CHAPTER IVBASKETS AND HUMBLE FRIENDS
Monday brought a Betty “chastened in spirit,” she said, to school. She had spent Saturday and Sunday in bed for the most part and walked to her classes without animation. At lunch the girls, though sorry, could not help laughing over her comical remarks. She had had nothing to do but “think of her sins of omission and commission,” she told them, and worst of all, this morning, at the last minute, she and Carolyn remembered that the lesson they “had ahead” was Cicero and they always hadproseon Monday!
“Was that why your hand didn’t go up as usual?” cried Peggy Pollard. “I thought it was your cold and that you were half sick!”
“That is what I’m hoping all my teachers thought this morning; but I could look over my work in bed, so I didn’t ask to be excused from reciting. I thought I could get through.” Betty sighed. “I never had half sympathy enough for girls who aren’t strong.”
“I’m so glad you’ve had this lesson,” said a plump and rosy Carolyn. “I’m so delicate!”
Dotty Bradshaw hooted at this and Mary Emma Howland reminded Betty that there was a meeting after school to see about the Thanksgiving basket that Lyon “Y” was to send or take. “You can come and preside, can’t you, Betty?”
“I think so,” said Betty, brightening a little, “but I’m only the president, not the committee, though I was on it.”
“You’ll have to appoint a new committee, Betty,” said Kathryn, “for the chairman of the usual committee is a friend of Clara’s and I heard her say that the election ‘let her out.’”
Betty looked sober. She recalled the disagreeable experience of Thursday night, of which she had thought many times during those two days of being shut in. The ideals of a Girl Reserve group called for a pleasant spirit on the part of its president. “Well, girls, we’ll just wait and see what happens. Can I count on all of you to help me out? I think we don’t want a bit of trouble and whatever the girls want to do, we’ll just accept it, though sorry, you know.”
Carolyn nodded her approval and Kathryn said that they would stand shoulder to shoulder and “eye to eye!” “By the way, Betty, Chauncey said that he would drive us wherever we have to take that basket. He said we oughtn’t to go to some places without a ‘guard’ and that he would be it.”
“That takes a load off my shoulders,” replied the new president. “Father can’t do it and I thought I’d find out from Miss Street how they managed it. I wasn’t on the committee last year. Miss Hogarth is the one who tells us about the families, you know, but Miss Street will consult her. Mary Emma, may I appoint you a committee of one to see every girl and tell her to be sure to bring what she promised—sugar, flour—I have the list somewhere—on Wednesday I’ll announce it at the meeting but not everybody will be there.”
Mary Emma promised and then some one mentioned the other sad omission that made it a “blue Monday,” the fact that there had been no celebration of their victory. “They might have had a nice assembly this morning to celebrate,” said Dotty.
“Miss Orme said that it was bad enough to have ordinary ‘Monday’ lessons,” chuckled Peggy, “without an assembly to ball up the program and make things worse; and the principal must have agreed with her. Miss Heath said that it would have been pleasant, but she didn’t seem enthusiastic either.”
“We celebrated on the spot,” said Kathryn, with a picture of the rejoicing stadium in her mind.
Betty said nothing. She was tired. She would have welcomed an assembly, but it did not matter. The morning was over. But Mary Emma brought up one incident as they left the lunch room side by side. “Ithoughtit was funny that you were rejoicing about having your Cicero out ahead; but I knew you kept ahead on your schedule whenever possible, so it never occurred to me to remind you of prose-comp on Monday!”
Betty gave Mary Emma a comical look, but they hurried on to the next duty.
At the Lyon “Y” meeting after school, Betty was relieved to find that only the chairman of the committee had resigned. She promptly appointed the proper one of the committee to take her place and filled the vacancy by appointing Kathryn, for the very good reason that Chauncey would then be properly available as chauffeur and guard. Mary Emma was duly appointed as a special committee of one to take charge of reminding and notifying and to help with gathering in.
On Wednesday afternoon there was great activity about the room in which the committee met. Chauncey, looking like a larger edition of Kathryn, stuck his head inside of the door to call to Betty. “Be back in a minute, Betty. I’ve got to get the car, you know. If it isn’t out there, I’ll have to go home for it. Tried to arrange to have it brought, but ‘Ah dunno!’”
