
+
+"Now let me set here on the edge of the bed, and you listen to me, Mis'
+Abbott. When I got Barbara's letter last night, I jest set for hours
+thinkin' it all over, and it all come to me of a sudden. Why, I need
+you so bad, Mis' Abbott, I wonder how I got along without you all this
+time. You know I got a lot of young people at my house, and no one with
+sense but myself to watch over them, and we need some one like yourself
+bad, and if you won't come I'll have to look around for some one else,
+and it'll put me to a lot of trouble."
+
+The old lady looked up wonderingly.
+
+"But what can I do, Drusilla?"
+
+"Oh, there's lots of things you kin do, but one thing special. When I
+went into the nursery last night and saw Mary Allen settin' there alone
+by the window, I said to myself, 'Mary needs a mother. She don't ever
+remember havin' a mother, and then I remembered you lost your little
+girl most forty years ago, and if she'd 'a' growed up she might 'a' had
+a little girl like Mary, and I want you to come and be a mother to my
+Mary and a grandmother to her baby."
+
+"Oh, is she grown up and married?"
+
+"Never mind, she's only a little child, a lovin' little child with a
+baby--and a sorrow. But you'll come and see your Mary in her eyes, and
+she'll have a mother and you a daughter again, and you'll both find
+happiness in each other. She needs you, Mis' Abbott, and you need
+her--Say you'll come."
+
+The old lady looked for a moment into Drusilla's eyes; then she broke
+into the hysterical sobbing of the old and helpless.
+
+"I didn't think no one needed me--no one wanted me. I thought I jest
+cumbered up the earth. Drusilla, do you think she really needs me, that
+any one really needs me, that I don't have to be a burden the rest of
+my days? Oh, if I thought some one wanted me--Perhaps it's my Mary come
+back to me--my Mary--my little girl--my little girl--"
+
+Drusilla let her cry, patting her hand softly from time to time. Then,
+when the storm had spent itself, she said:
+
+"Yes, it's your Mary come back to you. Don't you remember that you said
+your Mary had brown eyes--"
+
+"Yes,--yes--" and eager fingers were tugging at an old-fashioned locket
+hanging to a slender chain around her neck. "See--here she is--her eyes
+are brown and her hair all curled around her face, and her lips was
+just like a rose--and her face--oh, her pretty face--"
+
+Drusilla studied the picture carefully.
+
+"Yes, it's jest like this other Mary. Her hair is all in little curls
+around her face and her brown eyes jest like a child's, a wonderin'
+child's whose waitin' for her mother."
+
+The old lady rose from the bed.
+
+"Can I go now, Drusilla? Can I go _now?"_
+
+"Are you well enough? Can you stand the trip?"
+
+Mrs. Abbott laughed.
+
+"Only sorrow makes one feeble, sorrow and loneliness; but hope makes
+one strong, and I got hope again--I want to live, Drusilla--I want to
+_live!"_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+"John," Drusilla's hand carefully opened the door and Drusilla's head
+peered warily into the opening, "Are you alone? Has he gone?" She
+looked around the room. "Yes, he's gone. I'll come in." She closed the
+door behind her and came to her favorite seat before the fire.
+
+"John, I didn't adopt the Reverend Algernon Thompson, did I?"
+
+"Why, no, Drusilla; I don't think you adopted him. Why?"
+
+"Well," breathing a sigh of relief, "I'm glad to hear you say it. I
+didn't know but that night when I was so relieved and so scared about
+puttin' him in jail, that I hadn't said more'n I meant. I know I asked
+him to come and stop here whenever he come to New York, but I didn't
+mean to _live_ here. I don't see how his church gits along without him
+so much."
+
+"What's the matter with the Reverend Algernon, Drusilla? I like him.
+His knowledge of chivalry is--"
+
+"Yes, I know you two pore over them old books and study them tin men,
+and he seems to be a great comfort to you. But he ain't no comfort to
+me, John. I guess I'm gittin' old and finicky. I jest can't put my
+finger on the spot that riles me, but that man riles me. He's always so
+good and so sort of angelic, and I don't like people who are too good.
