"Maxwellton braes are bonnie,Where early fa's the dew,And it's there that Annie LaurieGied me her promise true—Gied me her promise true,Which ne'er forgot will be;And for bonnie Annie LaurieI'd lay me doon and dee."
"Maxwellton braes are bonnie,Where early fa's the dew,And it's there that Annie LaurieGied me her promise true—Gied me her promise true,Which ne'er forgot will be;And for bonnie Annie LaurieI'd lay me doon and dee."
Mrs. Sherrar wheeled in amazement at the sound; the girls broke off their animated conversation to stare at the quaint group on the corner; a crowd gathered quickly; and with sudden, characteristic impulsiveness, Peace caught up the battered tin cup from the old hand-organ, and held it out invitingly. Hand after hand plunged deep into scores of pockets; coin after coin rattled into the little dipper; the old man played eagerly, breathlessly; and the children sang again and again in response to the applause from the street.
How long the impromptu concert might have continued no one knows, but through a break in the sea of faces surrounding them, Peace caught a glimpse of Mrs. Sherrar's portly form, and it reminded her suddenly of where she was and how she came to be there. Breaking off in the midst of her song, she thrust the heavy cup back into the owner's hands, bowed to the astonished throng, and cried shrilly, "He's been sick and can't play as much as he used to could, until he gets strong again; so he needs all the money he can get. Don't forget him when you go by again."
Grabbing Allee by the arm, she whisked away to where her friends were waiting, fearful lest they might not approve of her impulsive action; so before they had a chance to speak a word either of blame or praise, she began, excusingly, "Just s'posing we all had our eyes punched out so's we couldn't see, and had to sit on street corners and grind out music all day long. Wouldn't it be terrible? I—I—thought—maybe it might help a little if we joined in the music, and it did. He's got a whole cupful of money, and now maybe he'll go home and rest a bit. He's been sick."
Tears filled the eyes of the little company of grown-ups, and Frances, with an understanding heart, drew the childish figures close, saying tenderly, "For these bonnie little lassies I'd lay me doon and dee."
It was a wild, stormy, October night. The rain fell fitfully, and the howling wind raced madly through forest and over farmland, shrieking down chimneys, rattling windows and doors, whistling through every conceivable crack and crevice, and rudely buffeting any traveler who chanced to be abroad. In the brown house three rosy-cheeked little maids lay fast asleep in their beds in the tiny back chamber, blissfully unconscious of wind and rain; but in the room below Faith and Hope kept anxious vigil, awaiting Gail's return from the darkness and the storm.
"I should have gone, too," croaked Faith, in a voice so hoarse she could scarcely speak above a whisper.
"No, indeed," Hope declared. "You have a dreadful cold now; but I think she might have let me go. Towzer isn't enough company on such a night, and like as not he will get tired of waiting and come home without her. What was that? Oh, only the clock. Eleven! I had no idea it was so late."
She rose from her chair and paced restlessly back and forth across the room, pausing at every turn to look first out of one window and then out of the other, as if trying to penetrate the inky blackness of the stormy night. The unlatched gate creaked dismally on its hinges; somewhere a door banged shut; and then an old bucket blew off the back porch and down the steps with a rattlety-clatter which made the two watchers within start and shiver.
Peace heard it, too, and sat bolt upright in bed, not knowing what had awakened her, but trembling like a leaf with nervous fear. A terrific gust of wind roared around the corner, shaking the little brown house from rafter to foundation; the great elm trees tossed and groaned in sympathy, and the leafless vines over the porch beat a mournful tattoo against the walls.
"Have you ever heard the wind go 'Yoooooo?''Tis a pitiful sound to hear!It seems to chill you through and throughWith a strange and speechless fear,"
"Have you ever heard the wind go 'Yoooooo?''Tis a pitiful sound to hear!It seems to chill you through and throughWith a strange and speechless fear,"
chattered Peace, hardly conscious of what she was saying. The gate shut with a clang. "What's that? Sounded 's if—itwasthe gate banging and someone is coming up the steps! I wonder who it can be this time of night and in all this storm?"
She listened intently for the visitor to knock. None came, but the front door was opened unceremoniously, a blast of wind tore through the house, and she heard two excited, relieved voices exclaim, "Oh, Gail! We thought you would never come. Take off your coat this minute! You are drenched!"
"What on earth is Gail doing out of doors in this rain?" said Peace to herself. "She was sewing when I came up to bed. I'm going to find out." Tumbling out of her warm nest, she crept softly down the stairs, and slipped behind the faded drapery which served as door to the tiny hall closet, from which position she could watch the girls in the living-room, and hear much of what they were saying.
The first words which greeted her ears as the curtain fell back in position with her behind it, were Faith's: "Oh, Gail, not Mr.Skinner!"
"Yes," answered the oldest sister in a strained, unnatural voice that struck terror to the little spy's heart, "Mr. Skinner!"
"But I thought Mr. Hartman held the mortgage," Hope began in bewildered tones.
"He did, dear," Gail answered. "I supposed he still held it; we paid the last interest money to him."
"Then how—"
"Two years ago Mr. Hartman signed a note for old Mr. Lowe on the Liberty Road. The Lowes have always been considered wealthy people, and the two families have been close friends for years, so he thought there would be no trouble about the note; but when it fell due in July Mr. Lowe couldn't pay, and Mr. Hartman had to. He owns quite a little property, I guess, but all his ready money had gone into fixing up his buildings and putting up a new barn. Mr. Skinner wouldn't give an extension of time on the note, and said he would take nothing but cash payment or the mortgage on our farm. He has always wanted this place, it seems, and had expected to get it when papa bought it—you know the first owner was a great friend of our family—and there was some bad feeling over it. He never liked us, and Peace's prank with his bull settled everything. He was fairly insulting—"
"Did you go to see him?" chorused the sisters.
"Surely. I thought there might be achanceof his extending the time on the mortgage, but—he wouldn't listen to me."
"Then we must lose the farm?"
"We have a month more before the mortgage is due, but I don't know where the money to pay is coming from. I am afraid—the farm—must go." She gasped out the words in such misery and despair that Peace found herself crying with the older sister across the hall.
"What will become of us?" choked Hope after a long pause.
"I—I don't know," murmured Gail, "unless you go to live with the neighbors until I can find something to do so I can get you all together again. It seems the village people have already talked this over among themselves."
"Did Peace tell you after all?" demanded Faith.
"No, I didn't! I never said a word!" cried Peace in great indignation, and the startled sisters beheld a frowzy head thrust from behind the closet drapery, and a pair of angry eyes glaring at them. "I won't go to live with the Judge nor Mr. Hardman, either. Len and Cecile tease me dreadfully, Hector Ipredominatewith all my heart and I can't abide Mr. Hardman. He isn't square. He shouldn't have given old Skinflint themordige. It b'longs to us. Oh, dear, I'll never pick raspberries again! That bull has made more fuss than any other person I know."
Gail caught the shivering, sobbing child in her arms, wrapped a shawl around her, and sought to soothe her grief by saying gently, "There, there, honey, don't cry like that! You are shaking with cold. How long have you been in the closet, and why were you hiding there?"