Betty ran from a confusion of girls and bundles to speak to him and Kathryn, bending over a basket, looked up to nod brightly at her brother. “There isn’t the least hurry, Chauncey,” said Betty. “You’ll have plenty of time to go home by street car if you have to. So much has been brought in, more than we asked for, that I think we’ll fix two baskets. We can stop to buy two or three things that weren’t duplicated.”
“Need another basket?” asked Chauncey, looking at the array.
“Oh, yes, Chauncey,” called Kathryn. “Get one of ours. You know where.”
That settled one matter. Betty had thought they would stop at a grocery and buy one as they finished their shopping. There were many little details to carry out in making up Thanksgiving baskets, Betty found. Mary Emma was the one responsible for the extra donations. She was now defending herself to a senior member of the committee.
“Well, I know we planned one basket and I saw everybody who was to bring the things for that, but when other girls were interested and wanted to bring something I couldn’t refuse, could I? It was just started by some of them when they overheard what I said to somebody.”
“Why, Mary Emma,” said Betty, “somebody will bless you for getting more. We’ve got enough money from what you collected to get the rest we need to fill out. The only question is where’s it going. Mary Emma, please go to find Miss Hogarth. She can’t have gone home yet. I wonder where Miss Street is.”
“She was called home. I forgot to tell you, Betty,” said one of the girls. “She was all worried about our going all alone and told us to see Miss Hogarth. She telephoned from home. Somebody’s sick. I told her that one of the girls’ brother, a senior, was going to drive us to the address and she was awfully relieved.”
“Then that’s that,” said Betty, consulting her list to see if everything in the one large basket was checked off properly. The rest of the bundles they gathered together, after examination, and made a list of the articles needed for the second basket. Mary Emma returned from seeing Miss Hogarth to say that everybody on Miss Hogarth’s list had been provided for and that if the girls had so much, she’d advise their taking it to the Associated Charities.
Some of the girls liked that idea and others did not. There was a brief argument about the matter till Betty suggested that they deliver the first basket and then decide about the other. “We might see some place where a basket is needed, you know,” she said.
They waited a little for Chauncey, who arrived, however, sooner than they thought it possible, since it had turned out to be necessary for him to go home. Budd LeRoy accompanied him to the door of the room where the girls waited, such of them as were ably to accompany the expedition. The boys carried the baskets, two of them now, since Chauncey had found one at home, and the girls helped with packages that were in danger of being dropped off. “Please remember which baskets those things came from,” Betty reminded them and they started, through the halls and down the stairs, to the basement and outer door at the rear, in great mirth and spirits.
“Is this the relief corps!” asked Mr. Franklin, whom they met on the way, and several gay voices answered him.
When the car finally rolled out of the drive upon the wide thoroughfare with its procession of swift machines, there were Budd and Chauncey in front, Betty, Kathryn and one senior girl, whom Betty knew, though not very well, occupying the back. Mary Emma could not go with them and the others, who were either on the committee or were helping after bringing in their contributions, had scattered.
Betty and the senior, Lilian Norris, a sister of Ted’s friend, Harry Norris, went into the grocery, at which they stopped, to purchase the extra articles. “Let’s stick in a little candy,” suggested Lilian, looking at some tempting supplies in a glass case.
“Yes, let’s,” assented Betty. “I’ve some money of my own along.”
“So have I,” said Lilian. “There are some kiddies in this family.”
The car went on, Chauncey quiet and skilful in his driving. He avoided the main avenues of traffic in getting through the center of the town to a district quite unknown to Betty. There stood old houses, once occupied by one family, with first, second and third floors and basement. Now every floor housed more than one family, who lived in these close quarters because they could not pay a higher rent, though many of them paid far too much for having a roof over their heads, whatever hardships of living in this way was theirs.
The young people hushed their conversation and the car went slowly where children played in the street or wagons and trucks blocked the way. “It has to be in this square, Chauncey,” said Kathryn, looking at the address which Betty had handed her. Chauncey and Kathryn knew the names of the streets, though from time to time Chauncey glanced at the street signs.
Now a shrill siren called and Chauncey drew the Allen car as close to the sidewalk as possible, while a car whied by and was followed by the dashing fire-trucks. “Oh, poor things,” cried Kathryn, “think of having a fire in one of those houses!”