+A man without a few failin's is like underclothes without trimmin',
+useful but uninterestin', and--and--then, John, he's one of them fussy
+little men who's always puffin' around and never doin' nothin' worth
+while, just like a little engine in a switchyard that snorts and puffs
+and makes a lot of noise pullin' a dump-wagon. And--then, sometimes, I
+wonder about his religion, he's so narrer, he's got lots of religion
+but not so much Christianity. He kind of thinks that Heaven's goin' to
+be made up of him and a few Presbyterians, mainly from his
+congregation. He kind of seems to think that Heaven's going to be a
+special place for him where he'll strut around the only rooster and his
+flock'll foller after singin' praises to him instead of to the
+Almighty."
+
+"Why, Drusilla, I thought you said when he was so interested in those
+children of his parish that he ought to be a very good man."
+
+"So he ought to be a good man, and a man's legs ought to reach from his
+body to the ground but sometimes he has one short leg that don't quite
+tech. Now the Reverend wasn't interested so much in takin' care of them
+children as he was in showin' how he could raise money. I remember when
+I was in the Ladies' Aid of the Presbyterian Church and we made clothes
+for the heathen, we wasn't so much interested in clothing the heathen
+as we was that we had a bigger box at the end of the year than the
+Baptists had. Just as when some of these societies git to raisin' money
+for the poor or for some new buildin' or something, and they divide
+their 'raisers' up in bands, the people who ask you for subscriptions
+fergit what it is for in their hurry to show that they raised more'n
+some other band."
+
+"I'm afraid, Drusilla, that Mr. Thompson has got on to your nerves."
+
+"I ain't got no nerves, John. I leave that for women with husbands to
+work 'em off on. I don't know what it is with this preacher. He's a
+good man accordin' to his lights, but he makes me fidgety a rumblin'
+away about his work and his creeds and things like a volcano that don't
+never blow up. I wish he'd let off a little steam once in a while, or
+spit out a few rocks and stones jest to liven up things a bit."
+
+"I'll admit he is a little bit self-centered."
+
+"What's that? Oh, you mean he's got ingrowin' feelings. Yes, everythin'
+that he has to do with is big. Why, John, he's the kind of a man that'd
+entertain his wife by talkin' about his corns, and think it interestin'
+because they was his'n."
+
+John laughed.
+
+"Perhaps if he was married and had a wife to tell him a few things--"
+
+"John--John!" Drusilla sat up very suddenly in her chair. "Why didn't I
+think of her before?"
+
+"Think of whom, Drusilla? I thought we were talking about the Reverend
+Algernon, and he's a _he."_
+
+"Sarah Lee."
+
+"Sarah Lee? I don't follow you, Drusilla."
+
+"John, some men are ugly, most men are conceited, and all men are
+thick-headed, and you're a _man_. Think of what a wife she'd make him!"
+
+"Why, Drusilla!" John looked a little dazed. "I thought--I thought you
+didn't care especially for Sarah Lee. I heard you, if I remember
+rightly--"
+
+"Never mind, John. Your memory's too long to be convenient. Never mind
+what I said--I take it all back. She's jest the wife for him. They jest
+fit together. They ain't neither one of 'em got a sense of humor. She's
+the kind of a woman who'd tell him a funny story when he's shavin', and
+he's the kind of a man that'd ask her where she put his clean shirt
+when she was doin' up her back hair with her mouth full of pins. It'd
+be too bad to spile two good families with 'em."
+
+"But, Drusilla, they're neither one of them thinking about getting
+married. Perhaps they don't want to."
+
+"Shows how little you know about human natur', John, especially woman
+human natur'. Sarah Lee'd jump at the chance. She'd been settin' in the
+station for a long time waitin' for the express to pick her up; now
+she'd be willin' to take a slow freight."
+
+"Well, she might do worse. He's likely and healthy--"
+
+"Humph--so's an onion. But he's a good man, John, and I trust Sarah to
+make him over into anything she wants. She's a managin' woman."
+
+"But--but, Drusilla, I don't think he wants to get married, even if she
+does."
+
+"Of course he don't. No man does; they have to be led up to it."
+
+"Well, I don't know about this. He might not want Sarah. He looks to me
+like a man who knows his own mind."
+
+"He ain't got a wide acquaintance if it's all he knows. But I mustn't
+be mean. 'Cause I couldn't live with him ain't no reason that a lot of
+women couldn't stand him. He's been a batch too long and always had his
+own way, and he's been a preacher where he could talk to people and
+they dassent talk back, but Sarah'd change all that, and make him real
+human before a year was past. I'm glad you thought of it, John."
+
+John looked up, surprised.
+
+"Me? Drusilla! It never entered my head."