"I heard you come in and Ihadto see what was the matter. Oh, do say I won't have to go to the Judge or Mr. Hardman! I hate them both—"
"Peace," reproved Gail, "you mustn't speak so. I am sorry you have overheard anything about the matter. Mr. Hartman had a perfect right to sell the mortgage to Mr. Skinner, and under the circumstances we can't blame him. He wouldn't have done it if he could have helped it."
"What I can't understand," interposed Faith, with a deep frown disfiguring her forehead, "is why he waited this long before telling us."
"I guess he didn't relish breaking such news to us anyway, but he has been hoping right along that Mr. Lowe would be able to pay him for the note. Then he could buy back the mortgage, or loan us the money so we could meet it, which amounts to the same thing. Of course, it is barely possible that he will yet get the money in time, but we can't count on it at all. He was so broken up over the matter that he actually cried while he was talking to me."
"I sh'd think he would!" stormed Peace, who could not yet understand how their neighbor had any excuse for selling the mortgage; neither did she understand just what sort of a thing a mortgage is, but that it had something to do with money and their farm was perfectly clear.
"Isn't there someone we know who could loan us the money?" asked Hope, the hopeful, unwilling to accept the dark situation as it was presented.
"I can't think of a soul. Most of father's close friends were ministers, and they wouldn't be able to help us. We have no relatives living. We haven't anybody—"
"We have each other," whispered Hope; and Gail's clasp on the little form in her lap tightened convulsively as she wondered vaguely how much longer they could say those words.
"We have Mr. Strong, too," reminded Peace. "Maybe he knows how the money could be paid."
"I had thought of asking his advice, but of course it was too stormy tonight. We must wait until day."
"If he can't help us, ask him if he won't take me," said Peace, in her most wheedlesome tones. "I would rather live with him than with anyone else in the world if we have to break up our house. I thought he would like to have me, too, but Mr. Jones said he wanted Allee."
"Mr. Jones doesn't know anything about it. Don't fret, dearie! There may be lots of ways out of our trouble without our having to separate. Ihopeso. We have a month to think and plan; but if we must scatter for a time among our kind friends, I trust we will all go bravely and do our best to please."
"But Ican'tgo to the Judge's, Gail! He's a perfect fury, gets mad at nothing, and chaws his mustache and glares so ugly I always listen to see whether he's going to growl like Towzer."
"He has the finest house in town," said Faith consolingly, "and a piano and a horse and buggy. He is going to have an automobile next summer."
"I'd rather live with nice folks than with pianos and nautomobiles," Peace interrupted. "I don't know what he wants of another girl, unless it is for Len and Hector to tease."
"I thought you liked Len?"
"He used to be nice, but since he's began going to scollege, he's horrid. He saw me yesterday morning in Cherry's dress, 'cause I tore my last clean one; and he bugged his two eyes out like he was awfully s'prised, and said, 'Mah deah child, yoah dress is too long! I don't like the looks of it.'" She mimicked the college dude's affected airs so perfectly that the three sisters shouted with laughter, forgetting for the moment their heavy burden of care.
"What did you say?" asked Faith curiously, although in her heart she knew that Len must have met his match.
"I looped my fingers up in circles like make-b'lieve eye-glasses, and said, 'Mah deah man, yoah hat is too tall and yoah pants ah too wide. I don't like the looks of them, but I am too p'lite to say so.'"
Another shout of mirth made the rafters ring, and the trio laughed till they cried, much to Peace's surprise, for the scene she had just depicted had caused her much indignation, and she could see nothing funny about it. "If you don't be stiller you'll wake the children," she warned them in her most grandmotherly tones, and they sobered quickly, remembering the ghost of trouble hovering over the little house.
For a long time they sat there in silence, each one busy with her own disturbed thoughts, unaware that the fire in the stove had died out, or that the chimes had long since struck midnight.
Suddenly Gail lifted her eyes from the hole in the carpet, at which she had been staring unseeingly, glanced at the old clock on the wall, and exclaimed, "Girls, it's a quarter to one! Fly into bed, every one of you! School keeps tomorrow just the same. Try to lay aside this trouble at least for tonight and get a little sleep. In the morning I will speak to Mr. Strong about it—"
"And remember to speak to God about it, too," murmured drowsy Peace, stumbling upstairs in front of the weary mother-sister.
"This is Saturday morning, Gail, and Mrs. Grinnell says I can go to Martindale with her if you will let me," said Peace, a few days after their midnight conference. She might have added that she herself had asked for the invitation, but for reasons of her own she made no mention of this fact.
Gail looked up from the pan of yeast she was "setting," and hesitatingly began, "Well—"
"I've wiped the dishes and fed the hens and dusted the parlor—"
"But I haven't swept the parlor yet," Gail protested.
"I can't help that. I have dusted," Peace answered, firmly. "If I had waited until you got ready to sweep, Mrs. Grinnell would have been gone."
Gail giggled in spite of her efforts to check the smile on her lips, and then soberly said, "But what about the eggs?"
"I have delivered my bunch already."
"Why, Peace, those baskets weren't full! What will Mrs. Abbott think?"
"Oh, I fixed that all right. There wasn't time to do much hunting for our own eggs, so I borrowed the rest of Mrs. Hartman."
"Peace Greenfield! What shall I do with you?" cried the older sister in utter discouragement, dropping her hands from her pan of mixing in a gesture of despair which scattered a cloud of flour over herself and the impatient pleader.
"Let me go with Mrs. Grinnell," was the prompt reply. "I won't be in your way all day, then; and while I am gone, the hens will have laid enough eggs to pay back Mrs. Hartman. I borrowed only five. Twenty-eight hens ought to be able to lay that many before I get back. The eight biddies I bought with the rest of my melon money could do better than that, Gail. Please say I can go!"
Perhaps it was the sight of the wistful little face, perhaps it was visions of a quiet day in which to attend to housework that won the desired permission; but at any rate Gail consented reluctantly, and Peace danced away to find the kind neighbor and report the sister's decision.
"My, but I'm glad," she hummed to herself as she scrambled into her best dress and flew out of the door into the warm autumn sunshine. "I thought she wouldn't let me go, and then I couldn't get the money. Oh, I am so glad, so glad!"
"Where are you going?" demanded a grieved voice, as Allee came through the barn door and caught a glimpse of her sister's best skirts under the flying coat.
Peace stopped short in the path and thoughtfully sucked her finger as she eyed the dirty pinafore and wistful face of this pet of the family.
"To Martindale," she said, briefly. "Come along! There isn't time to clean up. We'll hide you under the lap robe. Mrs. Grinnell won't care. Cherry, Oh, Cherry, tell Gail I have taken Allee with me! She ain'tverydirty, and I'll keep her covered up out of sight. And now, Allee, don't you say a word to anyone about it, but IbeggedMrs. Grinnell to take me. I want to get some money to buy back thatmordigeof ours from old Skinflint. Mind you keep it secret!"
"I will," promised Allee readily, for with her Peace's very wish was law.
"There is Mrs. Grinnell all harnessed and waiting. Hurry up! I had to bring Allee, Mrs. Grinnell, 'cause I wouldn't be at home to amuse her, and she might get into mischief," she explained as they arrived panting and breathless beside the big, roomy carriage, and she saw the questioning glance of the woman's eyes.