They could see smoke at a distance, but no flames. Budd left the car to look at the numbers on the doors nearby. “It’s on this side of the street, by good luck,” he reported. “Drive a little farther down, Chauncey. It must be near the corner.”
Chauncey backed his car from between a truck and an old grocery wagon, though Kathryn suggested that he just park the car where he was. “Nup,” said Chauncey. “I want the car right by where you climb to the top of one of these places, maybe. What in the world did Miss Hogarth choose a place like this for?”
“Maybe she didn’t choose. Perhaps somebody that needs things to eat lives here,” replied Kathryn.
“I’d say you’re right,” returned Chauncey. “But I smell cabbage. Somebody has that much anyway.”
Chauncey remained in the car, after helping Budd lift out the larger of the baskets. Lilian jumped out, though saying in a low tone to Betty that she “certainly hated to go up that stairway.”
“Well,” replied Betty, “it would probably be better if there weren’t too many. You stay with Chauncey and Kathryn, Lilian. I’ll go with Budd.”
“Me, too,” said Kathryn, hopping out of the car. “I see a policeman, Chauncey. We’re all right. He’s coming this way.”
While the policeman really approached and stopped a moment to chat with Chauncey, probably with an idea of protecting the good-looking car and its occupants as well as with possible curiosity, Budd led the way upstairs to the door on the third floor to which their instructions directed them. He set down the basket and knocked.
A dingy little girl answered the knock. “How-do-you-do,” said Budd. “Is this the place where Mrs. Harry Woods lives?”
“Yes, sir,” politely said the little girl, eying the basket.
“Ina,” said a voice, “ask them in.” A tired-looking but pleasant-faced woman came from some room beyond, laid a baby upon a large double bed that stood in one corner, and came toward the door. She made a gesture toward a pail of suds that stood near the stove. A tub balanced upon an upturned chair; and a mop was in the pail. “I’m sorry that we aren’t cleaned up, and so late in the afternoon; but the baby was cross. His teeth bother him.”
Budd looked at Betty and stepped back behind her, uncertain whether the plan included entering the place or not. Betty, smiling, said, “Oh, that’s quite all right. There is always so much cleaning to do with a family. Miss Hogarth told us where you lived, but we’ll not come in; we just brought you a little present, a reminder of Thanksgiving, you know.”
Tears came into the eyes of the woman. “Miss Hogarth—may God bless her! She was here once.”
Budd was lifting the basket, preparatory to setting it within the room, when a clatter of heels on the stairway behind him indicated some new arrivals. Three children of various ages ran up behind the visitors and as they moved to give them the opportunity, ran into the room. “These are my other children,” said Mrs. Woods, rather proudly. “As soon ashegets work we’ll be all right again, but I surely thank you for helping out our Thanksgiving.”
She started to take the basket from Budd, who remarked that it was pretty heavy for her and he would set it inside. Mrs. Woods indicated the floor under a table which was full of various articles.
The four children, in different attitudes, watched proceedings, though their mother had suggested that they go “into the bedroom and wash up.”
Ina, the oldest one, a serious little thing, as well the oldest might be in this family, started to say something, hesitated and then remarked, “Sevilla’s haven’t had anything to eat for two days, Ma. Could we give them a bit out of that?” Ina pointed to the basket, and Mrs. Woods turned toward her with surprise.
“How do you know that, Ina?” she asked.
“Oh, Rosie sat down on the stairs this morning and when I asked her what was the matter she said she guessed she felt weak. I said was she sick and she said yes, sick about having to pay out all she had in the rent and there wasn’t any left for food. She was hurryin’ to finish some sewin’ she was doin’ for somebody, she said. I just plain asked her when she’d had her last meal and she said night before last.”
“Oh—how dreadful!” cried Betty. “Who are the Sevillas and where do they live? We have an extra basket downstairs and I was going to ask you, Mrs. Woods, if you knew anybody that needed it.” Where had Betty heard that name? “Sevilla” sounded familiar.