+
+"Didn't it? Well, you ought to 'a' thought of it before, and it'd all
+be done now. Here we've wasted all these months, and I've been pestered
+to death with 'em both. She's done more tattin' settin' in my sun
+parlor than'd trim all the petticoats in Brookvale. But, John, her
+heart is good and is kind of thawin' about the babies. I seen her
+a-givin' yards o' that stuff to Mary Allen the other day to trim her
+baby's dresses; and when little Isaac got most run over she got as
+white as a sheet and we both cried over him together, which kind of
+brought us closer. And if she marries Algernon, they'll have babies and
+she'll jest blossom right out."
+
+"You seem to be planning rather far ahead, aren't you?"
+
+"No one has to be a prophet to say a preacher'll have babies. That's
+ginerally about all they do have."
+
+"It's your business, Drusilla; but I can't understand why you want
+these two very worthy people to marry--"
+
+"Can't you see through a fence-post, John? If Sarah marries the
+Reverend Algernon, she'll have to move to Adams, and she'll keep him
+hoppin' around so fast that he won't git time to come visitin' me so
+often."
+
+"Oh, you are killing two birds with one stone!"
+
+"Say it any way you want to, but they was made for each other, and I
+want to see Sarah married with a growin' family on her hands and then
+she won't have so much time to think and talk about her neighbors. She
+does it jest because she ain't got nothin' else to do; but if she has
+to watch Johnny through the measles, and Lizzie through the mumps, and
+see that Willie's stockings is patched, she won't have time to tatt or
+tattle, and it'll make her a real woman, instead of jest an old maid.
+Is he comin' back tonight?"
+
+"No; he has gone to his room."
+
+"Well, I didn't know I'd ever be sorry not to see Algernon, but I'd
+like to begin on him tonight when it's fresh in my mind, and I could
+put spirit in my work. What you goin' to do with him to-morrow?"
+
+"We are goin' to go over again those last books on chivalry that I
+bought--"
+
+"Now, you leave them old books go, and when you git him alongside of
+one of them iron men, that must 'a' had a derrick to heave him on his
+horse, come down to earth and talk about women. Point out that that man
+must 'a' had a wife to buckle all his straps, or somethin' like that,
+and then tell him how all men ought to be married. Show how you're a
+shinin' example of how a man looks that ain't had a wife to see that he
+don't spill egg on his shirt bosom or make him change his underclothes
+Saturday night. Flatter him. Tell him he is a big, strong man--all
+little men like that--but tell him that no matter how strong a man is
+he ain't strong enough to put the studs in his own shirt--and so lead
+up to Sarah. You can do it, John, if you go about it right. Git him
+interested, and I'll take care of Sarah."
+
+"But it's a great risk, Drusilla. They might be so happy that they'd
+always be grateful and both want to come and visit you."
+
+Drusilla raised her hands and then dropped them in despair.
+
+"The Lord forbid, John."
+
+"Don't you want them to be happy, Drusilla? If you don't think they
+would be, you hadn't better meddle in it."
+
+"Certainly, they'll be happy. Sarah's a good woman. Her milk of human
+kindness is a leetle bit curdled now and sets hard on her stomach, but
+marriage'll be the soda that'll clear it all up. And her husband won't
+have to put a tin mask on her face to keep from bein' jealous, and she
+won't need to fear his gettin' in temptation, 'cause she won't let him
+come to the city alone long enough to git real busy huntin' it up.
+Sarah's jest the wife for a parsonage. She's turnin' more and more to
+religion and preachers as she gits older, like a lot of women do when
+they find they're not excitin' enough to interest the other kind. Now,
+John, be careful what you say. A man is like a kitten--try to catch him
+and he'll run. Don't fling Sarah at his head--it'd be like flingin' a
+bone at a cat; jest chase him away instead of drawin' him to her. Now
+I'm goin' to telephone her and ask her to come over to-morrow, and I'll
+prepare the way. And you, John," and Drusilla rose and shook her finger
+at him, "now you be careful what you say, but _say_ it."
+
+The plan worked even better than Drusilla had hoped. Under Miss Lee's
+very evident admiration, the Reverend Algernon seemed to grow at least
+three inches in height, and his rather prosy compliments did not fall
+upon too critical nor blase' ears. Sarah blushed and fluttered and
+stammered as would any young girl with her first sweetheart. She even
+grew pretty; took to arranging her hair in a more becoming style and
+was particular about her dress. One morning she came over with a fluffy
+little gown that certainly took ten years from her age, and Drusilla
+looked at her in amazement. She confided to John: "I've heard that
+women had an Indian Summer but Sarah's surely having her early spring.