"Oh, I see," answered Mrs. Grinnell, smiling grimly. "But how about Gail? Does she know?"
"Oh, yes, she knows by this time. I sent Cherry to tell her. There wasn't time to change her dress, so we will have to keep her covered up pretty well, 'specially as she's wearing her old play coat. Say, Mrs. Grinnell, do you know some people named Swift and Smart who live in Martindale?"
"There is a firm of brokers by that name on Sixth Street. Why?" she demanded suspiciously, for when Peace asked such a question, it usually meant mischief brewing.
"Oh, I just wanted to know if there were really people called that or if Mr. Hardman was only teasing. He told me when I killed the hens that I better go there and borrow money to buy new ones with."
"He was just tormenting you," the woman replied, severely. "I hope you weren't thinking of doing such a thing?"
"Oh, no!" Peace exclaimed, the hopeful light in her eyes fading quickly. "Haven't I already bought eight good hens of O'Hara with my melon money? They lay better than our others do, too. That makes twenty-eight in all now. But I don't see why Mr. Hardman told me Swift & Smart would give me the money."
"He was playing smart himself, I guess. That firm is one of the biggest of its kind in the city. They buy mortgages and such things; they haven't time to spend on little loans."
"Oh," said Peace, but the glad light came back to the somber brown eyes once more, and she bounced happily up and down on the leather cushion. "That name seemed such a funny one to me, I couldn't forget it. Swift & Smart—I wonder if it fits?"
"If it fits?" echoed her companion.
"Yes. S'posing Mr. Swift was slower'n molasses in January and Mr. Smart was stupid as a stump, they would be as big misfits as I am, wouldn't they? Now if grandpa could just have known the kind of a girl I was going to be, I bet he never would have named me Peace. Faith says it would have been more 'propriate if he had called me Pieces. I was just thinking what if thosebreakerswere the same way."
"Brokers, my dear, not breakers. Well, I can't say how well the names fit, for I don't know them except by hearsay; but I judge they must be pretty smart whether they are slow or swift."
Peace giggled gleefully as if she appreciated the pun, and said musingly, "I'd like to see for myself how well they fitted. The names sound so funny. Do you go near their store today?"
"Why, yes, we are just across the street from it when we stop at Darnell's Dry Goods Store, but they have an office and not a store, child, and no one goes there unless they want to borrow money or something of that kind. Here we are at Peterson's. Will you come in while I do my trading?"
"Well, no," stammered Peace, her face flushing crimson under her friend's searching gaze. "Allee is pretty dirty and we best sit right here, don't you think?"
Mrs. Grinnell hesitated, puzzled at this unusual resolve on the part of the children who liked nothing better than to wander through the big department stores and admire the pretty things; then she replied grimly, "Very well, but don't either one of you stir out of that buggy while I am gone."
"No, we won't," they promised in angelic tones, and the woman left them, still perplexed and somewhat ill at ease. Fearing that some mischief was on foot she cut short her bargain-hunting tour in Peterson's store and hurried back to her charges, only to find them sitting silent and erect on the seat where she had left them, busy watching the bustling crowds in the streets.
"Why," cried Peace, almost in dismay, "you weren't gone at all hardly! You must be a quick shopper."
"Yes, in this case," laughed the relieved woman, climbing into the rig and clucking at the horse, "but it may take me some time at the Martindale Dry Goods Store, and probably longer yet at Darnell's. Do you think you can wait patiently out here in the wagon?"
"Oh, yes, it's lots of fun watching the people go by. There was one man back there so fat andpusythat we wondered what would happen s'posing he should stub his toe. I don't believe his head and feetcouldhit the sidewalk at the same time, and he'd just roll away like a ball, unless someone helped him up, wouldn't he?"
Again Mrs. Grinnell laughed grimly as she remarked with some sarcasm, "What great sights you do see! You will be a genius one of these days, I'll warrant. This is the Martindale. Now don't get out of the buggy."
"S'posing she says that at the next store," thought Peace to herself, but aloud she answered cheerily, "Don't you fret, Mrs. Grinnell." The busy woman was gone fully half an hour that time and Peace was jubilant, but she did not show her delight, and merely remarked, as Mrs. Grinnell gathered up the reins once more, "How little time it takes you to buy things! Gail and Faith tramp all day to find a pair of stockings, and then like as not get cheated. It is perfectly splendid watching the way folks crowd, better than seeing things in the store. I never knew before how much fun it is. You just ought to have seen that lady in the purple hat fool two men. One man was coming towards her and the other was just behind her when they got jammed in the doorway there. The front man jumped one way and the woman jumped the same way so he couldn't get by. He hopped back in his first place, and she hopped back in hers, and all the while the long feather on her hat was spearing the hind man in the eye, but he kept hopping the same way the others did. I thought I should screech before the woman got enough jumping and stood still so the men could get past, and didn't they look mad and scowly! Mercy, is this Darnell's? Well, you needn't worry about us one mite, but take all the time you want. The horse is as good as gold, and I'm keeping Allee's dirty dress out of sight."
"I'll be back as soon as I can," promised Mrs. Grinnell when she could get in a word, and forgetting her usual parting admonition, she hurried sway through the crowd into the store.
"Now," exclaimed Peace, all a-flutter the minute the broad back had disappeared, "let's see where Swift & Smart live. There it is just across the street, but we'll have to hurry, 'cause there is no telling how soon she will be back. Here, wrap this lap robe around you to keep your clothes out of sight, and give me your hand. Mercy! I should think the p'lice would have certain streets for the nautomobiles and cars to go on instead of letting 'em all jumble up that way. We didn't get hit that time; don't wait for the next one to come, but run."
Dragging poor, frightened, stumbling Allee and the trailing robe through the turmoil of the street, Peace managed to land on the opposite walk without mishap, but how she ever did it was a marvel to the big, brawny policeman shouting warnings to them as he tried in vain to reach the little figures dodging so recklessly under horses' noses, in front of flying automobiles and across the path of clanging bicycles.
"Are we all here?" gasped the blue-eyed tot when Peace had set her on her feet once more and adjusted the dragging robe about her shoulders.
"Course! What did you think we left behind? I know how to get across crowded streets. Here is the door. I wonder which is Smart and which is Swift,—there are three men in the room."
She lifted the latch and boldly entered, then halted and took a careful survey of her surroundings.
There were several desks in the office, all dreadfully littered with papers and books, and at one of these sat a short, bald-headed man, talking rapidly to a pretty, smiley-faced young girl, who scribbled queer little scratches in a tablet. Beside another desk in the opposite corner of the room were two men, both tall and gray and pleasant appearing, but so much absorbed in their conversation that they did not notice the children's entrance. Through a nearby door came the fitful clicking of some machine, and Peace could see a second girl seated at a table pounding a typewriter, while another man hurried to and fro from a row of shelves to a big iron box against the wall. None of them, however, paid any attention to their anxious little visitors, and Peace, after waiting impatiently until she feared Mrs. Grinnell would be back looking for them, stepped across the polished floor to the gray men in the corner, shook the nearest one by the sleeve, and demanded, "Are you Swift or Smart, or; both—I mean neither?"
