CHAPTER XVIFROM SHADOW TO SUNSHINE
SOME one was playing the Swan song from “Lohengrin”; it was very beautiful, but it sounded so far away. Gretel wanted to get nearer to the music. She tried to rise, but there was such a heavy weight on her feet that she could not move. Then the music changed to the roar of an elevated train, and she felt the hot sun beating down upon her head. Oh, how terribly hot it was, and she was so thirsty, too. If some one would only give her a drink of water, but when she tried to ask for it her tongue refused to form the words. The cruel sun was burning her up. There must be shade somewhere. She would cross the street and try to find it, but what would become of her bag? She was too tired to carry it any longer. How those elevated trains roared. She was afraid to move, yet she must get into the shade. She made another feeble effort to move, and then something soft and cool was laid on her forehead, and a voice thatsounded as if it came from a great way off said—
“Lie still, dear; you are quite safe here.”
Gretel tried to explain about the sun, but the words would not come right, and she gave it up in despair. She liked the soft, cool thing on her forehead, but the trouble was it did not stay cool long enough. Everything was hot, burning hot. If somebody would only give her some cold water to drink, but when at last, a glass was held to her lips, and she tried to swallow, the water, like everything else, seemed hot, and it did not quench her thirst.
There was pain, too, dreadful pain all over her, and every time she tried to move into a more comfortable position, some force seemed to hold her still. At last she found that she could speak, and then she began to call piteously for Percy and Barbara; Jerry and Geraldine; and Higgins, but nobody answered—nobody seemed to understand. She could see faces—so many faces—but there was not one among them, that she knew. Once she was sure she heard some one crying, and for a moment she thought it was Barbara, but when she looked again a strange face was bending over her, and a lady dressed in white,with a cap on her head, was offering her something to drink.
Gradually she began to remember things in a vague, confused way. She remembered going to New York on the train, and trying to find the Lipheims. Was she still in the street, she wondered? If so, it had grown strangely quiet and cool. She was no longer burning up, only she was so very tired. She must have walked a long way, and then—what had happened? There had been a great noise of shouting, and something big had come terribly close to her, and after that she did not remember any more.
While she was still pondering on this subject, in a weak, half conscious way, some one bent over her, and she saw again the lady in the white dress and cap. The lady did not speak, but she smiled, and her smile was pleasant, and somehow reassuring. Then she put something that looked like a tube under Gretel’s tongue, and when she took it out again, she looked pleased, and said to some one, the little girl could not see—
“She is much better; the fever has gone down to a hundred and one. That is a great gain over yesterday.”
Gretel wanted to say that she understood, and to ask some questions, but she was so tired that itseemed easier just to lie still with her eyes shut. She drifted off into a dream, in which she seemed to hear Percy and Barbara talking about “Lohengrin.”
“Poor little girl; poor little kiddie.” Yes, that was surely Percy’s voice, and it did not sound angry either, only very sorry. Gretel did not open her eyes, but she tried to remember things. Why was her brother sorry, and why had she expected him to be angry? It was something—about—about being a dishonest person. Ah, she remembered all about it now, and with a sharp little cry, she started up, fully conscious at last.
“I stole Barbara’s ticket to fairy-land,” she wailed. “Percy said I was a dishonest person. I didn’t mean to be dishonest; I didn’t—I didn’t!”
“Hush, Gretel darling, lie still; everything is all right. There, there, don’t cry; see, Percy and I are here; we have come to take care of our little girl.”
“Did you get my letter, Barbara?” whispered Gretel, as she nestled in her sister’s arms, and gazed lovingly into the sweet face bending over her.
“Yes, dearest, but, oh, my poor, foolish little Gretel, how could you do such a dreadful thing asto run away and leave us? Didn’t you know how much Percy and I loved you?”
“I thought you wouldn’t love me any more when you knew how wicked I had been,” said Gretel, humbly. “I thought I would go to the Lipheims, and ask Fritz to get me a place with those vaudeville people Peter Grubb was going with, but they had moved, and I couldn’t find them. Then it got so hot, and I was so dreadfully tired, and—”
“We know all about it, dear; don’t talk; just lie still and get well. We won’t leave you until you are able to come home, and then we shall all be so happy again.”