Mrs. Woods shook her head. “I knowdozensthat need it. Why, the Sevillas live just below us on the second floor. There’s only two of them, Rosie and the old lady. They’re foreigners and the old lady can’t speak English. I think they were used to having money in the old country. Rosie’s got the wreck of a fur coat and the old lady fixes up sometimes. If you’ve another basket—but you’ll have to be careful how you give it. They’re awful proud. I would be myself if it wasn’t for the children. But I can’t see them go hungry, or even miss their Thanksgiving and Christmas good times if they are offered to them.”
“How would it do if you went with us, Mrs. Woods, and fixed it up about its being a present—and it is! We had a good time fixing up the baskets and we like to share our Thanksgiving, you know.”
Betty’s voice was very earnest and sweet as she said this. Mrs. Woods answered her smile. “Bless you,” she said, “I’ll do it. Watch the baby, Ina, and keep the other children in here while I go down to Rosie’s.”
Throwing her apron over her head, Mrs. Woods led Budd, Betty and Kathryn down the rickety, dingy stairway to the second floor, where she knocked on a door once shining in its dark wood. But it had been painted and the paint had come off in peeling blotches. Budd ran down the one flight to get the other basket from the car. They waited and Mrs. Woods knocked again. Then there was a stir inside and slow steps approached the door. “Rosie’s out,” whispered Mrs. Woods, “and it’s a good thing. You just stand back a little and I’ll take in the basket.”
The door opened. A tall old woman with lined face stood there, looking soberly at the party. “How-de-do, Mrs. Sevilla,” said Mrs. Woods. “Here’s a basket that I’ll tell Rosie about when she comes in. It’s a present for you for Thanksgiving. I’ll just carry it in for you.”
The dark eyes looked puled and Mrs. Sevilla was probably going to make some protest, but Mrs. Woods calmly set the basket inside of the door, whose handle she took to close it. “How are you today, Mrs. Sevilla?” she asked.
The reply was made in a foreign tongue, but the question was evidently understood. With a puled look the apparently aged woman regarded the basket; and Mrs. Woods, backing out, gently closed the door. “Rosie will come home and find it and then she’ll come to see me, and it will be too late to give it back; see?”
Betty tried to thank Mrs. Woods, and wishing her a pleasant Thanksgiving, the trio hurried away. Betty knew now where she had seen the name Sevilla. But it might not mean anything. There were probably others of that name among the foreigners of the city. But the dark tragic eyes of the old lady haunted her.
Lilian wanted to know what had happened and listened to Kathryn’s full report, with vivid descriptions. “That certainly was the most mysterious old lady I’ve ever seen,” said Kathryn.
“I’ll say the most tragic,” said Betty.
In her turn Lilian had much to say about what the policeman had told Chauncey. “The street where we were,” said Lilian as they swiftly left the district, “is pretty good, the policeman said, with people mostly quiet except all the children; but only one street over and it is awful—I don’t know how many terrible things have happened there this year. He told us not to come that way after night and that the daytime was none too safe.”
“Oh, he was seeing how much he could scare you,” laughed Chauncey, but he and Budd exchanged looks.
CHAPTER VLUCIA DRESSES A DOLL
In all this time Betty had not seen, except casually, Lucia, who had said that she had something to tell her. Both had been in a rush the next time they met and Lucia said that she would postpone what she wanted to talk about. Betty wondered if it were anything important, particularly if it had anything to do with Lucia’s personal problems. From Lucia’s manner, she imagined that it had. Lucia’s life always commanded Betty’s interest. It was so “different.”
The paper had a long account of festivities at the Murchison mansion during the Thanksgiving vacation. Lucia would be busy with all the entertaining, though their guests at the house and at the various little parties seemed to be adults.
The girls were busy that first Monday morning, but on arriving at the home room and running to and from the lockers Lucia and Betty exchanged greetings and Lucia said, “Please be my guest at lunch today, Betty. We go to first lunch, I believe, and it ought to be good, though I suppose you are as fed up on turkey and stuff as I am.”
“Yes,” brightly returned Betty—“turkey and stuffing. But I’d never get tired of it and I doubt if we have it this noon.”
“No, of course not. I mean that appetite might not be all that it sometimes is.”
“Watch me,” laughed Betty. “I may not want much, but by noon I’m always ready to feed the ‘inner man.’ And thank you, but I think I’d better be my own guest.”
