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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6734-h.zip b/6734-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d139d16 --- /dev/null +++ b/6734-h.zip diff --git a/6734-h/6734-h.htm b/6734-h/6734-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18a9d10 --- /dev/null +++ b/6734-h/6734-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13280 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Drusilla with a Million, by Elizabeth Cooper +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 4% } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.contents {text-indent: -3%; + margin-left: 5% } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 4em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> +<br /><br /><br /> +DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION +</h1> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="t2"> +By ELIZABETH COOPER +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t2"> +DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER I +</h3> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +A little white-haired woman stopped the darning of the tablecloth in +her hands and looked up expectantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'm here, Barbara. What do you want of me?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"To see <i>me</i>, are you sure?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, they asked to see Miss Drusilla Doane. You're the only one of +that name here, ain't you?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla folded her work and placed it in the basket of linen by the +side of her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I guess it must mean me," she said, and rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +As she passed around the house all the old ladies moved as if by a +common impulse. +</p> + +<p> +"Come right here, Barbara Field, and tell us all about it. Who are the +men?" +</p> + +<p> +"What did they look like?" questioned another. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Put your teeth in, so's we can understand you." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Now tell us all about it—what you waiting for?" said one of the +ladies impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +"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.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Two men—<i>two</i> men to see Drusilla Doane!" cackled one old lady. "She +ain't never had <i>one</i> to call to see her before, as I knows on." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you hear what they wanted Drusilla for?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I didn't hear nothin'." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean you didn't hear anything, Barbara," interrupted a querulous, +refined voice. "Your grammar is dreadful!" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't mean no such thing. I mean I didn't hear <i>nothin'</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +"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'?" +</p> + +<p> +"I told you I was just passin' through and Mis' Smith called me in." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you know nothin' about it—<i>nothin'!"</i> +</p> + +<p> +"Nothin'. I've told you all I know. Can I take my teeth out now?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But they hurt me; they don't fit. I ain't had a new pair for twenty +years and my jaws've shrunk." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, keep 'em in fer a while. They won't shrink any more fer a minit. +Did they look like relations?" +</p> + +<p> +"Relations!" said a big, placid-looking woman who was knitting quietly. +"Drusilla ain't got no relations. She ain't never had none." +</p> + +<p> +"She must have had some at one time. Everybody has relations—although +<i>some</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you they hurt," whimpered Barbara. "I can't even enjoy the sun +with my teeth in." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind. Did they?" +</p> + +<p> +"Did they what?" +</p> + +<p> +"Did they look rich?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, awful. I told you they looked like directors." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps Drusilla has friends she ain't told us about." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I wonder who it can be! I wish she'd hurry, so's we could ask +her." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"How long's Drusilla been here?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>charity</i> +inmate." +</p> + +<p> +The stout old lady in the corner emitted a sound between a snort and a +groan. +</p> + +<p> +"Charity inmate! What are we all but charity inmates!" +</p> + +<p> +The first old lady drew herself up stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +"You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham, but <i>I</i> am no charity inmate." +</p> + +<p> +"You're just as much of one as I am." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"So'd we all; but still this is an old ladies' charitable home." +</p> + +<p> +"Mis' Graham, how can you say such things!" spoke up a voice that had +not been heard before. "I consider that we <i>pay</i> our way; and my +grand-nephew who was here last week considers it ample!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, so do most of our relations who'd rather pay our way in a home +than be bothered with us around." +</p> + +<p> +"You may speak for yourself, Mis' Graham. I pay my way myself." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Cat!" hissed Mrs. Graham, and sat back trying to think of some +suitable answer. +</p> + +<p> +"But don't Drusilla pay nothin' at <i>all?"</i> queried another woman. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"How did she get in if she didn't have no money at all?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What'd she do before she was took in?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> + * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Two gentlemen rose as she entered, and Mrs. Smith, the Director of the +home, said: +</p> + +<p> +"This is Drusilla Doane. Drusilla, this is Mr. Thornton and Mr. Gale, +who wish to speak with you." +</p> + +<p> +They bowed over Miss Drusilla's hand, which was falteringly extended. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, of course I will leave if you must see her alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you," said the taller of the men dryly. "Our business is with +Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +He accompanied Mrs. Smith politely to the door and closed it, then, +returning, drew a chair near to Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"We are the bearer of news to you, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla clasped her hands a little tighter. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The tall man cleared his throat and said stiffly: "No, Miss Doane, we +are the bearer of <i>good</i> news." +</p> + +<p> +The short fat man bent over and impulsively patted the hands that were +so tightly clenched in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Miss Doane, you don't need to worry about the county house. You're +not going to it yet." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla drew a deep breath of relief, and the frightened look died +from her eyes. She leaned back in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gale said, "Tell her, so she'll understand. You're worrying the +poor soul." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton took a legal looking document from his pocket and a letter. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Doane," he said, "did you ever hear of Elias Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"Elias Doane? No, I don't believe I ever did." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"He's dead, then. Was he a relation of mine, did you say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, very distantly related." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm glad I've had <i>some</i> relations, even if I didn't know it." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer opened a paper in his hand and commenced to read, but Mr. +Gale interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't bother her with the will, Robert; she won't understand. Tell her +about it and give her the letter." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm beginnin' well. All real ladies in story books faint when +they hear good news." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"I guess it can't be nothin' private. You read it; I left my glasses in +my work-basket." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton adjusted his pince-nez and read: +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAR DRUSILLA: +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>Don't</i> +subscribe to public charities; they're mostly grafts, and besides they +have more of the Doane millions now than is good for them. And <i>don't</i> +help the needy poor upon another man's advice; <i>see your poor—know +your poor</i>. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>spend it</i>—and may God rest your soul! +</p> + +<p> +There was quiet for a few moments after Mr. Thornton had finished +reading the letter. He folded the paper and then said dryly: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm glad to know that my client appreciated and recognized my +abilities, at least along some lines." +</p> + +<p> +He turned to Drusilla, who seemed hardly to realize or understand the +contents of the letter. +</p> + +<p> +"Shall I file the letter along with the other papers, or do you wish to +keep it?" he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla took the letter, and folded it and refolded it, looking down +at it as if it were a thing alive. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer rose. +</p> + +<p> +"Now we will leave you. When will you be ready to come with us to New +York?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla smiled her soft sweet smile. +</p> + +<p> +"I haven't much to get ready, Mr. Thornton. It won't take me long to +pack my things." +</p> + +<p> +"Then shall we say that I may come for you to-morrow?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, to-morrow will be as well as any other day. Unless—unless Mis' +Smith needs me—" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton said with a dry smile: "I do not think it will be +necessary to consult Mrs. Smith." +</p> + +<p> +The men started for the door, and then extended their hands. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla started to the door, but the lawyer intercepted her. +</p> + +<p> +"No; do not go yourself. Ring for her." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Smith's expression changed instantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I'm real glad. Drusilla, you know I will be the first to rejoice +in your good fortune." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The men left and Drusilla was alone with the Director, whose curiosity +was nearly consuming her. +</p> + +<p> +"What has happened, Drusilla? Has some one left you money?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Who?" +</p> + +<p> +"A relation I didn't know." +</p> + +<p> +"Did he leave you much?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla said quietly: "A million dollars." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Smith nearly fell from her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you say?" +</p> + +<p> +"A million dollars." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you sure?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's what the lawyer, Mr. Thornton, said." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Smith was speechless. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think I'll go to my room fer a while, if I may—that is, if you +don't need me, Mis' Smith." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>must</i> 'a' +cared." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER II +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad you are ready, Miss Doane. We will have a nice ride to the +city." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up at him like a pitiful child. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I will wait in the car for you, Miss Doane. Don't hurry; take all the +time you want." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What did she hear her say?" +</p> + +<p> +"She heard her say, 'What do you think, James! Drusilla Doane has been +left a million dollars!'" +</p> + +<p> +"That's what the man told me," Drusilla said quietly; "and he's come to +take me away. I come to say good-by." +</p> + +<p> +The women sat forward in their chairs and stopped their knitting or +darning, so that they would not miss a word. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I swan! A million dollars! A <i>million dollars</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"Is it true, Drusilla? Do you think it can be so <i>much</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you like the car?" he asked +</p> + +<p> +"It's beautiful. You know it's the first time I been in one." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, is it possible? I thought every one had been in a motor." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I am glad you like it," Mr. Thornton said. "It is yours." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat back suddenly in her seat. +</p> + +<p> +"This—this—<i>mine</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, this is yours, and you have two more at your home." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla gasped. +</p> + +<p> +"Two more like this?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, not exactly the same. One is an open car and one is a small town +car." +</p> + +<p> +"Why—why—what'll I do with three? I can't ride in 'em all at once." +</p> + +<p> +"No, but you will find that you can use them all." +</p> + +<p> +"Can I use them whenever I want to?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Send word to who?" +</p> + +<p> +"The chauffeur, the man who is driving." +</p> + +<p> +"Is he mine, too?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; you have two men." +</p> + +<p> +"What'll I do with two?" +</p> + +<p> +"One will be on duty a certain number of hours, and then the other +takes his place." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—" She was quiet for a time. "Can I take them anywhere I want to?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly. They are yours." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Are we goin' very fast, Mr. Thornton?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; not so very fast. Are you nervous? I will have the chauffeur drive +slower. I forgot you were not used to it." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla stopped him as he started to speak to the chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +"No; I wasn't thinking of that. I ain't nervous, I was just wonderin' +if he couldn't go a little faster." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton looked somewhat surprised, but he gave the order. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla again sat back among the cushions, a slight flush on her face. +Soon she leaned forward once more. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Thornton, couldn't he let her out jest a leetle more?" +</p> + +<p> +Thornton laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll go as fast as you like; only I hope we won't be arrested." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When a man came from the house and opened the door of the car, Drusilla +came to herself with a start. +</p> + +<p> +"Are we there already? I was kind of hopin' it'd never stop." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton gravely helped Drusilla to the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Welcome to your home, Miss Doane," he said. "I think we will find my +daughter inside." +</p> + +<p> +They entered a large hall and Drusilla stood hesitatingly, not knowing +what to do. In a moment a voice was heard from above: +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>long</i> time, Father. Welcome home, Miss Doane! we +are <i>so</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at the pretty face before her that seemed to show such +real welcome, and her eyes filled with tears. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm real glad to come, but—but—I guess I'm a little bit scared." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—oh—what a pretty room! What a pretty room!" +</p> + +<p> +Miss Thornton dimpled all over her pretty face. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never saw nothin' like it before in my life." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I love it, I <i>love</i> it! I never had nothin' gay colored in my life, +and I love it." +</p> + +<p> +"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—<i>D. D</i>. I thought a +lot about it, and aren't they pretty on that dull silver? Look at this +mirror—and isn't that the <i>cunningest</i> pin-tray? And this is for your +hatpins; and look at this pin-cushion. I had the loveliest time picking +them out." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at the pretty things in amazement rather mixed with awe. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, what'll I do with all them things?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up at her. +</p> + +<p> +"You've been real kind, Miss Thornton; you've thought of everything." +</p> + +<p> +"But I loved it. I've been working ever since Father knew about you." +</p> + +<p> +"It is nice of you to be here. I was afraid a little to come, not +knowin' what it was goin' to be like." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla leaned forward eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, do stay, Miss Thornton. I—I—well, I wouldn't know what to do by +myself." +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>always</i> talks business. Just you take a little nap while I'm gone. Are +you comfortable? There! I'll be back in five minutes." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you sleep?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +While they were drinking it a maid entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +"The motor has come for Miss Thornton," she announced. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne rose. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Answering the ring of the bell a pretty maid came into the room, and +Miss Thornton said: +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll never know, dear, what you've done for a lonely old woman. I +don't know how to thank you." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank <i>me</i>—why, I should thank <i>you</i>. I have had <i>such</i> 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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, will you? I won't know what to do, you know." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'll love to come and I'll be here early. Good night and happy +dreams!" And she was gone. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame desires to retire?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at her inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +"What did Miss Thornton say your name was?" +</p> + +<p> +"Jeanne, Madame." +</p> + +<p> +"Jeanne. That isn't Jane, is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"It may be French for Jane; I am French." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then, I'll call you Jane. I can't remember the other. I think I +would like to go to bed." +</p> + +<p> +"Then I will prepare the bath." +</p> + +<p> +Soon she returned to the room. +</p> + +<p> +"The bath is ready for Madame," she said; and Drusilla followed her +into the bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She stood a moment looking around the room, and then she knelt beside +the bed. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER III +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Madame," she said, "why did, you not ring? I did not know you were +up." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I need a fire?" she asked. "It's warm in here." +</p> + +<p> +"Just a little fire, Madame," said Jeanne; "it makes the room more +cheerful." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. It seemed to her that nothing could make that +exquisite room more cheerful. +</p> + +<p> +The maid went to the bedroom and soon returned to announce: "The bath +is ready for Madame." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Would Madame like her breakfast here," the maid asked, "or will she go +to the breakfast room?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla hesitated, as she did not know what to do. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid that Nicodemus is very spoiled," the man said. "His master +always gave him a dish of cream at the table." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. It seemed the first human thing she had heard. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then, I'll spoil him too. What do you give it to him in?" +</p> + +<p> +The man pointed to a silver bowl. +</p> + +<p> +"That is his dish. Shall I give it to him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; let me," said Drusilla. "I want to do something for some one. Let +me give him his cream." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Good morning, Miss Doane," she said pleasantly. "I hope you slept +well." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; thank you," replied Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you like to go over the house this morning?" +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +"Very well. I will be ready at any time." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you look like one of the flowers!" Drusilla exclaimed, reaching +out her hands to her. +</p> + +<p> +"How nice of you to say that! I've come early; did you wait long for +me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; I have been settin' here just seeing the beauty of it all. I +can't believe it's real." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was quiet, sitting with folded hands. Then, after a few +moments, she said: +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I presume William, the second man, gave you your breakfast. James +is too grand to serve breakfast." +</p> + +<p> +"Do I need so many men around?" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at her a moment and then said, half laughingly, half +apologetically: +</p> + +<p> +"I'd like—I'd like—" +</p> + +<p> +She stopped, and Daphne came over to her. +</p> + +<p> +"What would you like, Miss Doane? I'm here to do anything you wish." +</p> + +<p> +"You won't think I'm a vain old woman if I tell you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, certainly not. Tell me." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Miss Doane; what did you wish?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla flushed as if ashamed of her wishes that seemed to her +scarcely befitting a woman of her age. +</p> + +<p> +"I just wished I had pretty clothes to go with the room." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne clapped her hands. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know, but I'd—I'd just like pretty clothes." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne jumped up and danced around the room. +</p> + +<p> +"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>I</i> send him bills; +he'll have to pay yours without a word. Oh, we'll go right away!" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; but wait, you must eat something." +</p> + +<p> +"But I jest had my breakfast." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She danced over to the bell, and when Jeanne answered it she said: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +When Jeanne was gone she danced back to Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll make a day of it, Miss Doane, and we'll have the <i>loveliest +time!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll go first and get some things that are already made," Daphne said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you like them, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—yes—they're beautiful, Miss Thornton, but—do I <i>have</i> to wear +black? I've worn it all my life because it wears well. I'd like—I'd +like—" +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me what you would like." +</p> + +<p> +"I'd like a soft gray dress like my room, if I ain't too old. +But—but—perhaps it wouldn't be fittin'." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked pained. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I shouldn't look at them then—" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne interrupted her. +</p> + +<p> +"You just buy what you want. Don't you worry about what Father thinks. +I don't." +</p> + +<p> +"But I—I—don't want to be extravagant." +</p> + +<p> +"You <i>can't</i> be extravagant. You <i>can't</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Now we must have things to go with them." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"There is no age for underclothing. Don't you want them? Isn't that the +loveliest nightgown? Don't you want it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'd like to have it, but—" Drusilla thought of her two Canton +flannel nightdresses lying in her little trunk. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>look</i> 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 +<i>eat</i>. 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 <i>loveliest</i> place; Madame will know just what to give you." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Will you leave it to me? I will make her the gowns and she will be +pleased." +</p> + +<p> +Measurements were taken and orders given; and when they were again in +the motor, Drusilla asked shyly: +</p> + +<p> +"What was that last place, Miss Thornton?" +</p> + +<p> +"That is Marcelle, the great dressmaker's place. That was Marcelle +herself who came to us." +</p> + +<p> +"Was that a dressmaking shop? I didn't see no dresses or fashion books." +</p> + +<p> +"No, she doesn't use fashion books. She makes her own fashions." +</p> + +<p> +"But—but—we jest got two new dresses." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Thornton laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, those are because we were in a hurry. Your dresses must be <i>made</i>. +I told her she must hurry, too; and her things are beautiful, Miss +Doane. You'll love yourself in them." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>nice</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it is. All women love pretty clothes." +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>mine</i>." She was quiet for a moment. "I wonder if Eve ever had the +chance to be extravagant in fig leaves?" +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER IV +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>power</i>. 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. +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She had been in her new home but a few days when a card was brought +her, and she read on it: <i>Thomas Carney, The New York Times</i>. 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? +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +When he rose to go he asked her if she had a photograph of herself. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I ain't never had my pictur' took since I was a young girl and had +it on a tintype." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Young man, you have asked me a lot of questions. May I ask you one?" +</p> + +<p> +He laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly! As many as you want." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, why have you asked me so many things?" +</p> + +<p> +"I represent the New York <i>Times</i>, a newspaper, and we want to tell the +people all about you." +</p> + +<p> +"About <i>me</i>? Why should they want to know about <i>me</i>?" +</p> + +<p> +The man laughed again, pleasantly, and said: +</p> + +<p> +"You know we like to know about our neighbors, and you are the newest +neighbor." +</p> + +<p> +"But are you going to write all I said?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, nearly all; but, Miss Doane, if there is anything you don't want +written, I'll cut it." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Did the butler stop you?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was unhappy. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps I shouldn't have seen you. It must have been Mr. Thornton's +orders, and he knows what is best for me." +</p> + +<p> +She crossed over to the young man and looked rather pitifully up into +his face. +</p> + +<p> +"You look like a nice young man," she said; "I like your eyes. You +won't say nothing that'll make Mr. Thornton unhappy?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't care about making Mr. Thornton unhappy, Miss Doane, but I +wouldn't do anything to make <i>you</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +And so ended Drusilla's first interview. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame, she must not do that. <i>Quelle horreur!</i> I will attend to it at +once." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Can't I even patch my dress?" she said. "Jane, where are my stockin's? +I am sure there must be some darnin'." +</p> + +<p> +Jeanne looked at her reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame does not wear darned stockings." +</p> + +<p> +"Stuff and nonsense!" said Drusilla. "Why shouldn't I wear darned +stockin's?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but it would not be <i>au fait</i> for Madame to wear darned +stockings." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla became a little angry. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Jeanne looked a little embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +"Why—why—when they become not <i>convenable</i> for Madame, I—I take +them." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," said shrewd Drusilla, looking at Jeanne over her glasses. "And I +presume you are the judge of when they become '<i>convenable</i>'—whatever +that means. But you'd better let me tell you when I think they're ready +to be passed on." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>do</i> something." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +One day Daphne saw the cards. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," she said, "has Mrs. Druer called, and Mrs. Cairns, and Mrs. +Freeman. I am so glad. You must return the call." +</p> + +<p> +"Is that a call? What did they come for? I been wondering about it ever +since they come." +</p> + +<p> +"They are your neighbors." +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +"They want to get acquainted." +</p> + +<p> +"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!'" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"You must go and return the calls." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"You needn't ask them about the opera, but you must return their calls." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I won't do it." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but you must." +</p> + +<p> +"But I won't, Miss Thornton," said Drusilla obstinately. "I don't know +what to say." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll go with you, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What do I want a mirror in my hand satchel for?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>too</i> much at first." +</p> + +<p> +"Do I have to fix up so much?" +</p> + +<p> +"But I want them to see how pretty you are." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla blushed like a girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw, Miss Thornton, don't you know I'm past seventy years old? You +shouldn't say such things." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"It's my clothes, I guess." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it's partly the clothes, and that's where Marcelle is clever. She +makes the clothes suit <i>you</i>, 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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, your hands are beautiful, Miss Doane. I can't ever believe you +have worked with them." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, is Jeanne flirting?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll speak to Father about it." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne turned quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Has James been impertinent to you?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +"No, not at all. I wish he would be impudent or <i>anything</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if you don't like him I will speak to Father and he will get +another butler." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>looks</i>; 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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that's his way. He's English, you know, and English servants are +trained to look like mummies." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he certainly had good trainin'. What time do we go callin' +to-morrow? I want to git it over." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Miss Doane, you're just like us all. We can't pass a mirror +without a peep." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla made many calls that afternoon. At some of the places, being +told that the lady was not at home, a card was left. +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw now," she said to Daphne, "will I have to come again, now she +ain't at home?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Daphne; "she'll find your cards and know you have called. +That's all you have to do." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne, what does subsidize mean." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne frowned for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess I see what it is," Drusilla said. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you want to know?" queried Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, of all the impertinence—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But you would never <i>think</i> of doing such a thing—" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>try</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"I call it <i>nerve</i>," said Daphne scornfully; "plain <i>nerve</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a few moments; then she added: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +They were returning home along the drive. +</p> + +<p> +"We haven't made half the calls that we should," Daphne said. "We must +go another day." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla shook her head decisively. +</p> + +<p> +"No; I won't make no more calls." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but, Miss Doane, you <i>must</i>. You must return your calls." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But they won't come to see you if you don't return the calls." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, they can stay at home then—it ain't much loss on either side." +</p> + +<p> +"But what will you do?