"Now, Mr. Campbell," the man was just saying, but at this interruption he broke off abruptly, glared at the small intruder and asked in quick, sharp tones, "What do you want?"
"Some money," stammered Peace, much startled by his nervous, half-irritated manner.
"Money! Well, I am afraid you have come to the wrong place," he said decisively, mistaking the children for beggars.
"Why, I thought—" began Peace, with quivering lips.
"Will a quarter be enough?" interrupted the other gray man, looking down into the troubled face with keen, kindly, gray eyes, which seemed strangely familiar to the child.
"Now, Campbell!" expostulated the tall, nervous man. "They come here in swarms some days. You wouldn't be so ready with your cash if you had to deal with the number we do."
Without reply, the man called Campbell drew a silver coin from his pocket and extended it toward trembling Peace, but she shook her head, gulping out, "It will take heaps more than that. Old Skinflint has got themordigeon our farm and won't give it up. I want money enough to buy it back, so's we can still go on living there."
"Oh!" shouted the sharp-voiced man, while Mr. Campbell pocketed his silver again. "So you thought you would come here to get the money, did you?"
"Mr. Hardman said you let people borrow money from you," whispered Peace miserably, wishing she had never left her seat in the carriage. "He told me that when I poisoned half our hens, but Mrs. Grinnell said you didn't bother with such little things; and anyway, I have bought eight new ones already, so we don't need hens so much as we do thatmordige. Is your name Mr. Swift?"
"No, I am the other fellow—Smart."
"Hm, I thought it would be like that."
"Like what?"
"Why, that your names wouldn't fit. I told Mrs. Grinnell I bet Mr. Smart would be stupider than a stump and Mr. Swift would be slower than slow. Is that bald-headed man Mr. Swift?"
For an instant the two men in the corner stared at her in sheer amazement, and then both burst into a great roar of laughter, which brought the whole office force to their feet. "Say, Swift, come meet this young mortgage raiser," called the nervous partner. "If you ever get conceited, just interview a child."
The bald-headed man rose ponderously and joined the group, studying every feature of the children, as he demanded, in his most business-like tone, "What is your name?"
"Peace Greenfield."
"Where do you live?"
"Almost at Parker."
"Almost?"
"Well, we have a farm and Parker isn't big enough to hold farms. It's a nice place, though."
"How did you get here?"
"Mrs. Grinnell brought us in her wagon."
"Who is she?"
"The lady what lives on the farm right back of ours."
"Did she tell you to come and see us?"
"Oh, no! She said not to, but she doesn't know anything about ourmordige, so while she was in the store we hustled over after the money."
"Who did send you?"
"Why, nobody. We came all by ourselves."
"Hm, I thought so. Is thismordigemoney to buy candy and dolls with?"
"No, it ain't!" snapped Peace, thinking he was trying to tease her. "It's to keep old Skinflint from taking our farm away, so that we will have to live around at different places."
"Where are your father and mother?"
"The angels have got 'em."
"Oh! Then you are orphans. Who takes care of you?"
"We all of us take care of ourselves, but Gail is the play mother."
"How many are there in your family?"
"Seven with Towzer. He's a dog."
They questioned her until the whole pitiful story was told, and then stood silently lost in thought, while Peace fidgeted impatiently, watching Old Gray across the street, expecting any minute to see Mrs. Grinnell put in appearance.
Finally Mr. Swift said, jestingly, "What security have you to offer?"
"Sickerity?" repeated Peace, wonderingly.
"Yes, when we loan money we have to have some security from the party. They must own some property or something of value to give us so if the money isn't paid back we won't lose anything."
Peace pondered deeply, then drew off a small, worn, gold ring which had lost its "set," and laid it in the man's hand, saying, "That's all the prop'ty I've got except eight hens which I gave Gail for those I poisoned. It had a ruby in it once, but the old rooster picked it out and et it. I used to have two bunnies, too, but last Christmas the German kids ate Winkum and Blinkum all up."
Mr. Swift smiled, but shook his head gravely, as he returned the ring. "I am afraid that won't be enough, Miss Greenfield," he began, when Mr. Smart cut him short, "What is the use of fooling any longer, Swift? She probably knows as much about such matters as your grandbaby. A kid her age knows a lot about business. Give her a nickel and send her packing."
The genial Mr. Swift led the disappointed duet to the door and dismissed them with the words, "I am sorry, but we deal only with grown-up men and women. Call again when you are twenty-one."
As the door closed behind them, however, the other tall, gray man, who had been a silent spectator of the scene, spoke reprovingly, "I think she has told you the truth, Smart. She is one of the youngsters I was just telling you about. I was afraid she would recognize me, but evidently she did not. I certainly shall investigate, for I am much interested. They have my wife and me by the heartstrings already and some of these days you may hear that a whole family has been adopted by the erratic Campbells. They are the children of that Pendennis minister who fought such a splendid fight in the Marble Avenue Church some years back, until he was forced to retire on account of his health. Well, I must be going. Good-day!" He stepped outside the office, and looked up and down the street for a glimpse of the children, but they were nowhere in sight; so he hailed a passing car, and was whirled rapidly away through the busy city.
In the meantime, poor, disappointed Peace had jerked Allee back across the street, helped her into the buggy and had just got nicely settled when Mrs. Grinnell bustled out of Darnell's Department Store, ready for the homeward journey. She eyed the sober faces keenly for an instant, undecided whether the frowns were due to impatience at her long absence, or because of some childish quarrel, but soon forgot all about the matter in planning how she should make up her new print dress, so the return trip was made in absolute silence.
But Peace had by no means given up hope in the matter of the mortgage and, feeling better after the warm dinner had been eaten, she wandered away to the barn to hatch some other impossible plan. Finding Hope in the loft sorting out rubbish to be burned, she threw herself on an old bench behind the building, where the bright sunlight shone invitingly, and here she was soon so completely wrapped up in her own thoughts that she did not hear the sound of approaching steps, and was startled when a firm hand caught her by the shoulder and a merry voice demanded, "Why so pensive, little maid? That face would scare the tramps away."
"Oh, Mr. Strong," she cried, catching his hand and pulling him down beside her, "we are in the worst fix you ever heard. I knocked old Skinflint's bull's horn off pawing red rags in the raspberry patch so Faith could have some sour jelly for her jelly rolls, and to pay me for that he won't give us back ourmordige. Gail cried and Faith cried and we all cried. In a month we must break up this house and go to live with different people unless we can get some money somewhere. I tried this morning to borrow some in Martindale, but they wouldn't believe we needed it. I know we do, 'cause Gail said so the night I hid in the closet when she didn't know I was there."
She paused for breath, and Mr. Strong said cheerily, "Yes, dear, I know all about it. Gail told me, but I think maybe everything is coming out all right in the end. Don't you fret! But if I were you, I wouldn't try any more to borrow the money—"
"How are we to get it, then? Gail doesn't know of anybody."
"Gail was meant for a little mother instead of a business woman. Now that she has asked some of us older folks for advice, I think we can manage matters beautifully. Gail is just a girl herself, you know. She understands the situation a little better now, but the burden is too heavy for her young shoulders. We must make it lighter, lots lighter. She wants to go to college, and Faith wants music lessons, and Hope ought to study drawing, and what would you like to study?"