“Please, Betty,” Lucia persuaded. “I’ve a plan.”
“Good. I’ll love to hear it. And I want to talk to you about joining the Lyon ‘Y.’ Did you know that they made me president of it? We want to have a membership campaign and make it a big group. Please think about joining it, won’t you?”
“Why yes, I might, if it isn’t too much work. What do they do? I’ve never paid much attention to it.”
Betty explained, as they sat down in the home room to wait for the bell that called them to order. She told about their meetings, referring to the time she had been at the camp, and described their preparing and delivering the Thanksgiving baskets.
Lucia looked interested and asked Betty why she had not asked her to help with the gifts. “I could have done something as well as not,” she said.
“There’s plenty of time to do something,” Betty told her. “We’re going to dress dolls for Christmas and, I imagine, fill a basket again. How would you like to dress a doll?”
Lucia smiled at that. “I’ve never dressed a doll in my life,” said she, “but I’ll buy one and have it dressed. That would be fun. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I asked Mother if I might have you for a week-end some time, and we’ll see to it then—if you’ll come. Will you?”
“Of course I will!”
“That was what I wanted to plan at Thanksgiving, but I found that I could not, on account of all Mother had on hand. I have a few worries to talk over with you, if you don’t mind, and I’ll get one of the maids to do most of the sewing. Do you know about doll patterns and things like that?”
“I think so; enough, anyhow.”
“Perhaps we could have a meeting of the girls at our house and everybody dress dolls together.”
“That will be wonderful, Lucia! You will join us, then?”
“Yes, Betty. I’m a Lyon ‘Y’ forever, always provided I don’t have to do too much.”
“I’m not worried about that, Lucia. You see, it doesn’t take much time for meetings. We just try to live up to a few ideals, and hear good talks, and have fun, and do a little sometimes for poor people.”
“Living up to the ideals will be the worst for me, I’m sure,” laughed Lucia. But the last gong rang and the girls were obliged to take their own seats, Betty thinking as she often did, how soon Lucia had slipped into the ways and spirit of the other girls. She was different, too; yet considering how very unlike the life of American girls Lucia’s had been, it showed “great adaptability,” as Mrs. Lee had called it, for her to enter into the school life as she had.
The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas flew as it always does. Betty found that it was not such a task to be a president as she had thought. The other officers and committees took an interest and programs were easy to plan with all the people they knew who could talk to them or “do things.” The leader from the “Y. W.” and Miss Street, the leader of the group, were behind them and had ideas. The membership drive was inaugurated and went over well. The girls were interested in the doll dressing and when Lucia invited the entire group to meet at “her house” one Saturday afternoon, there were several more members at once. Mathilde Finn and “her crowd,” as Carolyn put it, joined at once.
“Finny,” said Dotty Bradshaw, “will not be much good to us, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, yes she will,” answered Selma Rardon. “She’ll copy Lucia, and it will dohergood to be in it, Finny, I mean.”
“It does all of us good, Selma,” said the young president, “and I think it is wonderful of Lucia to think of the very thing she can do to help us most right now.”
In consequence of this plan, two weeks before Christmas or about that time, Betty found herself going home with Lucia on Friday afternoon. Her father had delivered her at school that morning with her over-night bag, which reposed in her locker all day. The Murchison car was waiting at the curb when the girls left the school grounds and Betty tried hard not to feel any importance as she entered it. It was rather pleasant to have Lucia choose her from all of her friends for the week-end. But she had been the first friend, after all.
Among the crowds of departing pupils, one of the senior girls said to Clara Lovel, “If Betty Lee hadn’t stuck herself in to be elected president of Lyon ‘Y,’youwould be going home with Lucia, Clara!”
But Marcella Waite, who happened to be with the girls, knew the folly of such a statement. “It isn’t just a Lyon ‘Y’ affair, Bess,” she said. “Betty’s going to stay the week-end. Her father is in the Murchison business and he and Betty met the boat the countess came in on at New York. Besides, Lucia doesn’t need any one to help her get ready to entertain. They have all the help they want, butler, maids and all the rest of it.”
“Well, you may be glad you aren’t in the group this year, Marcella,” said Clara, “with ajuniorfor president!”