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But what will I tell them when they ask why you don't return their +calls?" +</p> + +<p> +"You can tell them anything you want to. I <i>won't</i> go." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne said mischievously: "I'll say you are a <i>very</i> old lady, and +<i>feeble</i>, and cannot take the exertion of making calls." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat up very straight and a slight flush appeared on her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll say <i>no</i> 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—" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne snuggled her face against the arm near her. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you are a dear, Miss Doane. I love to see you get angry. But <i>you</i> +say you are old!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +They came to the door, and it was opened by James—stiff, correct, +funereal. +</p> + +<p> +"No," almost groaned Drusilla; "there's James. Now I know I'm dead and +only waitin' for the buryin'." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER V +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"My, ain't it nice, and everything so handy!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +The chef was shocked. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Mais</i>, Madame." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla kept the chef busy waiting on her until she had all the +articles needed. Then she turned upon him. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla stopped suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, why <i>shouldn't</i> 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 <i>my</i> +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 <i>Drusilla's</i> way." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +William looked at her but did not move. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, ma'am, but—" +</p> + +<p> +"But what? Ain't you never took cookies to one before?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why—why—no, ma'am. Never in the houses where I've served—" +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him over her glasses. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you say, John?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Take them to the kitchen, John," Mrs. Cairns ordered. "The servants +may have them." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Hot," he said, "and crispy." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"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—'" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Shall we go into the library?" +</p> + +<p> +And the guests did not laugh again. +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>you</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat down. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The woman's face was a study; but the doctor entered at that moment and +saved her. She said: +</p> + +<p> +"Dr. Hodman, this is Miss Doane, my nearest neighbor." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla shook his hand heartily. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," said Mrs. Beaumont, "and—and—Miss Doane was telling me that a +hot brick—what was it you said, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She turned to Mrs. Beaumont: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She was gone. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, when she had quieted, the doctor said: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you that I am well! All my system needed was a little shaking +up, and Miss Doane has done it for me." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; this may not last. Come to-morrow if you are near, though I am +sure I won't need you." +</p> + +<p> +As the doctor's hand was on the door he turned: +</p> + +<p> +"If I were you, Mrs. Beaumont, I'd send for those camomile leaves." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Jane, I heard a baby cry. Go and find out where it is," she said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Come in, James. What you standing there for? What you got?" +</p> + +<p> +Just then the wailing cry came from the basket, and Drusilla dropped +the brush in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"For the land's sake, what's in the basket? Come here!" +</p> + +<p> +James gingerly deposited the basket upon a chair. +</p> + +<p> +"It's a baby, ma'am—a live baby." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, upon my soul! Of course it is! You wouldn't expect it to not be +alive. Let's see it." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, ain't it cunning, the pore little thing! It's done up warm. How'd +it get here?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind now, James. Here's a letter. It'll tell us all about it. +Where are my glasses, Jane?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla put on her glasses and read the inscription on the letter. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Miss Drusilla Doane</i>. Well, they know my name." +</p> + +<p> +She tore open the envelope and read aloud: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"JOHN'S MOTHER." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla pushed the glasses up on her forehead and used a slang +expression that almost drew a smile from solemn James. +</p> + +<p> +"Now <i>what</i> do you know about that!" +</p> + +<p> +She looked at James as if he should have an answer, and he said: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sure, Miss Doane, I don't know anything about it at all." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor little mother!" she said. "She didn't want you to get cold." +</p> + +<p> +As she took out the safety-pins and lifted the baby into her arms, she +dislodged a bottle of milk. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, she thought of everything! She must 'a' loved you, little John, +even though she left you on my doorstep." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"That's the first thing all babies make for, my hair. Bless his little +heart, he's gettin' familiar already." +</p> + +<p> +James interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +"What'll I do with it, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up from the baby. +</p> + +<p> +"Do with what? The basket? Take it away." +</p> + +<p> +"No, ma'am; I meant <i>it</i>"—pointing to the baby. +</p> + +<p> +"James, it is not an <i>it</i>. It's a <i>he</i>. But you're right, James; +what'll we do with it?" And she looked down at the little body in her +arms. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up at him in a relieved way. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What'll I tell him, ma'am?" +</p> + +<p> +"Tell him? Why, tell him we've got a baby unexpected and we don't know +what to do with it." +</p> + +<p> +James almost smiled again. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll break the news to him careful, ma'am," he said. +</p> + +<p> +When he was gone Drusilla scrutinized the baby's hood and coat. +</p> + +<p> +"Jane," she said, "his clothes is pretty—-his mother must 'a' made +'em; and his socks is knit, not bought ones." +</p> + +<p> +She examined each article of his clothing as carefully as would a +mother inspecting her firstborn's wardrobe. +</p> + +<p> +"He's dressed real nice.... Did you get him?" as James entered the +room. "What did he say?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," laughed Drusilla, "I guess I've found somethin' to do with my +hands." +</p> + +<p> +The baby stared at Drusilla for a few moments; then his wails commenced +again. Drusilla trotted him, but that did not stop his cries. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps he is hungry, Miss Doane," Jeanne suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"Give me that bottle." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla felt the bottle and found it cold. +</p> + +<p> +"It's cold, James. Go warm some milk and scald the bottle." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Can we come in, Miss Doane? Where is the baby?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne entered, interested and excited, followed by her father, stiff, +erect, the correct lawyer troubled by unnecessary and petty affairs of +the women world. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne came to the baby, who stopped his wails long enough to stare at +the new visitor with round, wondering eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, <i>isn't</i> he a dear! How did you find him?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla handed her the letter. "Read that, and then you'll know as +much as me." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne read the note out loud. +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't it romantic, Father!" she exclaimed. "Just like you read about +in books. Oh, look at James with the bottle!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to do with it, Miss Doane?" whispered Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sure I don't know. That's why I sent for your father." +</p> + +<p> +"It's clearly a case for the police," Mr. Thornton said dryly. "I will +telephone them." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you say? Telephone the police? Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"I will ask them to call and take the child in charge." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, what's the baby done?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, of course; but they will understand how to dispose of it." +</p> + +<p> +"What'll they do with it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Some institution. What kind of an institution?" +</p> + +<p> +"An orphan asylum—a home for waifs of this kind." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"You said 'home.' What do you mean? I don't like the word." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton was plainly irritated. +</p> + +<p> +"A home for foundlings, where the proper care will be given it." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but how?" queried Drusilla. "What kind of care?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne interrupted her father, who was plainly trying to find words to +explain the exact meaning of an orphan asylum. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But," objected Mr. Thornton, looking helplessly at the obstinate face +before him, "that is the only possible way to dispose of him." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>do</i>; and the mother hadn't ought to have <i>had</i> 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!" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton clearly was exasperated that his very sensible advice was +not acted upon immediately. +</p> + +<p> +"I have told you the only thing to do, and we are wasting time. I must +go into the city. James, telephone the police." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat up very erect. +</p> + +<p> +"James, you'll do nothing of the kind! I've decided. <i>I'll</i> take the +baby." +</p> + +<p> +<i>"What!"</i> said Mr. Thornton, his exasperated look changing to one of +consternation. "<i>What</i>!" said Daphne in delight. <i>"Quoi!"</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I really don't believe I understood you, Miss Doane," he said. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I said in plain English that I'd take the baby." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But Miss Doane—" +</p> + +<p> +"Now don't <i>but</i> me, Mr. Thornton, 'cause I'm goin' to <i>talk</i>. 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 <i>set</i>. 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." +</p> + +<p> +She stopped a moment and looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But," said Mr. Thornton, "it's quite impossible! A home for such as he +is the proper place for him." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't say that word <i>home</i> to me. Mr. Thornton, I hate the word. I've +et charity bread and it's bitter, and charity milk'd be the same." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton threw out his hands with an exasperated gesture. +</p> + +<p> +"But it is impossible, I tell you, quite impossible!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why impossible?" asked Drusilla. "Why, ain't the house big enough?" +</p> + +<p> +"But my late client, Mr. Elias Doane—" +</p> + +<p> +"Have you forgot the letter he wrote me: 'Spend the money your own way, +Drusilla.'" +</p> + +<p> +"But he certainly did not mean—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton threw up his hands again. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't know what to say more than I have said," he declared. +"Have you decided on its disposition?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla, seeing that the lawyer was surrendering, said quite meekly: +</p> + +<p> +"I ain't figured out what is to be done jest now—" +</p> + +<p> +Here Daphne came to her rescue. +</p> + +<p> +"Why don't you give him to the gardener's wife until you find out what +to do?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla reached over and patted Daphne's hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Should it not be medically examined before being placed with other +children?" Mr. Thornton suggested. +</p> + +<p> +"Medically examined, stuff and nonsense! Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Disease nothin'!" said Drusilla, looking down at the baby. "I never +saw a healthier child." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I would suggest Dr. Rathman. He is—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Father!" interrupted Daphne. "He is so old and slow. He'd <i>never</i> +get here. Why don't you ask Dr. Eaton? He lives near here." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton pursed up his lips. +</p> + +<p> +"He is far too young. He has not the experience of Dr. Rathman." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Father, the baby isn't dying." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla's shrewd old eyes looked keenly at Daphne's flushed face, and +she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"I think Daphne is right. A young doctor's better. I don't think old +doctors have a hand with babies." +</p> + +<p> +"But Dr. Eaton is very young," remonstrated Mr. Thornton. +</p> + +<p> +"The younger the better, then perhaps he ain't forgot how the +stomach-ache feels himself. You telephone him, Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Daphne, a little embarrassed. "I think James had better do +that. Oh, here's Mrs. Donald." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Father, I'll stay a while with Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +"No, Daphne; you will go with me. Your mother needs you." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne cast an imploring glance at Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Can't Daphne stay a while? I'd like to talk with her," Drusilla said. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla watched the proceedings with twinkling eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that's a new way to medically examine an ailin' child," she +commented; "but it seems to work." +</p> + +<p> +"Ailing! He isn't ailing, Miss Doane. If he keeps this fit Mrs. Donald +won't have to send for me often." +</p> + +<p> +"That's what I told Mr. Thornton; but he said I must have you." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton stopped tossing the baby and looked at Miss Doane in +astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you telling me that Mr. Thornton asked you to send for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," and Drusilla laughed, "he didn't exactly mention your name, but +he said I should have a doctor for the baby." +</p> + +<p> +"I thought Mr. Thornton wasn't recommending me. Didn't he mention Dr. +Rathman?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +There was a slight flush on the young man's face that did not miss the +keen eyes of Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Drusilla; "this is <i>my</i> baby." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton looked at her, and then laughed with her. +</p> + +<p> +"Now what should I say, Miss Doane—many happy returns of the day, or—" +</p> + +<p> +"You jest say, Dr. Eaton, 'This <i>is</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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?" +</p> + +<p> +"That's what I said—why shouldn't I?" +</p> + +<p> +"No reason in the world why you shouldn't." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She laughed softly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla put up her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>wear</i> out, not rust out, like so many +old women do." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla watched him as he swung with his long stride down the drive +and out of the gate, and then she chuckled to herself. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER VI +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla dropped the paper with an exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +"John! And he's alive!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +At last the lawyer arrived. Drusilla hardly allowed him to be seated +before she broached the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer started to say something. +</p> + +<p> +"No, don't say a word, and don't talk about writin' out. That ain't +what I want. I want to <i>know</i>, 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." +</p> + +<p> +She leaned over and touched the lawyer's hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>some</i> things, you know, we don't forget." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton looked at the flushed old face before him, and a softness +came into his voice that surprised even himself. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll do it at once, Miss Doane. I'm always glad to be of any service +to you." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'll—let me see—I'll send Mr. Burns." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, have him go at once. Can't he start to-night?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat in her high-backed chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, begin!" she said impatiently. "I'm nigh as curious as a girl." +</p> + +<p> +The young clerk drew a bundle of papers from his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"I found out as much as I could regarding the present circumstances of +John Brierly. He is—" +</p> + +<p> +"What does he look like?" interrupted Drusilla. "I ain't seen him for +mor'n forty years. Is he old lookin'? Is he sick?" +</p> + +<p> +The young man smiled at her impatience. +</p> + +<p> +"I should call him a singularly well preserved man for his years." +</p> + +<p> +"That sounds as if he was apple-sass, or somethin' to eat. What does he +look like? Is he stoop-shoulderd?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all. He is a tall, spare man, with white hair and a gray +Vandyke beard." +</p> + +<p> +"What's a Vandyke beard? You mean whiskers?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; whiskers trimmed to a point—rather aristocratic looking." +</p> + +<p> +"John always was a gentleman and looked it. Is he well lookin'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he was in the best of health." +</p> + +<p> +"Is he—is he—married?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; he never married." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was quiet for a moment, her eyes seeing beyond the men to the +lover who had remained true to her throughout the years. +</p> + +<p> +"Does he live alone?" +</p> + +<p> +"He has two rooms in the home of some people with whom he has lived for +a great many years." +</p> + +<p> +"Is he in business?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; he was in business until the panic of 1893, when he lost his +business." +</p> + +<p> +"What does he live on? Is he poor?" +</p> + +<p> +"He saved a little out of the wreck of his business and lives on that." +</p> + +<p> +"How much has he?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think he has about five hundred dollars a year; just enough to keep +him modestly in that little town." +</p> + +<p> +"Does he seem happy? Did you talk with him?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What does he do?" +</p> + +<p> +"He has his books." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The clerk laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +"Is there anything else you would like to know?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—" said Drusilla hesitatingly. "I guess that's all I need to know." +</p> + +<p> +She was quiet for a few moments. Then: +</p> + +<p> +"Does he seem strong?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; strong and well." +</p> + +<p> +"D'ye suppose he could travel by himself?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly; he seems perfectly able to travel by himself." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR JOHN: +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +DRUSILLA. +</p> + +<p> +P. S. If you don't come to me, I'll come to you. This is a threat, +John. You see if I <i>am</i> seventy years old, I'm still your wilful +Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +I'll send no baby to a home. I've eaten charity bread and it was bitter +and charity milk would be the same. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When he came in, his eyes twinkled mischievously at Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"I hear you have numerous additions to the family," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor stopped in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> got you in this trouble? How did I get you in this trouble?" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly; I said a few things like that, but—" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—I did mention jelly-molds, but still—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why—why—you had already decided; but still—" +</p> + +<p> +"That's the third time you've said, 'but still,' and I don't see as it +helps me any now." +</p> + +<p> +"What'll I say, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it is a question, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +And Drusilla sat back in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Why—why—you put rather a responsibility on me. What does Mr. +Thornton say?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I presume he is right," said Dr. Eaton a little sadly. "I don't see +what else you can do with them; unless—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Unless you keep them, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +"How'm I goin' to keep eleven babies and they comin' faster every day?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think you had better head off the rest." +</p> + +<p> +"How can I do that? They jest come and there ain't no one to give 'em +to." +</p> + +<p> +"We will put a policeman on guard to watch the gates, and arrest the +next one who leaves a bundle or a basket." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Why should you? Now let's talk sensibly, Miss Doane. What are your +plans for your own life?" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to do with yourself? How occupy yourself?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>am</i> an old woman." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"How can I give them a chance?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Miss Doane, who could give them a better chance? You have money—" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—heaps of it; and I set wonderin' what to do with it. I want to +spend it and I don't know how." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>must</i> 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. <i>Take it!"</i> +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla frankly wiped the tears from her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Dr. Eaton, you almost make me cry. But where'll I put 'em?" +</p> + +<p> +"How big is this house? You don't use it all, do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"There you are! Why not fill them up? Of what use are they lying empty?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course it isn't right. You've too much; a great many have nothing. +Now even up." +</p> + +<p> +"Who'll I git to take care of 'em?" +</p> + +<p> +"We'll have to figure that out." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I must be off. I'll think it over and let you know what I've figured +out for you." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; that's so. And they wouldn't be no worse off'n when they come. +Well—you run along and start somethin'." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, we'll start something, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Come right over, Dr. Eaton; come right over at once," she said. "I've +got another baby and they've caught the mother." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla did not stop to explain but stepped into the car, and gave +directions to the chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Why all this hurry, Miss Doane? Is something afire?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Now do not be frightened; we will not hurt you. Just tell me why you +left the baby." +</p> + +<p> +The scared voice spoke so low that her words could scarcely be heard. +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know it was wrong." +</p> + +<p> +"If you didn't know it was wrong, why did you hide?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"You were willing to give her away, yet you cared enough to go to her +when she cried. I don't understand it." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"But if you feel that way, how could you leave her?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>couldn't</i>. 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?" +</p> + +<p> +And she turned the tear-stained, questioning face of a child up to the +Judge. +</p> + +<p> +"What were you going to do if the baby was taken in?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'd have tried to get work somewhere, but you can't get work with a +baby." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you no friends?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; only some girls in the store where I worked." +</p> + +<p> +"How did you come to leave the baby where you did?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>have</i> +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." +</p> + +<p> +"But why didn't you go to some of the homes that are open to girls like +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Homes? I didn't know of any." +</p> + +<p> +"There are many institutions that would have helped you. Didn't any one +tell you about them?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you want to keep the baby?" +</p> + +<p> +The girl's face brightened. +</p> + +<p> +"Do I want to—do I <i>want</i> to—But I can't! They tell me there's no +place for a girl with a baby." +</p> + +<p> +"Will you work?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—<i>so</i> lonely." +</p> + +<p> +The Judge started to say something, but he was interrupted by a little +old lady rising from one of the seats. +</p> + +<p> +"Judge, jest you give me that girl and the baby. I'll take her." +</p> + +<p> +The Judge looked over his glasses at the excited, flushed face of the +old lady in front of him. +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said, jest you give me that girl and the baby, and I'll take her. +I'll take her right home with me." +</p> + +<p> +The Judge looked at her a moment in silence; then the young man beside +the lady came forward and said: +</p> + +<p> +"May I speak with you a moment, Judge Carlow?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Discharged in care of Miss Drusilla Doane," he said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The wondering girl was placed in the motor and whirled swiftly toward +Brookvale. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was quiet for a time. Then: +</p> + +<p> +"Dr. Eaton," she said, "I believe we've found our nurses. Here's our +first one. Why can't we find the other mothers?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid that would be rather difficult." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"It's a good idea, Miss Doane; but how can we get them? They naturally +didn't leave their addresses." +</p> + +<p> +"We'll advertise in the papers." +</p> + +<p> +"But that would scare them; they would be afraid it would be a trap to +get them arrested." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Dr Eaton pondered thoughtfully for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +"It might work, and again it might not." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +By the time they arrived at the big house in Brookvale Drusilla was +very much interested in her new scheme. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She led the way to the third floor, where there was a big billiard room. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor looked at the room. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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'." +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +"Why, how do you do, Mr. Thornton? Won't you have some supper with me?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, thank you. I came to talk with you." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"No; my dinner is waiting for me." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I understand that you have been to court, and brought home with you +that woman and her child." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, well! How news does travel! How did you hear that?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is in the evening papers." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, ain't that nice of 'em!" she stopped to comment; then she went +on reading. +</p> + +<p> +"They seem to have it all down," she said, handing the paper back to +Mr. Thornton. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her with the air he used when trying to frighten witnesses +who opposed him. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"Jest what I said, Mr. Thornton. I mean to give that mother and her +baby a home." +</p> + +<p> +"I do not understand you at all, Miss Doane; or at least I hope I am +mistaken in your meaning." +</p> + +<p> +"I talk plain American." +</p> + +<p> +"I have been waiting for you to send those children that have been left +here to the proper authorities." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is quite impossible, <i>quite</i> impossible!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why impossible?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why—why—my late client, Mr. Elias Doane—" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>my</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton rose. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothin more can be said then; but it is a disgrace to the neighborhood +to have a home for waifs come to it." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla flushed hotly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I wash my hands of the affair. You will get into trouble, and when you +do you may call on me." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla rose and laid her hand on Mr. Thornton's arm. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla drew a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton bent and kissed the withered old hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Always, Miss Doane, babies or no babies; but you had better—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER VII +</h3> + +<p> +John Brierly came. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +<i>"I can't talk by letter. Just come."</i> +</p> + +<p> +And John came. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"John, come upstairs; I want to look at you, and I want to talk to you." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John looked around the luxurious room in a hesitating manner. +</p> + +<p> +"I hardly know what to say, Drusilla—I can't understand all this—I +can't understand." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Is—is—this place yours, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"I do want to smoke." +</p> + +<p> +He drew his pipe from some pocket and filled it from a worn tobacco +pouch. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla watched him interestedly. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>somethin'</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +John looked into the fire dreamily. +</p> + +<p> +"Drusilla, I am afraid I have been a failure. Your mother was right; +I've been always a dreamer and a failure." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla leaned toward him. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +John looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla flushed at the look in his face and sat back in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—Oh—" +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to do now?" Drusilla asked, to turn the +conversation into another channel. +</p> + +<p> +"What I have done for the last few years—sit quietly by and wait for +the messenger to come." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But I'm old, Drusilla, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John looked at her curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"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, <i>'Impossible!'</i> 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'." +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing, Drusilla. I have enough to live on in my little town; and +with my books, and—" +</p> + +<p> +"But, John, you can't live with jest <i>books."</i> +</p> + +<p> +"That's all I have left, Drusilla. All my friends are gone." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"No one in the world, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla settled back into her chair and gave a sigh of contentment. +</p> + +<p> +"Then what I've been dreamin' of ever sence I saw your name in the +paper can come true." +</p> + +<p> +"What have you been a-dreaming of, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was silent for a few moments, looking thoughtfully into the +fire. Then she said softly: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Drusilla—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Drusilla—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Drusilla, I couldn't—I couldn't—" +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't what, John? Couldn't you be happy here?" +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't that." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Drusilla, I couldn't accept even your charity." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"But, Drusilla—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +They were both silent, staring into the fire. Then Drusilla rose. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John reached up and covered the soft little hand with one of his for a +moment, then he brought it down and kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla turned and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But I'm an old man, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind how old you are, you're a <i>man,</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>real</i> party when I come to see 'em, John." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Drusilla," she asked, "how fast are we goin'?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," Drusilla said. "We'll ask the man." +</p> + +<p> +Twenty-five miles an hour, the chauffeur told them. +</p> + +<p> +"We'll go slower if it scares you, Grandma," Drusilla said gently. +</p> + +<p> +The old lady looked at her with scorn. +</p> + +<p> +"Scares me, nothin'! I was only wonderin' if we couldn't go faster!" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"That's jest what I said when I first rode in the car with Mr. +Thornton." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +After tea they started home. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want to go back, Drusilla," Grandma Perkins began to whimper. +"Must we go back right away?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Joseph looked at the five old ladies, evidently at a loss as to what +would please them; then a suggestion occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +"You might go to a moving-picture show." +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's—it's a kind of theater." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" came in chorus. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know myself, but it's a sort of—sort of—" +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind what it is, we want to go." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, let's go, Drusilla; let's not go home." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Let's not go home, Drusilla; let's miss supper." +</p> + +<p> +"It's bean night, anyway," said another. "Let's stay." +</p> + +<p> +Five pairs of dim old eyes looked at Drusilla beseechingly. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, we'll stay just a little while longer," she concluded. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Drusilla, I want to ride with the man," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but, Grandma, you'd catch cold," Drusilla objected. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Grandma—" +</p> + +<p> +The old lip quivered, and the eyes filled childishly. +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>feel."</i> +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla turned helplessly to the other women, and then Joseph came to +her aid. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As Drusilla took her leave, Grandma Perkins chuckled childishly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid the ladies will be ill to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +One of them, hearing it, spoke up. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course we'll all be sick; but, then, it was worth it!" +</p> + +<p> +And Drusilla left with those words ringing in her ears. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER VIII +</h3> + +<p> +One morning James came to Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"There is a man downstairs who wishes to see you," he announced. +</p> + +<p> +"What does he want?" asked Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"He does not say; just says he wants to see you personally. He says he +is from your home town or village." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up, pleased. +</p> + +<p> +"Is that so. Take him in one of the setting-rooms and I'll be right +down." +</p> + +<p> +James hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it, James?" +</p> + +<p> +"He, well, he is not exactly a gentleman; he looks like a man from the +country." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +The man removed his overcoat and sat down. +</p> + +<p> +"I am John Gleason," he said; "the brother of James Gleason, who owns +the Spring Valley Stock Farm, just out of Adams." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla thought for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't seem to recall the name, but perhaps you moved there sence I +went away." +</p> + +<p> +"I been there about thirty years. Of course you know William Fisher, +the editor of the county paper? He is a friend of mine." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla's face brightened. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, indeed; I know him well. I nursed his wife through all her +children and her last spell of sickness." +</p> + +<p> +"Is that so! His wife was a cousin of my wife's. Her name was Jenny +Jameson before she married me." +</p> + +<p> +"The daughter of old Dr. Jameson! Well, I do declare, it's like meetin' +old friends. How is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Kindly Drusilla was all sympathy at once. +</p> + +<p> +"Do tell me. What did she die of." +</p> + +<p> +"Diphtheria. She got it in school; it run through all the children in +the county." +</p> + +<p> +"How old was she?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm so sorry. Have you had a doctor?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; we have had Dr. Friedman and another doctor from the city. But +they don't seem to be doing her no good." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"You have her bile them fifteen minutes and drink it like a tea," she +said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The man looked embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him with inquiring, sympathetic eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"What can I do?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I swan!" said Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; I didn't know <i>what</i> 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 <i>what</i> to do. I feel I ought to go +home to my wife at once, and—and—" +</p> + +<p> +"How much is the ticket?" +</p> + +<p> +"The ticket is only about three dollars and sixty cents—" +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw, that is very little. I'll get some money from James. I never +have any." +</p> + +<p> +She rang the bell; and when James returned with fifteen dollars she +handed it to the man. +</p> + +<p> +"You'd better have a little extra, as somethin' might happen," she said. +</p> + +<p> +He was more than thankful. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +He wrung her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was touched. +</p> + +<p> +"Now that's real kind of you to think of it," she said; "but I don't +need nothin'." +</p> + +<p> +She followed him to the door and helped him on with his overcoat. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Again Mr. Gleason shook the kindly outstretched hand, and for a moment +he seemed rather overcome by his feelings of gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll let you know at once, and I'll remember your offer. I must catch +my train. Thank you again, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John looked at her anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +"You ain't sick, are you, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, money gives you lots of diseases that you didn't know you had till +you could afford 'em." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Doane'll never be sick in her life, Mr. Brierly. She's good for +twenty-five years of hard work yet." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't speak that word to me, Dr. Eaton. I don't like the word <i>work</i>. +It's stuck closer to me than a brother for too many years." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but there's work and work. But am I interrupting your visit with +Mr. Brierly?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Was it an old friend? It's nice to see old friends." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +The doctor looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you lend him money, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; it must," the doctor remarked dryly. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"What you speakin' in that tone of voice for?" +</p> + +<p> +The doctor laughed rather hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid, Miss Doane, that you're what the small boys call 'stung.'" +</p> + +<p> +"Stung? What do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"I rather imagine that was a little confidence game." +</p> + +<p> +"What is a confidence game?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But he knowed lots of names I knowed." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; he might have found them in a local paper from the place." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat back in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"That's where they're clever. But don't worry; you can stand the +touch—it wasn't much. You got off easy." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"No; I'll wait and see. I believe he'll send it back to me. But it +makes me excited." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'd hate to do that." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if you think it necessary—" +</p> + +<p> +"It is most necessary. You will promise?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I'll promise. I'll do it, though I hate to." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was interested at once. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you git some? I told you we would. Did you advertise in all the +papers?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; every paper in New York City—Jewish, German, Bohemian, Russian, +everything; and I've found three mothers out of the bunch." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—well, I'm glad. Where are they, and who are they?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"The poor things! Did you bring them right up?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; I wanted to talk with you first, and with Mr. Thornton—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm glad I don't have to talk this over with him, as he isn't what you +might call sympathetic." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"She is that little Jew kid's mother." +</p> + +<p> +"The baby with the black eyes and the big nose? Well, he ain't pretty, +but he's clever." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +"That's an idea, Miss Doane, and a good one. We'll think it over." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it, James?" +</p> + +<p> +James was plainly embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd—I'd—like to speak to Dr. Eaton. I think I'd better speak to him +first." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you want to say to him you can't say to me? Has some one sent +for him?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—no—" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, is it private? What you so nervous about, James? You look +foolish." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—well—" +</p> + +<p> +"Say it! What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, ma'am—there's another baby come." +</p> + +<p> +"<i>What!"</i> cried Drusilla, sitting erect in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"What!" exclaimed Dr. Eaton. "Where's the watchman?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I swan! I thought we'd stopped. What'll we do with it?" +</p> + +<p> +James said impressively: "We'd better send this one to the police +station." +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"But, ma'am, this is different—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sniffed. +</p> + +<p> +"It can't be much different. A baby is a baby—" +</p> + +<p> +"But, ma'am—Dr. Eaton—I—" +</p> + +<p> +"James, I said bring it up. Now bring it up at once, I say!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I swan—I <i>swan!</i> A nigger baby!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Take him out. I ain't never seen a colored baby close." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at the baby; then at the two men. Then, as she did not +know what to do, she became exasperated. +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter with you two? Ain't you never seen a nigger baby +before? What you laughing at?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"There, there!" she soothed. "Now you're all right. Well," turning to +the men, "he feels just like any other baby, black or white." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to do with this one? <i>Now</i> we'd better send for Mr. +Thornton." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him severely. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, then you'd better let me take him to the police station." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla hesitated again. +</p> + +<p> +"Another 'home.' I hate to—" +</p> + +<p> +"It's the only thing to do, Miss Doane. You can't mix the colors." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, perhaps you'd better." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton left the room, and returned after a few moments with a shake +of his head. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What'll they do with him? If we can't find a place to-night, they +can't." +</p> + +<p> +"No; perhaps not. But they'll keep him until they do find a place." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +James came and the little girl mother, and the baby was placed in +James's outraged arms. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't James havin' new experiences? His back says, 'This didn't never +happen to me when I was in the Duke's house'!" +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll find some place to put him to-morrow, Miss Doane. It's good of +you to take him tonight." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla went with him to the door. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER IX +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"It jest destroys my belief in human natur', and I'll never trust no +one again," she said to John. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Suspicion jumped into Drusilla's old eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Won't you set down?" she said, rather coldly for her. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger sat down. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you take the place of old Dr. Smith?" Drusilla asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; he's had another call, to a higher land"—motioning upward—"and +I have his charge." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Doane," the clergyman said finally, "we are in a little trouble +in our church, and I thought that you might help us." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla stiffened at once. +</p> + +<p> +"What can I do?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him a moment and then rose. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you excuse me a minute?" she said politely, and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +She went directly to the butler. +</p> + +<p> +"James, telephone for the police. There's another man in there from +Adams and I want him arrested." +</p> + +<p> +She left the astonished James to carry out her orders, and returned to +the room. +</p> + +<p> +"You say you have some children in Adams without homes?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"The men you asked for, ma'am." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +"What—what—" sputtered the clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +"I want you to take him to the police station," said Drusilla firmly. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you make a charge, ma'am?" asked one of the officers. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. I don't know what it is, but I make it. Take him to jail." +</p> + +<p> +"But—but—" said the bewildered clergyman, "this is an outrage!" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't care what it is, <i>you</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Come along with me," said the officer gruffly. "Don't make no fuss; it +won't go." +</p> + +<p> +They put their hands on his arms and he struggled. +</p> + +<p> +"Take your hands off of me! What do you mean? I tell you, I'm the +Reverend Algernon Thompson, of Adams." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you believe nothin' he says," insisted Drusilla. "Whoever heard +of a name <i>Algernon</i>! He looks much worse'n the other man that was +here. Just you take him along." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you I'm the Reverend Algernon Thompson; and this is an +outrage—an outrage—" +</p> + +<p> +The officers shook him roughly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, can the hot air. We're used to your kind. Come along." +</p> + +<p> +And the last Drusilla could hear was the wail of the clergyman: "I tell +you I am the Reverend Algernon Thompson—" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"What is it, Drusilla. Has something upset you?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat down wearily in a chair. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was silent as she sipped the wine; then finally she looked up +at John wistfully: +</p> + +<p> +"John, do you think I'd ought to 'a' done it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know; but then—" +</p> + +<p> +"You did just right, Drusilla; so don't worry." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sighed. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +John laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it's all right. Now let's talk of something else. Let me read +you something." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat back in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I ain't all asleep, John, just half," she said; and John laughed and +went on. +</p> + +<p> +They were interrupted by James. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Doane, some one wishes to speak to you on the telephone." +</p> + +<p> +"But, James, let 'em talk to you. You know I don't never talk on the +telephone." +</p> + +<p> +"It is some one from the police station, ma'am, and they say they must +speak to you particular." +</p> + +<p> +"From the police station? Laws-a-massey! Well, then turn it on here." +</p> + +<p> +She went over to the telephone table and sat down. Soon John heard: +</p> + +<p> +"What's that you say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Laws-a-massey, he's <i>real!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +A murmur was heard from the telephone. Then Drusilla, excitedly: +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>real</i>." +</p> + +<p> +Again the murmur. +</p> + +<p> +"Wait a minute," said Drusilla; and turned to John. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +John looked perplexed and ran his hand through his white hair. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm sure I don't know, Drusilla—I'm sure—" +</p> + +<p> +"What'll I do! What'll I do!" wailed Drusilla. "Just think of putting a +preacher in jail. What'll ever become of me!" +</p> + +<p> +Here John had an inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +"Drusilla, send for Mr. Thornton; he is a lawyer and he'll know what to +do." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla drew a breath of relief. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +After a moment: "I'll send a car down and get him. Have him come here +at once if he'll come." +</p> + +<p> +She left the telephone and turned a very scared face to John. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +It was a very frightened and meek Drusilla that greeted Mr. Thornton +and Daphne when they came into the room. +</p> + +<p> +"I came along, Miss Doane," Daphne explained, "because Mr. Brierly said +you were in some trouble, and I thought perhaps I might help you." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed rather shakily. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid, Daphne, this is a case for your father. I've arrested the +wrong man." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" said Mr. Thornton quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"I've got a preacher in jail—or he was there unless Joseph can git him +to come with him." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Now what am I goin' to do?" Drusilla finished. "You must get me out of +this." +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer thought a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The man looked down at her and the angry flush left his face. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know what to say myself, Miss Doane," he replied. "It's rather +a new experience for me, a police station—" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm so ashamed and so sorry I can't talk. Just set down and let +lawyer Thornton tell you all about it." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +"You're a good man, if your name <i>is</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +The clergyman flushed, this time with pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"That sounds as if I talked nothing but nonsense!" Daphne pouted. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla put her arm around the young girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Never you mind, dear; I like your chatter, so come with me." +</p> + +<p> +And they went to Drusilla's room. +</p> + +<p> +They drew up two easy chairs before the fire and as Drusilla settled +into the luxurious depths of hers she chuckled to herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Five hundred dollars! I always knowed preachers was a luxury—but— +Well, talk to me, Daphne. What you been doin'?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at her quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Not your own love affair, Daphne?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne flushed under the sharp gaze. +</p> + +<p> +"No," she said hastily; "Uncle Jim's." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't know you had an Uncle Jim." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes; Papa's younger brother." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if he is like your father I should think he could manage his own +love affairs." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>nicest</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +"What are you going to do about it? You can't make him over." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She was quiet for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I could find some way to have them meet accidentally. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"She'll come. I've told her about you and she said she wanted to come +to see you." +</p> + +<p> +"It's easy then, and we'll trust to something turnin' up right." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"You're a—a—brick, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla shook her finger at the girl. +</p> + +<p> +"Young lady," she said severely, "I know where you got that. Dr. Eaton." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne's pretty face flushed and she put her cheek against the faded +one. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"You trust me for carrying out that part of it. Good night, dear." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER X +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What does he want of me, James?" +</p> + +<p> +James coughed discreetly. +</p> + +<p> +"I think you had better see him, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him sharply a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, send him here," she said. +</p> + +<p> +The chef came into the room. She looked at the fat, mustached Frenchman +for a moment before she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you want to see me about, cook?" +</p> + +<p> +The chef drew himself up. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish to pay my compliments to Madame and say I can no longer serve +her." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean you want to quit?" +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman bowed. +</p> + +<p> +"Madame comprehends." +</p> + +<p> +"Speak English, cook. What did you say?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said that Madame understands perfectly." +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you want to leave?" +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman drew himself up tragically. "I can no longer serve +Madame: it is not convenable to my dignity." +</p> + +<p> +"What's hurtin' your dignity?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is not for me to cook for a lot of babies, and—and—a nigger baby." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him silently for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"There is the porridge in the morning, and the soft-boiled eggs, +and—and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you object to cookin' eggs and porridge. It ain't hard." +</p> + +<p> +"It is not the deefeeculty; it is the disgrace. I am a great artist—a +chef—it hurts the soul of the artist to—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"You do not understand, Madame. I am an artist; I have cooked in the +best houses." +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't this a good house?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla flushed suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +And Drusilla sat down a very angry and ruffled Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +She was quiet for a while; then she laughed softly to herself. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see where you require my services—" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>goin'</i> and he's goin' sudden." +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't he a good cook?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>goin'."</i> +</p> + +<p> +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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Now you be careful, Mr. Thornton, or you'll go trottin' along with the +cook. I'm a little bit techy about them babies—" +</p> + +<p> +The man flushed and rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"I did not mean to offend you, Miss Doane. We are at your service. What +do you want me to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"I want you to get me a woman cook—by the way, what did you pay that +cook?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think, if I remember rightly, he receives a hundred and fifty +dollars." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat back in her chair aghast. +</p> + +<p> +"One hundred and fifty dollars a month for a cook! Elias Doane must 'a' +been out of his head!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She was quiet a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer shook his head stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid my duties have not called me in the neighborhood of colored +babies dressed only in white shirts." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer stopped at the nurse's side and watched the baby for a +moment. Then he broke into a jolly laugh. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thornton stooped quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +As he was holding the baby above him, laughing into the now laughing +face, a voice from the doorway said, "Jim." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Mary!" he said. "Mary!" +</p> + +<p> +She came to him, seeing nothing in the room but the man. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Jim, you are human after all. You are, you are!" +</p> + +<p> +The astonished nurse saw a woman folded in a man's arms and a woman +crying happily on a man's shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla watched them for a moment and then went to the door, where +Daphne was waiting. The girl took Drusilla's hand excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +"It worked, didn't it, Miss Doane; it worked!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mary Deane laughed—the laugh of a happy woman who has come into her +own. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Or," said Mr. Thornton with a glad laugh, "or a Sunny Jim." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XI +</h3> + +<p> +A light tap was heard on the door of John's sitting-room. +</p> + +<p> +"John, are you still up? Can I come in?" +</p> + +<p> +Before John could answer, Drusilla was in the room. +</p> + +<p> +"John, I'm ashamed of you! Has this been goin' on all the time, and I +didn't know it. It's past twelve." +</p> + +<p> +John said apologetically: "It isn't late, is it, Drusilla? I didn't +think of the time." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, Drusilla; nights were made for reading. There is no joy like a +long quiet evening and Carlyle, for example, for company." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John looked longingly at his book, then carefully placed a marker in it +and closed it. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm only anxious to hear all about it, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla pulled off her gloves and sat down in an easy chair before the +fire. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you enjoy the dinner?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Where was it, Drusilla? I don't remember if you spoke of it to me." +</p> + +<p> +"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'." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I do remember hearing you speak of it. It was at the Thorntons'." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm surprised you didn't, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +"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.' +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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.' +</p> + +<p> +"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? +</p> + +<p> +"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.' +</p> + +<p> +"'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.' +</p> + +<p> +"'But Bert is selfish; he isn't trying to make me happy.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Does this give you happiness?' I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'Why, of course; it's so gay,' she said. +</p> + +<p> +"'But is it <i>happiness</i>?' 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." +</p> + +<p> +"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.' +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Drusilla, you did have a nice time after all. I suppose you'll +be going out every night now." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XII +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Good morning, Miss Doane. I have come on business. I am an agent to +enlist your services." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla pushed her near-seeing glasses up on her forehead so that she +could the better regard the pretty face before her. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, now, what company is hirin' you? They have a good agent. Is it a +book or a washin' machine?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Neither, Miss Doane. How shocking! I am working in a great cause—the +cause of the poor." +</p> + +<p> +"So—" said Drusilla. "What do <i>you</i> know about the poor?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I know a lot, Miss Doane. I am one of the volunteer workers in a +Settlement house in the slums." +</p> + +<p> +"What's that? I seem to disremember what I have read about such things, +if I have ever read about them." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla put down her trowel and looked interested. +</p> + +<p> +"Do tell! How nice of 'em. Are they paid to do it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you do?" asked Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"I—I—teach sewing. I have a class." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at her a moment in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You</i> teach sewing? <i>You</i> have a sewing class? I didn't know you +sewed." +</p> + +<p> +"I—don't—<i>much</i>, 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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne flushed. +</p> + +<p> +"Now you're laughing at me, Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +"No, I'm not laughin'; but it seems to me—how many girls you got in +your class?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have ten." +</p> + +<p> +"How old are they?" +</p> + +<p> +"About twelve to fourteen years." +</p> + +<p> +"When do you learn 'em?" +</p> + +<p> +"Saturday afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"That's why I came to you to-day. Our Settlement wants me to bring you +down." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up inquiringly and a little suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do they want you to bring me down?" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne said rather hesitatingly: "Well—they would like to interest you +in their mother's summer home." +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I s'picioned it was a subscription they want; but it sounds like a +good thing, and I'd like to know about it." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—I don't know—" looking at her plants. "I'd ought—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, please come, Miss Doane. You haven't anything to do, have you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know as I have anything <i>particular</i>, though sence I got these +babies, my days is as full as a wine cup. But if you want me—" +</p> + +<p> +"That's right; I knew you would! Come right away—I must get to my +class." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but you should see it in July and August," Daphne laughed. "Then +it <i>is</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Is this all the sewing-class you have?" she asked. +</p> + +<p> +"It is all we have at present," Mrs. Harris answered. +</p> + +<p> +"Do the girls in the neighborhood, the grown girls, learn it?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; they all work, and have only their evenings." +</p> + +<p> +"Why don't you have an evening class?" +</p> + +<p> +"We have thought of that, but it is hard to get a girl like Daphne to +come down in the evening." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla watched Daphne frowning over the intricacies of the pattern. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>her</i> good, but so far as I +can see it don't do the girls much good." +</p> + +<p> +The head worker flushed, as did Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"We like to interest the girls from homes like Miss Thornton's to come +down and help the people less fortunate than themselves." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But they do need them. They are gymnasium suits." +</p> + +<p> +"What's gymnasium suits?" +</p> + +<p> +"Suits to take exercise in, physical exercise." +</p> + +<p> +"Do they need special clothes to take exercise in? What's the matter +with the clothes they got on?" +</p> + +<p> +"They restrict the movements." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Harris was a little angry. +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry, Miss Doane," she said stiffly, "that you don't approve of +our sewing-class." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +She started to leave the room, but at the door she stopped. +</p> + +<p> +"What's that Daphne was tellin' me about a home for mothers in the +country?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"How long do you keep 'em?" +</p> + +<p> +"We try to give each mother a two weeks' vacation; and she brings with +her the small children she cannot leave at home." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw, is it so bad as that?" said sympathetic Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Here an inspiration came to Mrs. Harris. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla brightened. +</p> + +<p> +"I'd like to go," she said. +</p> + +<p> +The worker hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"You are not afraid of contagion?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Harris laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"No, nothing as bad as that; but the tenements are not overly clean, +you know." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>Entre lei</i>, and they stepped into a room that was +evidently the kitchen, living- and dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The mother gave chairs to her guests; then went back to her work. +</p> + +<p> +"I have come, Mrs. Tolenti," Mrs. Harris said, "to tell you about the +country." +</p> + +<p> +"Si," and the dark Italian face brightened. "I ready go any day." +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry, awfully sorry, but we have no place for you this year." +</p> + +<p> +The Italian woman looked at the speaker uncomprehendingly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>"Si?"</i> +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope next year, Mrs. Tolenti—" +</p> + +<p> +But Mrs. Harris was interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +"I no wanta next year. I wanta dis year, I wanta <i>now!</i> 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 <i>now!"</i> +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," the low voice continued, "I feel it <i>here</i>," 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!" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"You certainly shall go to the country with your babies. You certainly +shall go. Don't think a moment again about it." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla turned to Mrs. Harris. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you make her understand?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was quiet during tea, but when it was carried away she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"Now tell me about your home. You say you want to make an addition, add +an ell or something." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"You say this is where they are at present? Which is the rooms you use +for the mothers?" +</p> + +<p> +The worker pointed them out. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla caught sight of some rooms upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +"What's these three rooms. Who're they for?" +</p> + +<p> +"Those are for the workers who go out for the week-end." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean by the week-end?" +</p> + +<p> +"From Saturday to Monday." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean the women who work here like yourself go out there and spend +Saturday and Sunday?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"But why do you need three rooms?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you see there are a great many workers here, and they take +turns, and often three or four of them go out." +</p> + +<p> +"They each have a room to themselves?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at her sharply. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you do with the rooms the rest of the time?" +</p> + +<p> +"They are vacant." +</p> + +<p> +"You don't put none of the mothers in 'em?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly not. We could not use them if they had been occupied by the +class of people we send out." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was quiet for a moment, drumming lightly on the table with her +fingers. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat back in her chair and fanned herself with the book of +views. +</p> + +<p> +The worker was aghast. She had not thought of any possible outcome +except the one for which she had been planning. +</p> + +<p> +"But you see, Miss Doane, when we have a wing—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She rose then. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +Daphne came in soon, and looked quickly at Drusilla's flushed, excited +face. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you have a nice time, Miss Doane? Isn't it a wonderful work?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +And before the chagrined hostess could find words in which to try to +rectify her mistake, Drusilla was in the motor. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked at the angry old lady curiously. +</p> + +<p> +"Weren't you interested, Miss Doane? Aren't you going to help the +Settlement? They need money so badly for their summer home—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, I didn't know you were bothered. Why don't you have them all sent +to Father?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne flushed. +</p> + +<p> +"We might take him out with us." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Can't I stay too—" shyly said Daphne, slipping her hand into +Drusilla's. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked down at her and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne laughed happily. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I thought he liked to look at me, but—" +</p> + +<p> +"But what?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"But I'm not a fool girl." +</p> + +<p> +"No one would know it by your actions sometimes." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess you are right, Miss Doane. I do act as if nothing were worth +while but having a good time." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Did we keep you waiting? I am so sorry," murmured Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, we didn't talk at all—the doctor—was busy—" +</p> + +<p> +The doctor laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it you want to see me about, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," broke in Daphne. "Miss Doane has been visiting our Settlement." +</p> + +<p> +The doctor smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think of it?" +</p> + +<p> +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.'" +</p> + +<p> +The doctor flushed. +</p> + +<p> +"Daphne—" +</p> + +<p> +"Do you?" queried Drusilla, interestedly. "Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Do tell!" said Drusilla. "I kind of thought something like that when I +saw Mrs. Harris, but she seemed to be real pert." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XIII +</h3> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But they are such a care, such a bother." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But the mothers you have here—will—do you think that class—those +kind of mothers will care to sew?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla flushed and an angry gleam came into her kindly eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"We must admit," went on the refined, querulous voice, "that they are +not the usual mothers—with husbands—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla's eyes distinctly darkened, and the flush deepened. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lee noted the flush and changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +"I hear you are going to take some Italians and their children here for +the summer." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla's eyes lighted up, and the angry gleam fled instantly. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, how did you hear that?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's all over the neighborhood. And—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lee looked up, horrified. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean to say that you are goin' to spoil this beautiful house +and these beautiful grounds?" +</p> + +<p> +"Spoil 'em? How'll it spoil 'em? They're goin' to waste as it is." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, having that class of women in your house, and the children on the +lawns, will certainly take away from their artistic beauty." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"What shockin' ideas you have, Miss Doane, to bring God into the +subject! You are most sacrilegious, dear Miss Doane." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I guess I am; most people seem to be afraid to mention Him." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up quickly, as word had come to her of her neighbors' +disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see that it's none of their concern," she said. +</p> + +<p> +"But, you see, it lowers the value of their property." +</p> + +<p> +"Let 'em move away." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, but they can't." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, let 'em stay." +</p> + +<p> +"But it's very annoying to see a lot of dirty children." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked over her glasses. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't tell me!" she ejaculated. "When be they comin'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Carrington, the chairman of the Committee, is coming to see you +to-night, I am told." +</p> + +<p> +"Who's he?" +</p> + +<p> +"He lives in the big gray house near the river, and he feels very +strongly on the subject." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla said with asperity: "Well, he'll feel stronger when he leaves." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lee felt that she had gone far enough on that subject, so she +changed it. +</p> + +<p> +"Poor Mrs. Carrington! They feel very bad about children since they +lost their little boy about a year ago." +</p> + +<p> +"How did they lose him?" +</p> + +<p> +"He died, and they have never recovered from the shock." +</p> + +<p> +"If they lost their child, I should think they'd want to see other +children happy, then. They must be queer people." +</p> + +<p> +"It has changed them a great deal, as sorrow often does." +</p> + +<p> +"It hasn't changed them the right way, as true sorrow does. What've +they done?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>say</i>—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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla put down the dress in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sniffed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But what can they do? They all have servants to do the work for them. +You can't expect women like Mrs. Carrington to <i>cook</i>." And Miss Lee +plainly showed what she thought of a woman who cooked. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lee was quiet a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +"You—you are speaking of—of—this old gentleman who is living here?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Is—is Mr. Brierly a relation of yours?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, John ain't no relation; he's just a friend." +</p> + +<p> +"Is he—is he making you a long visit?" +</p> + +<p> +"I hope so. He's goin' to live here always with me if I can make him." +</p> + +<p> +Again Miss Lee tatted industriously. Then she looked up with what she +tried to make a most friendly smile. +</p> + +<p> +"Now you know, Miss Doane, I <i>never</i> 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." +</p> + +<p> +"How's it queer?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, it's unconventional, to say the least." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean by unconventional?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know how I can say it so that you will understand. Not quite +proper, you know." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla sat back in her chair. A bright spot appeared on her faded +cheek and there was an ominous light in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lee saw the light in the eyes, and hastened to say: +</p> + +<p> +"Now, please, dear Miss Doane, don't think that I am blaming you. I +understand perfectly—<i>perfectly</i>. I just feel that you ought to know +what is being said." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lee flushed and gathered her threads together. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla watched the woman as she went down the road and as she +disappeared she heaved a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the Lord sendeth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed—I guess I'll +go see John." +</p> + +<p> +She went up to the small library where she knew she would find him +poring over a book. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +John closed the book in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +A pained look came into kindly John's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Drusilla, I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps I'd better go." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla reached over and patted his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Drusilla," murmured John. "If it makes you talked about—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see anything to laugh about, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +That night, as she and John were sitting down to their seven o'clock +dinner, a frightened nurse came running in. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Miss Doane," she said, "one of the babies is very sick. He don't +seem able to breathe." +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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: +<i>James Carrington</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"He's part of the Committee," she said; and as she passed through the +hall she went up to him. +</p> + +<p> +"You're Mr. Carrington," she began abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She returned in a few moments with a bottle in her hand, and handed it +to one of the nurses. +</p> + +<p> +"Warm it, put it in hot water till it runs. Now—" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Robert, we will be late for the opera! What do you mean by—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked from the baby to the woman in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Won't you come in? You wished to see me about—" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Carrington said hastily: +</p> + +<p> +"No; we will let the matter wait. We are on our way to the opera—" +</p> + +<p> +"No, Miss Doane," the wife interrupted; "we <i>were</i> on our way to the +opera, but now—we're going home, Robert." Turning to the man beside +her she repeated: "We're going <i>home,</i> Robert. Do you understand, we're +going <i>home!"</i> +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla stood in the hall until the motor started. +</p> + +<p> +"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.'" +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XIV +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"May I come in? I am sure you will see me." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla rose with a smile on her sweet old face, and extended her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, do. You're just in time to have a cup of good coffee with me." +</p> + +<p> +"Am I so early? I motored down with Robert this morning and felt that I +must stop and see you on the way home." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But I have had my breakfast." +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw, one can always drink coffee in the mornin'. And you've been +clear down town." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington settled herself comfortably in her chair, threw back +her coat, and smiled across at Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at her smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; I ain't wonderin' at all. I'm just glad you come." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; I heard you was goin' away," Drusilla said. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, did you? I didn't know that people knew it. Who told you?" +</p> + +<p> +"The circulatin' family story-paper," laughed Drusilla, "Miss Lee." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington frowned for a moment; then she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, well, if Sarah knows it, it is no secret in Brookvale. But I am +<i>not</i> going away, so her story will have to be revised. What else did +she say, Miss Doane?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; she told me, and I'm sorry for you. It must be a sad thing to +lose a baby." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps that's so, but he didn't seem to share my trouble—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"That's the kind of tired feelin' women git who ain't got nothin' to +do." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"But I have no baby—" +</p> + +<p> +"But you got a husband. <i>Have</i> 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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, he adores them, but—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But—" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, we never quarrel. Robert is a perfect gentleman." +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know I am not a good wife—I wish I were better—but my +temperament—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington was quiet for a few moments. Then she looked up with +the tears glistening on her pretty lashes. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear, jest do this—so fill your heart with sweetness that there won't +be room for the memory of any wrong." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Miss Doane, you are so good! I love you. We are going to begin all +over again." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +As Drusilla was standing by the chair James entered, and, seeing Mrs. +Carrington, started to leave the room. Drusilla turned. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it, James?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's no moment now, Miss Doane, the matter can wait." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, but what is it? Does some one want to see me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; the laundry man. I took the liberty of telling him that you might +see him—" +</p> + +<p> +"Is he in trouble, James?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Ssh—ssh—James; you mustn't talk about it. Tell him to come up." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, my dear Miss Doane, I should think you would be worried to death." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But don't they impose upon you? Aren't lots of the people dishonest?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +James entered then, followed by a little man who bowed awkwardly to +Miss Doane. +</p> + +<p> +"This is Mr. Henderson, Miss Doane," James said. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked at him critically. +</p> + +<p> +"Set down, Mr. Henderson. James tells me that you are in trouble." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Miss Doane. I hardly know which way to turn. Mr. Hawkins told me +you might be good enough to help me." +</p> + +<p> +"What is it you want? You are the laundry man, ain't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The man smiled. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I've given all the children in Brookvale a ride some time or +other." +</p> + +<p> +"Now that we know who you are," said Drusilla, "jest tell me what the +trouble is." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it a good business?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"How much will it take to put you on your feet?" +</p> + +<p> +"If I could get eight hundred dollars it would pay up the debts that's +pressin' me and would give me a start." +</p> + +<p> +"Can't you borrow at the bank?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, because I've no security. The place is mortgaged all it can stand." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I understand, ma'am, and I'm willin' to stand on my reputation in the +neighborhood." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"She is much better." +</p> + +<p> +"Is she in bed?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; she only sets up a couple of hours a day." +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw, that's too bad! Wait till I see James." +</p> + +<p> +She rang the bell and James appeared. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +When the man left with a new look of hope on his face Drusilla turned +to Mrs. Carrington. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you help him?" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked rather shamefaced. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you are a dear!" she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is a banker." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Carrington rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XV +</h3> + +<p> +Drusilla was called to the 'phone and a nervous, trembly-voiced Daphne +spoke to her. +</p> + +<p> +"May I come over, Miss Doane? I—I—want to get away from the house and +talk to some one—May I come over?" +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm in <i>such</i> trouble, Miss Doane," Daphne said with a choke in +her voice. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla patted her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"It can't be great trouble, Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it is, Miss Doane. No one has such trouble as I have, I'm sure." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She drew from her bag a folded piece of paper and handed it to Daphne. +</p> + +<p> +"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: +</p> + +<p> +DEAR DRUSILLA: +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +BARBARA. +</p> + +<p> +Daphne handed the note back to Drusilla, who put it carefully into her +bag before she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor woman!" said Daphne softly. "What are you going to do?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is it about this time?" +</p> + +<p> +"There's no <i>this time;</i> it's always the same. It's—it's—Dr. Eaton." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"I knowed it! I seen it a-comin' a long time. What you and Dr. Eaton +been doin'?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, your father's held some forth to me about Dr. Eaton, but I only +laugh at him. I like that young man." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne snuggled her hand into Drusilla's. +</p> + +<p> +"That's the reason I can talk to you; you will understand—because—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +"Because—because—you like him too." Daphne's pretty face colored. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, why shouldn't you?" said Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother says that he's only a poor doctor, that he's not the kind +that'll ever make money." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"But Mother says—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne looked up with a twinkle in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Her judgment in regard to Dr. Eaton, too?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well," said Drusilla, "I wouldn't go so far as <i>that;</i> but—what else +did she say besides that you wouldn't have enough to eat?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, of course she didn't say that, but she said that he could never +afford to give me a motor car or—" +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Then, you don't think it would be hard to economize?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Daphne smiled up at Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Miss Doane, you make it seem so heavenly!" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She followed Barbara up the long stairs. At the door she turned. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"I've come to see you, Mis' Abbott." +</p> + +<p> +The woman looked up at Drusilla a moment, then put her faded old hands +over her face. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want to see you, Drusilla, I don't want to see you." +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw, now," answered Drusilla, "yes, you do, Mis' Abbott. I come jest +a purpose to see you." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>die!"</i> +</p> + +<p> +"No, you don't," said Drusilla softly. "You want to live and you're +glad to see me." +</p> + +<p> +"I ain't! I tell you, I ain't! I called you charity!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What!" said the old lady, looking up. "What'd you say, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +"I said I'm goin' to take you home with me." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>die!"</i> +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla took the hands from the wrinkled face and held them in her own. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The old lady looked up wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +"But what can I do, Drusilla?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, is she grown up and married?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The old lady looked for a moment into Drusilla's eyes; then she broke +into the hysterical sobbing of the old and helpless. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla let her cry, patting her hand softly from time to time. Then, +when the storm had spent itself, she said: +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, it's your Mary come back to you. Don't you remember that you said +your Mary had brown eyes—" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla studied the picture carefully. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +The old lady rose from the bed. +</p> + +<p> +"Can I go now, Drusilla? Can I go <i>now?"</i> +</p> + +<p> +"Are you well enough? Can you stand the trip?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Abbott laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>live!"</i> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XVI +</h3> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"John, I didn't adopt the Reverend Algernon Thompson, did I?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, no, Drusilla; I don't think you adopted him. Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>live</i> here. I don't see how his church gits along without him +so much." +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter with the Reverend Algernon, Drusilla? I like him. +His knowledge of chivalry is—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm afraid, Drusilla, that Mr. Thompson has got on to your nerves." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll admit he is a little bit self-centered." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps if he was married and had a wife to tell him a few things—" +</p> + +<p> +"John—John!" Drusilla sat up very suddenly in her chair. "Why didn't I +think of her before?" +</p> + +<p> +"Think of whom, Drusilla? I thought we were talking about the Reverend +Algernon, and he's a <i>he."</i> +</p> + +<p> +"Sarah Lee." +</p> + +<p> +"Sarah Lee? I don't follow you, Drusilla." +</p> + +<p> +"John, some men are ugly, most men are conceited, and all men are +thick-headed, and you're a <i>man</i>. Think of what a wife she'd make him!" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Drusilla, they're neither one of them thinking about getting +married. Perhaps they don't want to." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she might do worse. He's likely and healthy—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But—but, Drusilla, I don't think he wants to get married, even if she +does." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he don't. No man does; they have to be led up to it." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I don't know about this. He might not want Sarah. He looks to me +like a man who knows his own mind." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +John looked up, surprised. +</p> + +<p> +"Me? Drusilla! It never entered my head." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to be planning rather far ahead, aren't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No one has to be a prophet to say a preacher'll have babies. That's +ginerally about all they do have." +</p> + +<p> +"It's your business, Drusilla; but I can't understand why you want +these two very worthy people to marry—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you are killing two birds with one stone!" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"No; he has gone to his room." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"We are goin' to go over again those last books on chivalry that I +bought—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla raised her hands and then dropped them in despair. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord forbid, John." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't you want them to be happy, Drusilla? If you don't think they +would be, you hadn't better meddle in it." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>say</i> it." +</p> + +<p> +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." +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to give them chance enough to see each other." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla was silent for a few moments. Then she reached over and took +John's hand in her own. +</p> + +<p> +"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 +<i>understandin'."</i> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XVII +</h3> + +<p> +"Come right on to the stoop, Dr. Eaton, and let's set down and cool +off. I'm real het up." +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla settled down in a big porch rocker and fanned herself with the +paper in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"That was the big Socialists Club." +</p> + +<p> +"Socialists—yes, that's what you called it. Ain't them got something +to do with dynamite bombs and blowin' up people and things?" +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton laughed. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>wants</i> to be a thief he'll find some +way o' doin' it—prisons or no prisons." +</p> + +<p> +She was silent a few moments; then she chuckled softly to herself. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; some of them do look rather lank and hungry; but there are some +very clever men among them." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"That's Swinesky, a Russian Jew." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Hot air." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton sat up, interested in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember my telling you about the man who has the button +factory in Yonkers?" +</p> + +<p> +"He is the man who wants two thousand dollars, isn't he?" asked +Drusilla. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" asked Drusilla, interested at once in anything new. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Are we goin' to let this Mr. Panoff have the money?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"I think it is a good thing; but is there enough things like that to +keep him busy?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"I think I had better be going on to the hospital. I—I—" +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla looked up at him quickly. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Eaton flushed under the clear brown of his tan. +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't that, Miss Doane. You must know what I think of Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what is it, then? You're clear beyond me." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—well—" and the doctor hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, go on. Tell me all about it." +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"What's that got to do with it?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, stuff and nonsense! I know Daphne." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but her people; her father—and, O Lord, Miss Doane—her mother—" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—but, then—" +</p> + +<p> +"But then <i>what?</i> There is somethin' else?" +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +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—" +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> + "Rock-a-bye, baby,<br /> + On the tree-top,<br /> + When the wind blows<br /> + The cradle will rock—"<br /> +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +"Go on, my boy; and God bless you!" +</p> + +<p> +And the doctor went. +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> +<h3> +CHAPTER XVIII +</h3> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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'. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As they were waiting for the tea to be served Mr. Carrington stood upon +a chair and called for attention. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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, <i>OUR</i> Drusilla Doane!" +</p> + +<p> +And he led in the cheering that made the air resound. +</p> + +<p> +Drusilla flushed and wiped her eyes, and in answer to the calls of +"Speech! Speech!" she said: +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a moment. Then: +</p> + +<p> +"John,"—she motioned toward the lawn—"let's play our dream's come +true!" +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Drusilla with a Million, by Elizabeth Cooper + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION *** + +***** This file should be named 6734-h.htm or 6734-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/3/6734/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Aldarondo, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION *** + +***** This file should be named 6734.txt or 6734.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/3/6734/ + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Aldarondo, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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"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 he 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 + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRUSILLA WITH A MILLION *** + +This file should be named dsmln10.txt or dsmln10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, dsmln11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, dsmln10a.txt + +Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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