"Pigs! I want a pig farm," was the unexpected answer. "Ain't baby pigs the dearest things you ever saw?"
His shout of derision stopped her, and she sat twisting her brown hands in hurt and embarrassed silence.
Her mournful attitude brought the young preacher to his senses, and he pinched her cheek playfully, saying, "Oh, what a doleful face! See if we can't make it smile a little. No? Why, Peace, this is the way it looks. Supposing it should freeze that way." He drew his face down into a comically mournful grimace, and Peace laughed outright. "I heard that you won the prize at Annette's party for making the worst looking face," he continued, "but I didn't suppose it was as bad as that."
"That isn't half bad," cried Peace scornfully. "Why, I can make the ugliest faces you ever saw."
"Bet you can't!"
"Bet I can!"
"Try it!"
Peace promptly bulged out her eyes, turned up her nose, and drew down her mouth in a hideous grimace, following it up with other horrible distortions; and then exclaimed, "How do you like that?"
"I can do as well myself," said the preacher.
"I don't b'lieve it! Let's see you do it!"
Mr. Strong laid aside his hat, rumpled up his shining black hair, and went through some fearful contortions of face, which almost paralyzed Peace for the moment. Then she screamed her delight, hopping about on one foot, and shouting boisterously, "You win, you win, Mr. Strong! If I can ever make faces like those, I shall be perfectly happy. Do you s'pose I am young enough to learn? It must have taken you all your life to do it so beautifully. Will you teach me how?"
On the other side of the fence something moved in the thick brush, and there was a sound of a man's deep chuckle, but the two contestants in the art of making faces were too much occupied to notice anything of their surroundings, and the unknown watcher enjoyed this novel entertainment for some moments.
At length the preacher said, "Well, Peace, I came over to see Gail. Where can I find her?"
"In the kitchen, most likely. Come along; I will hunt her up."
The two strolled off toward the house, and a crouching figure in the hazel thicket followed them until they entered the kitchen door, when it dropped flat on the ground again and remained there alert and listening during the conference in the little brown house.
When at last, as dusk was falling, the minister strode down the path to the gate, a shabby, gray-haired man emerged from the shadows along the roadside and hurried after him. Hearing footsteps so close by, the young man halted, expecting to see some of his parishioners or acquaintances of the village trying to overtake him, and was naturally somewhat startled when accosted by a stranger.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Strong. "I thought it was someone who wanted me."
"It is," replied the shabby man. "I take it that you are pastor of the Parker Church,—Mr. Strong, I believe?"
"Yes, sir," answered the preacher, still a little bewildered.
"My name is Donald Campbell—"
"President Campbell of the University?" gasped Mr. Strong in surprise, involuntarily looking down at the stranger's threadbare clothes.
"As you prefer. Oh, I am in disguise! I will make explanations as we walk along if you can give me a few moments of your time. I should like to interview you in regard to our late Brother Peter Greenfield's family."
"Why, Gail, what are you doing?" asked Faith one cold, dull November day, as she hurried into the kitchen from her village trip, and found the older sister picking two plump hens.
"Can't you see?" smiled the girl, glancing up from her task with an excited, happy sparkle in her eyes.
"Yes, I can see, but what is the occasion? Has Peace made another raid on the hen-house with poison or rat-traps? I shouldn't suppose we could afford chicken unless by accident. Thanksgiving is more than two weeks off."
"What day is tomorrow? Am I the only one who remembers?"
"November tenth—your birthday! Oh, Gail, it had slipped my mind for the minute! No wonder you are getting up a celebration if everyone forgets like that."
"Oh, it isn't on account of the birthday, Faith; that just happened. It's the mortgage—"
"Of course, I knew it was due soon, but the relief at being able to get the money made me overlook the exact date, I guess. So that is the cause of your excitement!"
"Partly, and then we are to have company for dinner, too."
"Who?" demanded Faith, again surprised.
"Mr. and Mrs. Strong and Glen and Mrs. Grinnell."
"What in the world will we do with them all? Eight is a tight fit for our dining-room."
"It will crowd us a little, but I have it all planned nicely. Glen must sit in his daddy's lap—he often does at home when they have company and haven't room at the table for his high-chair—and of course I will wait on the people, so there will be room for all."
"Of course youwon'twait on the people! What waiting there is to attend to I shall look after. You are mistress of this house. Oh, I can't help hugging myself every other minute to think Mr. Strong was able to get the money for the mortgage and we won't have to leave this dear little brown house after all."
"Do you care so much?" asked Gail, with such a curious wistfulness in her voice that Faith stopped her ecstatic prancing to study the thin, flushed face.
"I should say I do!" she exclaimed emphatically. "Someway, in these last six months it has grown ever so much dearer than I ever dreamed it could. I used to think I hated farm life, and it fretted me because we couldn't live in Pendennis or Martindale, and have things like other folks. I did want a piano so much, instead of a worn-out, wheezy old organ."
"Wouldn't you still like all that?" questioned the older girl, keeping her eyes fixed on the half-picked fowl in her lap, as if afraid of betraying some delightful secret.
"Oh, yes, indeed! But I gave up thinking about such things a long time ago. The farm is all we have, and there is the mortgage to pay on that; so I just shut up my high-falutin notions, as Mrs. Grinnell calls them, and mean to be happy doing my part in the home. I have wasted too much time already."
"You have done your part splendidly," cried Gail with brimming eyes, letting the chicken slip unnoticed from her hands as she threw one arm around Faith's waist; "and now that—" She bit her tongue just in time to keep the wonderful secret from tumbling off, and flushed furiously.
"And now that what?" questioned the other girl, without the faintest trace of suspicion in her voice.
"Now that this hard year is over, we are going to do a little celebrating even if we can't afford it," answered Gail, thinking rapidly. "Will you make a caramel cake for our dinner? Mrs. Grinnell is so fond of it, and I know it will hit the right spot with the minister. It was his suggestion that he tell—" Again she stopped in confusion.
"About the mortgage money," Faith finished. "Well, he certainly has earned the right. We have a lot to thank him for. Do you know who is loaning the money, or is that still a secret from you, too?"
"No, Mr. Strong told me, but he wants the privilege of telling the rest of you, so I promised to keep still."
"Oh!" There was a long pause, during which both girls busied themselves with the chickens; and then Faith ventured the question, "Is it Judge Abbott?" Gail smilingly shook her head. "Nor Dr. Bainbridge?" Again the brown head shook. "Then it is Mrs. Grinnell. I thought of her in the first place—"
"You are wrong again. All the money she has is tied up in her farm and in the house in Martindale."
"Is it anyone in town?"
"No."
Faith was plainly puzzled. "Man or woman?"
"Both," answered Gail after a slight hesitation.
"Do I know them?"
"About as well as I do."
"Where do they live?"
"In Martindale."
"Who can it be?" pondered the girl.
"You might guess all night and never get it right," laughed Gail. "You better give it up. Tomorrow is time enough for little girls to know."
"For little girls to know what?" demanded Peace, as the noisy quartette burst breathlessly in from school.
"What we are to have for dinner tomorrow night," answered Gail, glancing warningly at Faith.