+And, John, I always thought that courtin' was like cookin'--you had to
+learn by experience; but them two seem to take to it natural. It's
+makin' Sarah over, I tell you. Why, I even heard her say that she
+thought Bessie Grey was pretty, and she used to say about any girl that
+was so pretty that a blind man'd have to admit it, 'Yes, she's pretty,
+but it is the kind that'll fade early.' Why, she ain't shot a poison
+arrow at nobody's good luck sense they met."
+
+"You seem to give them chance enough to see each other."
+
+"Yes; I want them to find out each other's beauties. I set up nights
+tryin' to find errands to send 'em together down town in the motor.
+Take a man and a woman and put 'em close together, in a rich, soft
+motor car, with nice cushions to lean against and a chauffeur who can't
+hear 'em, and something is hound to happen if they're human beings. And
+I git her to serve tea under the trees and let him see what a nice
+housewife she'd make, and how she'd show off to his women in the
+church. Do you notice she don't talk so much? jest sets quiet and
+smiles, which is wise of her, as she looks best that way. Why, she used
+to be like an electric fan buzzing away all day and fannin' up nothin'
+but hot air. John, I feel I'm doin' some good in the world. If I keep
+on, it'll be a temptation to die just to read the epigraphs my
+friends'll write of me. But I ain't goin' to die fer a while; I'm goin'
+to set right down and go over them invitations we sent for the people
+who's comin' next week for my birthday. Dr. Eaton and me went over the
+house; it's all ready, and the children and the mothers'll move in on
+Monday."
+
+Drusilla was silent for a few moments. Then she reached over and took
+John's hand in her own.
+
+"John, Wednesday I am seventy-two years old. And it's more'n fifty
+years sense you and me went walkin' down the lane together first. And
+you're here now beside me. You can always find some one to share your
+money and your joys, but you can't ask everybody to share your sorrows
+and your troubles; and it makes me feel a sort of peace and quiet to
+know that you'll always be near me, and if things that I've planned
+don't come out right, that I kin come to you and talk it over and
+you'll understand. Lots of people when they hear what I'm goin' to do
+will say that I'm an old fool, that I'm impractical, and lots of things
+that'd maybe hurt, if I didn't have some one to go to and talk it over
+with who I know won't be critical but will see down beneath it all what
+I'm try in' to do, and who'll understand. That's what love is, John,
+for people who grow old--just a great, great friendship, and--an
+_understandin'."_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+"Come right on to the stoop, Dr. Eaton, and let's set down and cool
+off. I'm real het up."
+
+Drusilla settled down in a big porch rocker and fanned herself with the
+paper in her hand.
+
+"Now let's talk, and you tell me all about it. What did you say that
+last club was we was to? You been a-takin' me to so many places lately
+that I fergit their names."
+
+"That was the big Socialists Club."
+
+"Socialists--yes, that's what you called it. Ain't them got something
+to do with dynamite bombs and blowin' up people and things?"
+
+Dr. Eaton laughed.
+
+"No; you are thinking of Nihilists or Anarchists. These people are very
+mild; they only have ideas how to run the old world in a new way, and
+they are especially interested in the question of labor and capital."
+
+"Well, they've idees enough, if that's all they need. But it seems to
+me, Dr. Eaton, that these people are all going at it wrong-end-to.
+Instid of workin' with people in bunches, they want to take 'em man by
+man and git a little of the old-fashioned religion into each one
+singly. There's two commandments give us to live by. One is, we should
+love God; the other is to love our neighbor as ourself. Now, if each
+one got that second command planted deep in his heart, the hired man'd
+do his work as it ought to be done, and the man who hires him'd pay him
+right--so there wouldn't be no need of Socialists or Unions or dynamite
+bombs. No, you can't make people do the right thing by laws, and you
+can't put love in their hearts by meetings and committees and talk.
+Each man must git it for himself and then he'll do the square thing
+because he wants to, not 'cause he's forced to. You can make laws
+against thievin' and build prisons to put men in who steal, but if you
+don't change a man's heart, if he _wants_ to be a thief he'll find some
+way o' doin' it--prisons or no prisons."