Of this interchange Betty was blissfully unconscious as she was whirled away in the same dark crimson or wine-colored car that Betty had first entered on the morning when she accompanied the countess and her daughter to school, at Lucia’s entrance there. Leaning back luxuriously in the soft seat, by Lucia, Betty dismissed all cares of school and lessons for the time being. It was all planned. She and Lucia would finish getting Monday’s lesson that night. On Saturday morning they would be driven down town for shopping and have lunch. They would get anything necessary for the afternoon’s meeting and return in time for the arrival of the girls.
After the meeting with the girls, who were to be served a lovely luncheon, Betty guessed from Lucia’s remarks, there would follow the visit with Lucia, till Monday morning took them to school again. What delights might develop Betty could only guess, but in that house a guest would not be neglected she knew.
Lucia was in fine spirits. No hint of any worries which she might have could have been gleaned from anything in her expression or conversation. They discussed the last school news and looked hastily through the copy, just out, of the school paper. The pictures of the football team were prominent with a snapshot of “Kentucky” on the shoulders of admiring rooters. Prominent seniors were being written up and this time Marcella Waite was the choice of the editors. Her picture was at the top of the page and below was a brief resume of Marcella’s character and activities.
“This is good,” said Lucia, close to Betty as they read the paper together, as well as they could for the motion of the car. “Marcella is the finest girl in the Kappa Upsilon sorority.”
“Don’t you like Peggy?” queried Betty.
“Oh, yes. Peggy’s all right, but Marcella is older and very fine.”
“I think so, too. I suspect that you see a good deal of Marcella, since you have been together in the sorority, you know.”
“Not so much. Sometimes Marcella scarcely has time for sorority meetings.”
So they chatted till they entered the grounds of the Murchison place, covered with snow now, the evergreens, heavy-laden, most beautiful to behold, and other great trees, tall and bare, outlined in black and white with the snow that clung to their branches. Betty became rather silent, while Lucia outlined plans and spoke happily of the fun that she hoped the girls would have with their sewing and visiting.
Betty was not accustomed to being admitted by a butler, but demurely followed Lucia up softly carpeted stairs to Lucia’s own room, where Lucia rang for her maid. Their wraps were first disposed of and Lucia followed Betty into the room which was to be hers for the short visit. “I thought at first,” said Lucia, “that I would rather have another bed put in my room, Betty, so that we could talk as long as we wanted to. My bed is one of twin beds and this is the other one. But then I’m used to sleeping alone, Mother reminded me; and she said that probably you were, too, and that we’d better do this way. I hope that you will like the room.”
“It is a lovely room!” enthusiastically cried Betty, though with her voice properly subdued. One could not imagine, Betty thought, that any one could come in talking as noisily as the Lee children occasionally found themselves doing in the sweet liberty of home. Still, their mother would hush too great a tumult, or their father would say quietly, “I’m not in Buxton, Dick. I can easily hear an ordinary tone!”
The maid unpacked Betty’s bag and asked if she should press the dress, confined in the bag all day. Knowing that the Murchison house was very warm, Betty had packed a thin chiffon dress, while wearing a dress to school, as well, that was a little better than common.
“That hangs out easily,” said Betty, “but it is just as Lucia says.”
“Press it then, Giovanna,” said Lucia, and the maid vanished with the frock.
The girls did a little temporary grooming, but Lucia said that they would just visit until time to dress for dinner. The dinner hour, she said, was any time from seven to eight o’clock, according to when Mr. Murchison came, or whether or not they had guests, or what ideas about it her mother had. The servants had learned to adjust themselves to some irregularity. “We have a good class of servants,” said Lucia, “and Uncle pays them well, which insures good service as a rule. Giovanna has been with me a long time and she is like a bit of home.”
“Does your maid like it here?”
“I don’t think so, though this year she seems more resigned and likes to go to the movies. I let her go evenings sometimes and get myself to bed.”
Betty wondered how it would seem to be waited on like that, but she was too busy with her new impressions to do much thinking. “If you are not too tired, Lucia, we might get out our Latin or mathematics together, since we are likely to have so much time before dinner.”