"Tomorrow night? We have dinner at noon."
"Tomorrow we don't. We'll have lunch at noon and dinner in the evening."
"Bet there's comp'ny coming!" shouted the smaller girls.
"Who?" asked Hope, almost as much excited.
"The minister and his family, and Mrs. Grinnell."
"What for?" questioned Cherry, for company was rare at the little brown house.
"Why, to eat up those chickens, of course," answered Peace. "Will there be enough to go around? Hadn't I better hack the head off from another?"
"Don't you fret! Mike weighed the hens after he killed them, and one is a seven-pounder, and the other weighs eight. That surely ought to be enough to satisfy your appetites."
"Well, I bony a drumstick! There'll be four this time."
"Yes, but suppose we have to wait," suggested Cherry. "The others may eat them all up."
"Oh, Gail, must we wait?" cried Peace in alarm, suddenly remembering how tiny the dining-room was.
"No, dear, there will be room for all," answered the mother-sister. "But I shall expect all of you to be little ladies and not quarrel over drumsticks or wishbones. One's guests must always be served first, you know."
"Isn't it too bad," sighed the child pensively, "that we can't be our own guests sometimes and have just the piece we want?"
"You ought to be thankful to have any part of it," Faith spoke up. "If company wasn't coming, we shouldn't have killed the hens."
"Iamas thankful as I can be," answered Peace, brightening visibly. "Cherry, come help me scour the silver. I forgot it last night, and if comp'ny is coming, we want everything fine. Besides, the time goes faster when you're busy, and already I can hardly wait for tomorrow night to come. Seems 's if it never would get here with those roasted hens."
But in due time the eventful night arrived, and with it the select company who were to join in the little celebration. With eager, shining eyes, Peace ushered in the guests, who chanced to come all together, and as she relieved them of their wraps and led them into the shabby parlor, she chattered excitedly.
"You don't like drumsticks the best, do you, Mr. Strong? And neither does Mrs. Grinnell. I heard her say so lots of times. She likes the wings. I want something that ain't so skinny. That's why I always choose drumsticks. There are four in this affair—four drumsticks, I mean. You didn't think I meant comp'ny, did you? Each hen had two legs, you know; but there are nine people to eat, counting Glen, though, of course, he is too little for such things yet; and the drumsticks won't anywhere near go around, s'posing every one of you should want one. When we have only one hen, Cherry and Allee and me always fight over who is to have the drumsticks. Last time Gail settled it by eating one herself, and giving the other to Hope. That won't happen today, though, 'cause there is company."
"Aren't you giving away family secrets?" interrupted Mrs. Grinnell, trying to look severe.
"Oh, no! You already know about it, and the minister ain't s'prised at anything. I just thought I'd speak about it, 'cause I've bonied one drumstick myself, if someone else doesn't eat them all up first. And say, folks, if any of you get a wishbone in your meat, will you save it for me? Cherry's making a c'lection and has six already. I haven't but the one I asked Mr. Hartman for, and they make the cutest penwipers for Christmas. Supper—dinner is 'most ready, I guess. Gail madelotsof stuffing—dressing, I mean. And Faith's cake is just fine, and the custard pies are the beautifulest she ever made. They are all extra, 'cause you are here. We don't often get such nice things to eat, but this is a special 'casion. When supper is over the rest of the girls will help me do the talking, but now they are every one busy except Allee and me, and Allee's getting dressed. There's someone at the door. I hope it ain't more comp'ny. S'posing it is, wouldn't that be the worst luck,—the very night we have roast chicken!"
Before Peace could reach the door to see who was there, however, Mr. Strong swung it wide open, and reaching out into the dusk, drew in a sweet-faced, motherly, old lady with silvery hair, and the familiar tall, gray man of the broker's office, exclaiming in his hearty, boyish fashion, "Mrs. Campbell, Doctor, I am so glad you have come! I was beginning to fear you had missed the place."
"Missed the place? Now, Brother Strong, I am insulted,—after the number of times I have been here! Good evening, ladies. Mother, I want you to meet Mrs. Strong and Mrs. Grinnell. Hello, Peace, where is—"
"Have you come for dinner?" demanded that young lady, with frigid dignity, wondering where she had seen that kindly face before, and secretly wishing they had delayed their coming until a more convenient time.
"Yes, I have," he answered decidedly, "and I am as hungry as a bear!"
"Oh, dear," thought Peace, "there goes a drumstick! Hungry folks always want them." But though her face lengthened, she did not voice such sentiments, and started for the kitchen, saying, "I must tell Gail, so's she'll set you a plate for sup—dinner. Is that lady going to stay?"
"That lady is my wife. If you have any fault to find with us for dropping in unannounced, just scrap it out with Brother Strong, for he invited us."
"I'mnot finding fault," Peace answered haughtily, turning once more toward the door, "but there's no telling what Faith will do. I better warn them now."
"And at the same time you might tell Abigail that someone in the parlor wants to see her," laughed the genial voice.
Peace disappeared through the door like a flash, and they heard her shrill voice call, "Oh, Gail, Faith, there are some folks here for supper what weren't invited. Do you s'pose there is hen enough now? And, oh, yes, he wants to see you right away, Gail!"
The oldest sister paused in the act of lifting the beautifully browned birds from their nest of dressing, dropped the carving set, shoved the pan back into the oven, and with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes, hurried for the parlor with such a buoyant step that the other sisters followed wonderingly. She paused an instant in the doorway, smiled at the little company within, and then straight to the white-haired lady she went, and kissed her, saying happily, "I have never seen you before, Mrs. Campbell, but I shall love you dearly."
"Not that, Gail," tenderly answered the stranger, holding the tall girl close. "Call me Grandma."
"And me Grandpa," added the gray man, drawing Gail out of the woman's arms and kissing her blushing cheek.
"Now she'll give him a drumstick sure," sighed Peace; "and s'posing he should ask for four!"
"This is Faith, the baker and my right-hand man," she heard Gail saying, "and Hope, our sunbeam; Charity, the scholar; and Peace, the—"
"Mischief-maker, heart captivator, and worth her weight in gold," finished the familiar voice which Peace could not quite place in her memory. "Kiss me!"
Passively she allowed him to embrace her as he had greeted the other sisters, and then squirming out of his arms, she backed into a corner, where she frowned impartially on the excited group, all talking at once, while she tried to puzzle out how this man could be "Grandpa" when all her own relatives had long since been carried away by the angels.
"I'll bet he is a make-believe," she told herself; "and he's got them all fooled proper. Maybe he wants the farm, seeing old Skinflint didn't get it. I am going to ask Mrs. Grinnell. She had sense enough to run when the kissing began."
Peace slipped noiselessly through the nearby door, and fled to the kitchen, where their kind neighbor was busy dishing up the forgotten dinner, demanding, "Is he really a grandpa we didn't know anything about, or is he a make-believefrog?"
"Make-believe frog!" echoed matter-of-fact Mrs. Grinnell. "Do you mean fraud? Well, he certainly ain't a fraud, Peace Greenfield! He's a big man. Everyone in the state knows him, pretty near. He is Dr. Campbell of the University. 'Tisn't every little girl that can have an adopted—Peace, I am afraid you and Cherry will have to wait until the rest are through eating."