+
+She was silent a few moments; then she chuckled softly to herself.
+
+"I wanted to laugh when you introduced me as a woman who wanted to give
+away a million dollars. Why, I thought fer a minute I'd be run down, if
+one was to judge by their eyes. But they kind of caamed down when they
+learnt I wanted to find a way to leave it in my will so's it'd do the
+most good, instead of givin' it away right there in five-dollar bills.
+By the looks of a lot of 'em they could 'a' used it right then in
+gettin' a hair cut and a good meal of vittles."
+
+"Yes; some of them do look rather lank and hungry; but there are some
+very clever men among them."
+
+"They certainly talked a lot. Who was that young man who talked so much
+and then got me into a corner. He was kind o' wild-eyed."
+
+"That's Swinesky, a Russian Jew."
+
+"A Roosian! I always heerd tell that them Roosians know what to do with
+other people's money--and a Jew too! Well--well--and I got away without
+spending nothin'. He told me a lot of ways to spend my money, but most
+of 'em sounded like--like--what is it you call it--"
+
+"Hot air."
+
+"That's jest the word--hot air. They all was perfectly willin' to tell
+me what to do with it, as it wasn't there'n, but what I want is to find
+a man with an idee that he'd think good enough to carry out if the
+money was his'n. We've talked with a lot of people about the best way
+to dispose of my money where it'd do the most good, and most of their
+plans wouldn't hold water. But it's good of you, Dr. Eaton, to take me
+round, and I git a little idee here and another there, and some day
+maybe I'll find the right one.
+
+"I see the newspapers is takin' up now what I'm askin' everybody. 'What
+will she do with her Million Dollars?' They'll git a lot of answers,
+'cause every one's got an idee what they'd do if they had that money.
+
+"But let's not talk of it no more--my head buzzes. I dream of it at
+nights and see it all hangin' round the bedposts, and a lot of people
+takin' it that I don't want to, and me not bein' able to git up and
+chase 'em away. Tell me about that loan you asked me about last night,
+and I didn't have time to talk."
+
+Dr. Eaton sat up, interested in a moment.
+
+"Do you remember my telling you about the man who has the button
+factory in Yonkers?"
+
+"He is the man who wants two thousand dollars, isn't he?" asked
+Drusilla.
+
+"Yes," said Dr. Eaton. "And I have been to see him and I think it is a
+poor loan unless his business is looked into more closely. Now, Miss
+Doane, I have an idea. My friend, Frank Stillman, has just started into
+business as an efficiency engineer."
+
+"What's that?" asked Drusilla, interested at once in anything new.
+
+"He makes it his business to study firms that are going to the wall and
+locate their trouble and puts them on their feet again, if possible. I
+took him with me to Mr. Panoff, and I believe he could go there a while
+and find out what the difficulty is. It used to be a good business when
+Panoff bought it, but he seems to have lost his grip some way, and he
+can't see far enough ahead because he is so crowded by the daily
+troubles. An outsider will be able to see with a better perspective."
+
+"Are we goin' to let this Mr. Panoff have the money?"
+
+"No; not at present. Here is my scheme. I want you to put Frank in
+there for a time and let him find out if there are any possibilities of
+getting the business back on its feet. If Frank succeeds, we will let
+Panoff have the money on his personal note, if he agrees to follow out
+the suggestions of Frank.
+
+"I have another idea that I have been thinking about. There are a lot
+of small business ventures that are running to seed, where the owner is
+getting discouraged, and lacks the broad outlook that would keep him
+going, and needs some one who is a professional setter-up like Frank,
+to put him wise, and to readjust his business. I suggest that we hire
+Frank, for at least a part of his time--he won't be expensive, as he is
+just starting--to look into the affairs of the men who come to us for
+money. The owner must agree to allow Frank to readjust things for him,
+and then when his affairs are prospering again, he will pay a certain
+sum for Frank's services, taking the expense away from us. It is also a
+better guarantee for our loan, because Frank is a pretty level-headed
+business man and if there are any possibilities in the run down
+business, he will find them, and if there are not he will report to us.
+What do you think of it?"
+
+"I think it is a good thing; but is there enough things like that to
+keep him busy?"