“And you are not angry—you really can forgive me?”
Barbara did not answer in words, but her kisses and her happy tears were all the assurance Gretel needed.
“And will Percy forgive me, too?” she whispered timidly.
“There isn’t anything to forgive, Pussy,” said Mr. Douane huskily, as he bent to kiss the pale, wistful little face.
“But I really was a dishonest person,” persisted Gretel, feverishly; “are you sure you want a dishonest person to live in your house?”
“Quite sure, little girl; home wouldn’t be home without our Gretel.”
Gretel gave a long sigh of utter content, and her eyelids drooped. In another moment she had fallen asleep.
When Gretel awoke after a long, refreshing nap, her brother had gone away, but Barbara was still in the room, and she and the lady in the white cap were having a whispered conversation by the window. Gretel lay watching them in silence for several minutes. She was very happy, but she did not feel much like talking just yet. Slowly she began to take in the details of her surroundings. She was in a small, plainly furnished room, and an electric fan was waving gently over her bed. She wondered where she could be, but decided that it did not really matter so long as Barbara was there, too, and just then her sister-in-law glanced in her direction, and discovered that she was awake.
“Where are we, Barbara?” Gretel asked a few minutes later, when Mrs. Douane was sitting by her bedside, and the lady in the white cap had given her something to drink, which tasted very good.
“We are in a hospital in New York. They brought you here after your accident.”
“Accident?” repeated Gretel, looking puzzled; “did I have an accident? Oh, yes, I know; I was crossing the street, and something very big came close to me, and then I don’t remember any more. Was I run over?”
“You were knocked down by a trolley car, and badly hurt, but you are ever so much better now, and you will be quite well again soon.”
“How did you and Percy find me?” was Gretel’s next question. She was beginning to feel a good deal more interest in things than she had felt a few hours earlier.
“Why, dearest, it was all quite wonderful. If I tell you about it will you try to lie still, and not ask any more questions? The doctor says you must be kept very quiet or the fever may come back.”
Gretel promised that she would be very good, and Mrs. Douane went on to explain.
“When Higgins came to call you, and found your room empty, she was very much surprised, especially when she discovered that your suit-case had also disappeared. Then she saw your letter on the desk, and went to call Percy and me. You said you were going to some old friends in New York, and the only people we could think of were Mrs. Marsh and her daughter. Percystarted for New York as soon as he could, and in the meantime we telephoned Mrs. Marsh, telling her what had happened, and asking her to communicate with us the moment you arrived. As soon as Percy reached the city he went at once to Mrs. Marsh’s, hoping to find you there, but of course they knew nothing about you, and he was just starting off to put the case in the hands of the police, when a telephone message came, saying you had been hurt, and were to be taken to this hospital. And here comes the wonderful part of the story. When you were lying unconscious in a drug store, you were recognized by a little boy, who gave his name as Peter Grubb. He said he knew where you lived, and gave Mrs. Marsh’s address to the people at the store, who at once communicated with us.”
“How very interesting,” said Gretel. “Peter Grubb was the very person I was trying to find when I couldn’t find the Lipheims, but I hadn’t any idea where he lived, except that it was uptown on the East Side. I thought perhaps he might be able to tell me how to get into vaudeville. Oh, Barbara dear, you can’t think what a comfort it is to know you really don’t mind seeing me again, even when you know how wicked I was.”
“Why, Gretel, how could you think suchdreadful things? Percy and I have been here ever since we heard of your accident, only you were too ill to know us. It has been a very sad time, but it is all over now, so shut your eyes, and try to go to sleep again. I see Miss Simpson is beginning to look as if she thought I was letting you talk too much.”