"That's where you are mistaken," returned Peace with energy. "Gail said only last night that there was room for all."
"But she wasn't expecting the Campbells for supper."
"Oh, dear, if that ain't always the way! Gail, must I wait?"
Gail had just hurriedly entered the kitchen, fearful lest the forgotten dinner was spoiled, but seeing the great bowl of gravy on the table, and Mrs. Grinnell busy mashing the potatoes, she sighed in relief and stopped to answer, "I am afraid you must, dear."
"After you said we wouldn't have to?"
"I didn't look for Grandpa and Grandma Campbell until later, Peace. We can't askthemto wait."
"Faith and Hope might for once. Theyneverhave to!"
"Faith is to serve dinner, and Hope is needed at the table."
"Which I s'pose means Cherry and me ain't needed," cried the disappointed child.
"Peace! I am ashamed of such a little pig."
"It ain't piggishness, Gail. I don't want a whole hen, I want just a drumstick," protested Peace, with two real tears in her eyes.
"Oh, dear, now we are in for a scene," sighed the older girl, anxious to avert the storm. "Now be reasonable, Peace. If you will wait like a good little girl, you shall have a drumstick. Look at Cherry,—she doesn't make a fuss at all. You will be sorry by and by if you cry and get your eyes all red."
"Is there to be a s'prise?" asked Peace in animated curiosity.
"Yes,sucha splendid one!"
"I'm not going to cry, Gail. Those two tears just got loose 'fore I knew it. I will stay in the parlor with Cherry all right, but don't take too long a time eating dinner, anddon'tforget my drumstick."
With this parting warning she flew back into the front room and announced, "Dinner is ready, folkses! Faith, tell them where to sit; and say, you all better eat fast, 'cause Gail says there is a big s'prise coming."
Slamming the door behind them as they filed out into the dining-room, she sat down in the nearest chair and faced Cherry with a droll look of resignation, saying, "Well, Charity Greenfield, how do you like being one of the children and having to wait every time we have comp'ny? When I have a family of my own, I'll make the visitors do the waiting."
"I don't mind it much," answered Cherry, serenely. "There is a heap of victuals cooked. Mrs. Grinnell said she guessed we must have been expecting a regiment."
Peace sniffed the air hungrily, rose with deliberation from the rocker, tiptoed to the door, opened it a crack and peeked out at the merry diners. Then she let go of the knob with a jerk, wheeled toward Cherry and whispered, "Just as I 'xpected! That manhasgot a drumstick and he just gave Allee one. He's stuffing her for all he's worth. First thing we know, she will be sick."
"Yes, and you banged that door, too, so they must have heard you," said Cherry indignantly.
"Maybe 'twill hurry them up. I don't seehowI can wait."
"Get a book and read. Then the time will seem shorter."
Peace rocked idly back and forth a few turns, patching her companion in misery, who seemed so absorbed in her story that even the thoughts of no dinner did not disturb her; then she stalked over to the battered bookcase, drew out a big, green-covered book which evidently had been often read, for the binding was in rags, and sat down on the rug to digest its contents.
"'Bright was the summer of 1296. The war which had desolated Scotland was then at an end,'" read Peace slowly, spelling out the long, unfamiliar words and finding it dry reading. She turned the yellowed pages rapidly in search of pictures, but found none. She skipped several lines and began again to read, "'But while the courts of Edward, or of his representatives, were crowded—' oh, dear, what does it mean? There ain't a mite of sense in using such long words. Cherry, what is this book about?"
"'Scottish Chiefs?'" said the sister, looking up indifferently. "I don't know. Ask Hope. She had to read it last year when they studied English history."
"I thought maybe 'twas about Indians. I didn't know other things were called chiefs. My, I can smell dinner awfully plain! They've been at it long enough to have finished, seems to me. I'm going to peek again."
"You better not let that door slam," warned Cherry, "or Gail will be getting after you."
"I don't intend to. It slipped the other time. There goes another drumstick!" she wailed dismally, forgetting to speak in whispers; and the amazed guests beheld a flushed, distressed face popped through the wide crack of the door, as rebellious Peace called in bitter indignation, "Remember, all the family haven't had dinner yet, and chickens don't grow on every bush!"
"Peace!" gasped poor, mortified Gail.
"Ha-ha-ha!" roared the minister, and President Campbell called after the little figure which had vanished behind the closed door once more, "That is right, Peace! You needn't stay in there another minute. Here is plenty of room for you and Cherry in my lap."
The only answer was the sound of a choking sob from the adjoining room, and the college president started to his feet with remorse in his heart, pleading, "Let me get her! It's too bad to shut them off there to wait for us older folks to eat dinner. I know from experience."
But Gail stopped him, saying firmly, "No, it was very naughty of her to do that, and she can't have any dinner at all now until she has apologized."
"You are hard on her."
"She must remember her manners. I resign my authority to you and Grandma in a few hours," she answered laughingly, "but until then she must mind me."
"Pleaselet me bring them out here with us, anyway," he urged. "She will apologize; and around the table is a good place for the big 's'prise' she is expecting."
"Very well," she answered reluctantly.
Excusing himself to the little dinner party, he disappeared behind the parlor door, whispered a few words to the conscience-stricken culprit in the corner, and in a surprisingly short time reappeared with two smiling little girls.
Peace's eyes were red, and one lone tear stood on the rosy cheek, but she marched up to the table, bowed, and said with some embarrassment, but in all sincerity, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've already told Grandpa, and he said it was all right—I apologize. I s'pose you are hungry, same as I, and that's what has kept you busy eating for so long. I shouldn't have hollered at you from the door like I did, but if you wanted that drumstick as bad as I do, you'd have hollered, too. Now can I have my dinner? Cherry, you sit in half of Allee's chair. Faith, Hope will give you a piece of her place, and I am to have half of Grandpa's. That's all his plan, so come along, Faith. Please pass me my drumstick. You've already blessed it, haven't you?"
"Peace!"
"Now, Gail, please don't scold! This is the last day in the little brown house, you know—"
"What!" burst forth, a chorus of dismayed voices.
"Ain't thatmordigesettled yet?" demanded Peace.
"Oh, yes. I had a long talk with Mr. Strong, and we settled that question forever and all time, I hope. Nevertheless, you aren't going to stay here any longer."
A hush fell over the five younger girls, though Gail was smiling happily with the rest of the little company, and even Baby Glen seemed to appreciate the situation, and cooed gleefully, as he pounded the table with his spoon.
"It's just as I 'xpected," Peace blurted out at length. "I said I bet you wanted the farm yourself, seeing that old Skin—Mr. Skinflint didn't get it."
He threw back his head and laughed loud and long; then the old face sobered, and he said, "No, it isn't that, Peace. We—Grandma and I—want you to come and live with us. Gail says yes. What is your answer?"
"All of us?" whispered Hope in awestruck tones, remembering with fresh fear the midnight conference of a few weeks before.
"All of you!"
"Gail, too?"
"Yes, indeed!"
"Haven't you any children yourself?" asked Allee, not exactly understanding the drift of remarks.
"No, dear. The angels came and took away our two little girlies before they were as big as you are."