+
+"Well, we need take only a part of his time; but I can think of half a
+dozen little manufacturers who would welcome the chance to find out
+what is wrong. That publishing house I was telling you about. The
+manager is impractical, is paying too much out in salaries, hasn't any
+method in his establishment, and has a dozen leaks that he can't find,
+but which could easily be located by a professional leak finder. There
+are a lot of men in business who are honest and willing to work, but
+who are in a rut and can't see the new things coming, and who could be
+put on their feet by an injection of a little outside ginger and a
+readjustment of their business on more modern methods. They are the
+ones who need help and who will be good for their loans; and that's one
+thing we are going to try to make sure of, because we aren't going to
+give any money away if we know it. It's going to be a real service too,
+Miss Doane. I don't think there is anything more pitiful than a man,
+who has been in business for himself, to have to give up and say he is
+a failure. It hurts to be compelled to go into some one's shop as a
+clerk or mechanic when you've once been your own master. It'll put jasm
+into a lot of men that have lost their nerve and only need some one to
+set them straight. You won't lose by it, Miss Doane; I am sure of that."
+
+"I ain't thinkin' about that. Yet I ain't makin' a charity; it's a
+business, and I don't want a lot of salaried people to eat up
+everything. That's too much like most of them charities we looked into.
+I want this a business that'll sound sensible and that'll be sensible,
+and I don't want a lot of failures to think they can work us. I want
+'em to find that they got the wrong pig by the ear if they try to do
+the Doane fund.
+
+"Bring that young man Frank to me and let me look him over. I ain't
+very worldly, but I like to look a man in the eye if he's going to do
+something for me. I want the men who's goin' to be with us, ambitious,
+upright young men that's willin' to work. I hate a lazy man--I can tell
+one a mile off. A lazy man's worse'n a dead one, 'cause a dead one's
+put away and can't do no harm while a lazy one's always around,
+spoilin' the ambitious one's work.
+
+"Now, we won't talk business no more. Let's go into the yard. Daphne is
+there with some of the babies. Let's go out to her."
+
+Dr. Eaton hesitated.
+
+"I think I had better be going on to the hospital. I--I--"
+
+Drusilla looked up at him quickly.
+
+"Dr. Eaton, what's the matter with you? I don't understand young men of
+to-day nohow. Here I been for more'n a year tryin' to have you and
+Daphne see somethin' of each other, riskin' her father takin' my head
+off, and now you shy off as if you thought she would bite you. Don't
+you like my little girl?"
+
+Dr. Eaton flushed under the clear brown of his tan.
+
+"It isn't that, Miss Doane. You must know what I think of Daphne."
+
+"Well, what is it, then? You're clear beyond me."
+
+"Well--well--" and the doctor hesitated.
+
+"Well, go on. Tell me all about it."
+
+"It's this way, Miss Doane. I'm only a poor doctor without much of a
+practise, and it'll take me several years to work into a good one. And
+Daphne--you know how she has been brought up--and the kind of things
+she is used to having--and the crowd she goes with--"
+
+"What's that got to do with it?"
+
+"I--you must see, Miss Doane--that I can't give Daphne the things she
+is used to and that she'd quite likely expect as a matter of
+course--not that she is any more mercenary than any of the rest of the
+girls of her set, but she doesn't understand not being rich--she has
+never known anything else--"
+
+"Oh, stuff and nonsense! I know Daphne."
+
+"Yes, but her people; her father--and, O Lord, Miss Doane--her mother--"
+
+"I confess she is some pill to take; but there's one consolation--you
+don't have to live with your mother-in-law in these times, and you
+ain't marryin' the hull family. Is that all?"
+
+"No--but, then--"
+
+"But then _what?_ There is somethin' else?"
+
+"Yes, there is, Miss Doane. I guess--I--I am old-fashioned, but I want
+a home-wife--a woman who'll love babies, and have them and not feel
+that they are an impediment to her career. I--I'm--a little dippy on
+children--I guess--"
+
+He laughed a little shamefacedly. "I want babies in my home--babies
+that'll climb around me when I come from work--boys and girls that I
+can love and do for and see grow up into men and women, that'll make me
+feel that I have really done something for the world--and--and the way
+Daphne's been brought up--well, her set don't believe in
+babies--and--rather think motherhood is degrading--and--"
+
+They had came to a corner of the veranda overlooking the part of the
+lawn where a merry group of little children were playing
+ring-a-round-a-rosy, and a tall, laughing girl was standing in the
+middle of the ring, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, as the clear
+young voice sang the simple play song. The doctor's face softened and
+he forgot what he was saying. They stood there a while, watching the
+happy group. Then, the children becoming tired of the game, Daphne sat
+down in a rocking-chair under a tree, and they grouped themselves
+around her feet. She took one of the tiniest into her lap and, cuddling
+it against her breast, began to rock slowly backward and forward. The
+words of the old lullaby came softly:
+
+  "Rock-a-bye, baby,
+    On the tree-top,
+  When the wind blows
+    The cradle will rock--"
+
+Drusilla looked up at Dr. Eaton and her face broke into tiny little
+love wrinkles as she saw the look on his face. She put her faded old
+hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes for a long moment; then
+she said softly:
+
+"Go on, my boy; and God bless you!"