It was an afternoon a week later, and Gretel was sitting bolstered up with pillows in the arm-chair by the window. She was still very pale and thin, but was gaining strength each day, and that morning the doctor had removed the last strip of plaster from her forehead. Miss Simpson—the white-capped nurse—was reading aloud to her, and on the table was a big bowl filled with beautiful roses, which had arrived only an hour before from Mr. Douane’s place on the Hudson. Gretel looked the picture of content, as she leaned back among her pillows, listening to the adventures of Tom Sawyer. She had grown very fond of kind Miss Simpson, and her days at the big hospital had been anything but unpleasant.
A knock at the door brought the reading to a sudden pause, and in answer to Miss Simpson’s “Come in,” an official appeared with a card, which he handed to the nurse.
“Some friends have come to see you, Gretel,” said Miss Simpson, glancing at the card. “I think they must be the children who sent ‘Tom Sawyer’; Jerry and Geraldine Barlow.”
“Oh, I should love to see them,” cried Gretel, eagerly. “May they come in, Miss Simpson?”
Miss Simpson said they certainly might, and that she would go to the reception room, and bring them herself. She disappeared for a few moments, and when she returned she was closely followed by the twins, both looking very much awed, and almost preternaturally solemn.
At sight of Gretel, with all her hair cut off, and a big scar over one temple, they became so painfully embarrassed, that neither of them spoke a word, and, contrary to the usual order of things, she was forced to make all the advances.
“I’m so glad to see you both,” she said, cordially. “Won’t you sit down?”
The twins took the chairs Miss Simpson placed for them, still in the same embarrassed silence, and the nurse, thinking the children might feel more at their ease if left to themselves, went out of the room, after telling Gretel to ring the little bell at her side if she wanted anything. Then Jerry found his tongue, and remarked in his gruffest tones—
“We’re ever so glad you’re better.”
“You really are better, aren’t you?” inquired Geraldine, anxiously.
“Oh, yes, indeed; I’m almost well. I’m to go home the day after to-morrow. Percy is coming for me in the automobile. He and Barbara have stayed here most of the time, but since I’ve been so much better they have gone home at night. Barbara was here all this morning; I’m sorry you didn’t come in time to see her.”
“You’ve been dreadfully ill,” said Geraldine, solemnly.
“I suppose I was at first, but I didn’t know anything about how ill I was till I began to get better.”
“Too bad you had to have your hair cut off,” observed Jerry, in a tone of regret.
“Oh, Miss Simpson says it will soon grow again,” Gretel assured him cheerfully. “The scar on my forehead won’t show so much then either. It’s rather pleasant to have short hair in this hot weather. Have you gone to the country yet?”
“No, but we’re going to-morrow; that’s why we came to see you this afternoon. Mother brought us, and she’s coming back in half an hour. She sent her love.”
“Mother cried about you when you were so ill,” said Geraldine. “You see, she was afraid you were going to die. I cried, too, and I think Jerry did, though he didn’t want anybody to see him do it.”
“I did not,” declared Jerry, indignantly, and he grew so red, and looked so uncomfortable that Gretel hastened to change the subject by saying—
“I want to thank you for all those nice books you sent. Miss Simpson is reading ‘Tom Sawyer’ to me now, and it’s very interesting.”
“Tom had some fine adventures, didn’t he?” said Jerry, eagerly. He was very glad to steer the conversation safely away from the subject of tears. “I wish we could be lost in a cave, and go for pirates.”
“I don’t,” declared Geraldine, with conviction. “I think one adventure is quite enough for any person to have, and I’ve given Mother a solemn promise never to frighten her again, and I mean to keep my word.”
“Gretel had a bigger adventure than any of us,” said Jerry, not without a shade of envy in his tone. “It must have been awfully exciting to get knocked down by a trolley car, and be taken to a hospital in an ambulance, only I shouldn’tlike to have to stay in bed for such a long time afterwards.”
“But I didn’t go away to have an adventure,” said Gretel, reddening; “I went because—because—”
“We know,” said Geraldine; “Mrs. Douane told Mother, and she told us. She talked about it for a long time one night after we’d said our prayers.”