"But six is an awful many to raise at once," sighed Peace. "Do you think you can do it?"
"I will try if you will come."
"Do you live in Martindale?"
"Yes."
"Is your house big enough?"
"It has ten big rooms and an attic. Won't that do?"
"Y—es. Do you lick?"
"Do I lick?" he echoed in surprise.
"When we are bad, you know."
"Oh! Well, I can, but I don't very often. I am pretty easy to get along with; but folks have to mind. I am fond ofgoodchildren."
"I'musuallygood. I have been bad today, but I am ever so sorry now. I always am when it's too late to mend matters. But I don't want you to think I am always such a pig and have to 'pologize for my dinner. Yes, I'll come to live with you, and of course the others will. Mrs. Grinnell says you are an awfully nice man."
"I am sure I thank Mrs. Grinnell," he answered with twinkling eyes, bowing gravely to the embarrassed lady across the table.
"But what I can't see is how you came to pick us out to take home with you,—Mr. Tramp!" She started to her feet in astonishment, having suddenly fitted the familiar face into its place in her memory.
"At your service, ma'am."
"Ain't you my tramp?"
"Yes."
"Then you are just fooling about our going to live with, you."
"Not at all. I mean every word of it. Ask Grandma, ask Brother Strong, ask Gail, any of them."
"But what about the tramp?" she half whispered, still too dazed to understand.
"That is rather a long story," he smiled, stroking the tight ringlets of brown on one side of him, and the bright, golden curls on the other. "A year ago last spring I tried to be ill—play sick, you know; and the doctor told me a vacation of tramping was what I needed to put me in tune again. Having some pet theories in regard to the tramp problem of this country, I decided to take his words literally, so I turned tramp myself—just for a little time, you see. That is how you saw me first. I told my wife it was a case of love at first sight, and I became so much interested in this brave little family that I have kept watch ever since.
"Here was a family without any father and mother, and there were a father and mother without any family. You needed the one and we needed the other. But at first the way didn't seem clear. I was given to understand that you didn't want to be adopted, and as I found that Gail was legally old enough to take care of the family, I was just on the point of preparing to play guardian angel instead of grandfather, when I chanced upon some old church records telling about your own grandfather's death. It gave a brief account of his life, and I was astonished to find that I knew him well,—in fact, as my big brother."
"Tell us about it," pleaded Hope, as he paused reminiscently.
"When I was a little shaver my father was a seaman, captain of a ship; but his whole fortune consisted of his vessel, his wife and son. Mother and I often used to go with him on his trips, but for some reason he left me at home the last time he set sail, and he never came back. New Orleans was his port. Yellow fever broke out while he was there, and so far as I have been able to find out, every soul of his crew died of it. I had been left with a neighbor who had her hands full looking after her own children; so, when word came that my parents were both dead, she sent for the town officers, and told them I must go to the poor-farm. I was only about the size of Allee, here, but I knew that the poor-farm was a place much dreaded, and rather than be taken there, I tried to run away. Your grandfather found me. He was one of our nearest neighbors and knew me well, so when I sobbed out the whole terrible story into his sympathetic ears, he adopted me on the spot. He wasn't more than a dozen years old himself, but he had a heart big enough to take in the whole world, and when he had coaxed me home with him and told his mother about my misfortune, I knew I was safe. They would never send me away again. So Hiram Allen became my big brother, and the Allen home was mine for ten long years. Then an uncle of mine whom everyone had thought was dead put in appearance and took me to sea on a long voyage which covered the greater part of four years. When I returned, Mother and Father Allen were dead and the younger fry had gone West,—no one seemed to know where. Then and there I completely lost sight of them, and it was only by chance that I—"
"Grandpa's name wasn't Hi Allen," mused Faith aloud, with a puzzled look in her eyes. "It was Greenfield, just like ours."
"Yes; that is one reason, I suppose, why I never found my big brother of my boyhood days. You see, he had a stepfather. His own parent was drowned at sea when he was a tiny baby, and his mother married again; so he was known all over the place as Hi Allen instead of Hi Greenfield, which was his real name. When he grew to manhood and entered the ministry he decided to take his own name. But, though I dimly remembered having heard people say that Mr. Allen wasn't Hi's own father, I never heard his real name spoken, to my knowledge, and I never once thought of the possibility of his assuming it in place of his stepfather's.
"When I discovered your grandfather's identity only a few days ago, the way seemed suddenly open to me. Hi Allen had shared his home with me when I was an orphan; I would share my home with his little granddaughters, alone in the world and in trouble,—for by this time I had heard about the mortgage and the battle being fought in the little brown house to keep the family together. Mothering this big brood is too great a task for Gail. She needs mothering herself. We want to adopt you, mother and I. Will you let us; for the sake of the dear grandfather who did so much for me?"
His face was so full of yearning tenderness that tears came to the eyes of the older members of the queer little party, and even the children had to swallow hard.
"I have talked the matter over with Gail, and she agrees if the rest of you will consent. I am not a millionaire, but we are pretty well fixed in a material way and can give you a great many pleasures and advantages that the little town of Parker can never offer. There are fine schools in the city, and college for Gail. We have a piano and violin and all sorts of music, a horse and buggy, a big barn, and a splendid yard in a nice locality, with plenty of room for tennis or any other kind of gymnastics. Maybe some day there will be an automobile—"
"I don't care about pianos and nautomobiles," interrupted Peace. "It's the kind of people you are that I am thinking about. Mrs. Grinnell says you're the president of a big college and everyone knows you. If that's so, you ought to be pretty nice, I sh'd think.Ilike you, anyhow, and I b'lieve you'll like us, too. But I'm an awful case, even when I don't mean to be. Maybe you would rather—didn't I—weren't you—I saw you in Swift & Smart's store!"
"Yes, my lady! Twice in the city I have seen you and Allee, and both times I thought surely you knew me, but I don't believe you did."
"No, I didn't. I 'member now. It was you who gave us that gold money when we were selling flowers. But you look different with new clothes on and a clean face."
"Why, you little rascal! Wasn't my face clean when I came here to get something to eat?"
"It might have been, but it was prickly looking with the mustache all over your chin, and I like you lots better this way. I almost didn't know you the night you got supper for us, either."
"And the rice burned."
"And I broke Bossy's leg and you sent us Queenie to take her place, and Faith said I was worse than Jack of the Bean Stalk, and—I bet youarethe fellow that pinned the money to the gatepost and grain sacks! Now, aren't you?"
"I am afraid I am."
"You told me once before that you weren't."
"No, I didn't. I just asked you if it wouldn't be a queer kind oftrampwho could do such a thing. Isn't that what I said?"
"Y—es," she finally acknowledged. Then the puzzled frown in her forehead smoothed itself away and she wheeled toward the oldest sister with the triumphant shout, "There, Gail, didn't I tell you he was a prince in disgus—disguise? Now ain't you sorry you didn't spend the money? She has got it all saved away yet. I must kiss you for that, Grandpa, even if it didn't do us any good." She threw her arms, drumstick and all, about his neck and gave him a greasy smack, immediately rubbing her lips with the back of one hand.
"Aha! That's no fair," he protested. "You rubbed that off."