+
+And the doctor went.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+At three o'clock on July 16th, there met in the Doane library Mr.
+Carrington, Mr. Raydon--the multi-millionaire and great friend of
+Drusilla's--Mr. Thornton, Dr. Eaton, and half a dozen of the residents
+of Brookvale.
+
+"Gentlemen," Drusilla began when the men were seated, "I suppose you
+wonder why you are all here. I'm goin' to tell you, because you are all
+my neighbors and I have heard that you are worryin' about what I am
+goin' to do. We've all got a right to expect happiness in Heaven, but I
+believe we git what we give, and I want to give as much happiness here
+as I kin, so's I'll be sure to have somethin' to my account on the
+other side. I been lookin' around fer two years, tryin' to find a way
+to leave my million dollars so's to give as much happiness and joy to
+them that hasn't their share, or so's to benefit the most people in the
+most lastin' way, and I haven't found it yet. But I have found a way to
+invest my income, and a little of the money that's come in through the
+good business head and investments of Mr. Thornton.
+
+"I've always loved babies, and I've always wanted to be a mother; but
+it didn't seem to fit in with God's plans fer me. Perhaps He knowed
+that I'd have a chance to mother a bigger family than I could raise
+myself, no matter how hard I tried, and he sent me these babies. Now,
+these are my plans fer them. I ain't goin' to start an orphan asylum,
+nor a house of refuge, nor no kind of a 'home.' I ain't goin' to take
+more'n I kin git along comfortable with and make a real home fer, not
+an institution. I'm goin' to educate 'em and make 'em men and women
+you'll be proud of, but I ain't goin' to try to make ladies and
+gentlemen of 'em, whether they're born fer that or not. If a boy has a
+head that'll make him an architect, then we'll make him an architect,
+but if he was jest intended fer a good carpenter then he'll be a good
+carpenter; and if a girl has it in her to be a school-teacher, she'll
+have a chance at it--if not, she kin always make a good livin' as a
+dressmaker or a milliner. They're goin' to be made into good
+middle-class men and women; and when they git their education, I'll
+have 'em sent out into the world with a trained brain but empty hands,
+and if they've got the right stuff in 'em, they will soon fill their
+hands.
+
+"I know there's been lots of objections to the mothers of some of my
+babies comin' to the neighborhood; but the ones that's willin' to come
+are the ones who's wantin' a chance to become self-supportin',
+self-respectin' women; and that's what most women want--jest a chance.
+They'll be learnt a trade, somethin' that they have leanin's to, and
+they'll go out in the world agin able to take care of themselves,
+without help from no one.
+
+"I got a lot of spare rooms in the house that's doin' no good to no
+one, and I'm goin' to ask some mothers and their little ones to spend a
+few days with me in the hot weather. I've been to see 'em, and I'll
+always know the ones I ask. They'll be friends of mine, jest like you
+ask your friends to visit you fer a few days. It won't be a mothers'
+home nor a summer home nor nothin' charitable. I'm jest goin' to give a
+little sunlight to some of my friends in the hot tenements, whose sack
+of happiness ain't been full to overflowin'.
+
+"Now, that disposes of my income and the new money saved, but it ain't
+done nothin' with the million dollars. I been visitin' institutions and
+charities, I've talked with every one who's got an idee about it. Dr.
+Eaton wants me to endow a home fer children and mothers; but I won't do
+that, as I can't live always to watch it. I know that I could make Dr.
+Eaton manager of it, and you gentlemen directors and my idees would be
+carried out as long as you was alive; but you all got to die sometime,
+and it'd git to be a business thing, payin' a lot of officials, and
+it'd drift into an institution like lots I've seen, with no heart in
+it. I've thought a lot about them foundations that leaves the money to
+be used as the times sees fit, and they seem kind of sensible, because
+times change and what I'd leave it fer now might not be needed in fifty
+years. New things would come up with the new generations, and my fund'd
+be way behind the times and not fit in. I'm a little leanin' towards
+that kind of leavin' the money, yet--yet--I don't know. I'd like to git
+something new, something different, that'd go on and on in the right
+way doin' good.