“Did she think I was a very dreadful person?” inquired Gretel, rather tremulously. “I’m afraid people won’t ever like me any more when they know how wicked I was, even though Percy and Barbara have forgiven me, and say they love me just the same.”
“Mother doesn’t think you at all wicked,” protested Geraldine; “that isn’t the reason why she talked to us. She thinks you were very brave to confess the way you did, and she hopes we should be just as brave if we ever did anything naughty that nobody knew about but ourselves.”
“Did your mother really say that?” demanded Gretel, her face brightening. “You aren’t making it up just to make me feel comfortable?”
“We don’t tell things that aren’t true,” returned Geraldine, indignantly, and Jerry added—“Mother truly did say it, and a lot more, too.She’s awfully fond of you, and so is Father. They were dreadfully worried when they thought you were—I mean when you were so ill.”
Gretel gave a long happy sigh.
“It’s beautiful to have every one so kind and forgiving,” she said; “but even if nobody ever punished me or scolded me, I shall always know myself how wicked I was.”
Gretel’s pale cheeks had grown suddenly very pink, but her honest eyes looked straight into her friends’ as she spoke, and the twins were both much impressed.
“I guess that’s what Mother means when she talks about our learning things by experience,” said Geraldine, with a sudden inspiration. “She said your punishment was much greater than if you had been deprived of things, or locked in your room. It was all because of your conscience, you know. I think consciences are rather horrid things, don’t you?”
“But suppose you hadn’t told; nobody would ever have known anything about it,” said Jerry reflectively.
“I had to tell,” said Gretel, simply. “It was Barbara’s ticket, and she and Percy were being good to me every minute. You would have told, too, Jerry, I know you would.”
Jerry looked uncomfortable.
“Well, I guess I’d have felt pretty mean if I hadn’t,” he admitted. “I wonder if the Law of Love isn’t the best way, after all. It makes you feel so ashamed when you’re not punished for things you know you ought to be.”
“Of course it is,” chimed in Geraldine; “Mother always knows the best way of doing things. But she doesn’t read those books any more. She says she thinks she’s found out how to do it herself. I guess the Mind Cure is all right too. Perhaps if we’d kept on believing we wouldn’t have been seasick that day, we might have been all right. Anyhow, God took care of us when we asked Him to, and he took care of Gretel.”
“Yes, indeed He did!” cried Gretel, with shining eyes. “Just think how wonderful it all was. If Peter Grubb hadn’t happened to be right there, nobody would have known where I was, and Percy and Barbara might never have found me. We are all very grateful to Peter. Barbara found out where he lived, and went to see his mother. She brought them all some cream-puffs, because I told her how very fond Lillie was of them, and they were so pleased. Peter didn’t gettaken into the vaudeville company after all. They didn’t think he had enough talent. Now he thinks he’ll be either a fireman or a boy scout instead. But the nicest part of it all is that Barbara has engaged Dora to be our chambermaid. Dora is so happy, for she says she has never had a really good place, and she hates being a maid-of-all-work. I’m so glad I’m going to see her again, for she was the first person who was kind to me at Mrs. Marsh’s.”
The children chatted on for another fifteen minutes, and then Miss Simpson came to tell them their mother had called for them, and the friends had to say good-by.
“But it won’t be for so very long,” said Gretel, cheerfully. “You know you are coming to make us a long visit in September. It’s almost July now.”
“Yes, and I’m going to write you a long letter every week all summer,” promised Geraldine, resolutely choking down a rising lump in her throat. “Mother says if we read a little history, and write a letter to somebody every day, we needn’t have any more lessons till we come back to New York. Isn’t that splendid? We were so afraid we were going to have another oldteacher. Not that Miss Heath was really old, but then, you see, we don’t care much for teachers, except when they’re not teaching.”
“What are you thinking of, Gretel?” Miss Simpson asked, with a smile, as she brought her little patient a glass of milk, when the visitors had gone. “You look as if you were very happy about something.”
“I am,” said Gretel, softly. “I was just thinking how many lovely people there are in the world, and how beautiful it is to be loved.”
THE END