+
+"Mr. Raydon kind of has leanin's towards a people's bank, lending money
+to poor people who ain't got nothin' but their honesty and
+reputation--but he's goin' to figger that out by himself and in the
+meantime he's waitin' to see what I find out, as he's got more money
+than he kin take with him. He says he's only interested 'cause he likes
+me and I make him laugh, but way down deep inside of him he's got the
+biggest kind of heart; but he don't want his money to be wasted when
+he's gone, no more'n I do.
+
+"Gentlemen, I want you to think it over, ask every one, the same's I'm
+doin', git some new idees about the way to spend a million dollars and
+spend it right."
+
+They rose and went to the lawn, where the neighbors with whom Drusilla
+had made friends were waiting to greet their hostess. As Drusilla
+passed little groups of mothers playing with their children under the
+trees, the men with her saw tired faces light up, and gratitude in
+faded eyes of weary mothers, while tiny children clung to her dress or
+ran shyly forward to take her hands in their baby fingers. Love shone
+from Drusilla's face and was reflected in the eyes of all these poor
+and helpless who followed her with loving glance as she crossed the
+lawn.
+
+As they were waiting for the tea to be served Mr. Carrington stood upon
+a chair and called for attention.
+
+"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mothers and Babies," he said. "To-day is a great
+day for us all, but more for the people of Brookvale than for the
+others. Two years ago Miss Doane came to us, and found a great many of
+us hard, self-centered, worldly. Why"--and he laughed--"I remember I
+was chairman of a committee who was to wait upon her and persuade her
+that she must not bring babies to our aristocratic neighborhood. I
+never waited--but that is another story.
+
+"There is a great chemist, and he dissolves selfishness and worldliness
+with a little invisible powder called love. Miss Doane brought stores
+of that powder with her, and scatters it over her doughnuts and her
+gingerbread and her cookies that she sends us, and she does it up in
+little packages that we can't see and slips it into our pockets when
+we're not looking. It has spread like a fine mist over Brookvale. And I
+am speaking for Brookvale, and I want to say that we are glad to have
+her with us, that we are glad to see her family growing up around
+her"--waving his hand toward the groups of children on the lawn--"and
+on this, her seventy-second birthday, we want you all to give three
+cheers for Drusilla Doane, _OUR_ Drusilla Doane!"
+
+And he led in the cheering that made the air resound.
+
+Drusilla flushed and wiped her eyes, and in answer to the calls of
+"Speech! Speech!" she said:
+
+"I ain't never made a speech in my life, as I hold with St. Paul that
+women should be seen and not heard. But--I want to say that I been
+happy a whole heartful since I been with you--and I want to share
+it--and I want you to feel that in passin' it on to others--I'm passin'
+on your love that you all been a-showin' me. So you'll git it all agin,
+as love always comes back. But--but--I can't talk--I can't tell you how
+I feel; I jest want in my small way to make the world a little bit glad
+that Elias Doane hunted up a charity home and found in it Drusilla";
+and she shyly drew back into the crowd.
+
+When she saw the people sitting at the tables drinking their tea, or
+walking over the beautiful lawns, her eyes looked for John. Finding
+him, she went up to him.
+
+"John, let's go up on the porch off my room. I'm tired, and we can look
+at 'em all from there. I want to be alone with you."
+
+They went up to the veranda and stood overlooking the happy scene.
+Mothers were sitting at the small tables happily watching their larger
+children playing under the trees. Babies were rolling on the grass,
+their baby prattle and laughter coming faintly to the ears of John and
+Drusilla. The soft afternoon sun filtered through the trees and seemed
+to cover them with a golden glow.
+
+As Drusilla watched them, she slipped her hand into one of John's and
+leaned forward, looking up at him with a soft light in her dear old
+eyes.
+
+"John," she said, "when we were young, we used to dream that we'd grow
+old together and see our children's children playin' round us."
+
+She was silent for a moment. Then:
+
+"John,"--she motioned toward the lawn--"let's play our dream's come
+true!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Drusilla with a Million, by Elizabeth Cooper
+
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