That seemed to be a good plan, but while they made some progress in the lessons, they did more talking, especially after Lucia hopped up to bring out a very beautiful doll, which was to be her contribution. Betty admired quite to Lucia’s satisfaction and Betty did not tell her that the dolls had been bought, alike, simple but pretty, and were to be variously dressed according to the taste of the girl who dressed them. At first she thought that she ought to give Lucia a hint, but she could not bear to spoil Lucia’s interest and she was afraid it would. Probably Lucia would not bring out the doll anyway until the rest were started and then she could use her own judgment. It would turn out all right. Betty was not one to worry unnecessarily.
The girls were still translating when Giovanna appeared to lay out their clothing for dinner. Each was soon occupied with bath and dressing. It was the second one for Betty that day, for she had not anticipated this one before dinner. She chuckled to herself in the tub and wondered how many Lucia took.
Rosy and fresh, she arrayed herself in clean garments and her best frock, hoping that she was “all right” for dinner. Giovanna was busy with Lucia and looked surprised when she entered Betty’s room to find her all dressed. She looked critically at Betty’s hair, but replied that it was “very good,” when Betty asked her if there were anything wrong.
“We’ll go in to see Mother first,” said Lucia, leading the way to the sitting room where Betty had been once before, after the famous hike. The door was closed and Lucia rapped. Countess Coletti’s maid opened the door, to tell them that the countess was still in the bath and to say that she had suggested, if the girls were ready first, a trip upstairs to see “Grandmother.”
Lucia nodded without comment and turned away with Betty. She hesitated. “Mother thinks I ought to go,” she said, “and I suppose she must mean that I take you. Our special friends know, Betty, that Grandmother Ferris is—queer. She is not my grandmother at all, but we call her that. She is the mother of Uncle’s wife and she went to pieces in an accident a few years ago. The doctor says her mind may come back and she’s quite harmless. You might not notice anything, but I thought I’d better tell you for fear she says some of the queer things she does say. She can’t bear to go out of these rooms of hers on the third floor, though we coax her down to sleep in the hot summer days—that is, whoever is here does. Uncle won’t insist on her going to a sanitarium; and so she has a nurse and a maid too and they take turns staying with her. I don’t know what is going to happen when Uncle marries again, and my mother says that he is sure to. That’soneworry in this house, Betty.”
Betty nodded soberly. She rather dreaded going, but if it was Lucia’s duty, she surely could go, too. She had never talked to any one who was “queer.” Perhaps she would not be obliged to say anything. Lucia had a second thought, she said, and went to bring the new doll. This looked not a little like Lucia herself, with its waving black hair and black eyes, though its round cheeks and complacent smile were not a reproduction of Lucia, who was a little thinner than when she had arrived from Italy.
“It may amuse Grandmother to see it,” said Lucia, carrying the box which contained the doll.
Up a winding stair they went to a third floor, as imposing as either the first or second and with ceilings as high as those of the second. “There is a little attic over this floor,” Lucia explained, “which makes the floor quite comfortable even in the summer. They go up to keep a current of air passing in the attic and have to watch that floor in storms, of course, for Grandmother’s rooms would be flooded, perhaps. It’s been rather hard for Uncle to get good help to look after her properly; but now he has a nurse that used to be her maid and likes her.”
A door stood open where Lucia stopped. Betty glanced into a beautifully furnished sitting room where some one was sitting, apparently dozing in her chair, and a keen-looking young woman sat sewing nearby. The older woman started up, though the girls had been very quiet. “Is that Laura?” she asked.
Betty saw an anxious, lined face, not very old but having large, troubled eyes with which she scanned the girls, holding to the arms of her chair and ready to rise.
“Not this time, Grandmother,” replied Lucia in cheerful tones. “I came to show you the doll that I’m going to dress for Christmas. Some little girl that doesn’t have a doll is going to get it. The girls of one of my little clubs are coming here to dress dolls this afternoon and this is Betty Lee, one of my friends at school.”
The wild expression had passed from the elderly lady’s face and she held out her hand to Betty with a slight smile. Betty quickly crossed the space between them to take the hand offered. Oh, the poor, poor lady! Betty knew that Mrs. Murchison’s name was Laura. So she was expecting her daughter to come. Hadn’t they dared to tell her that she never would come?
“Let me see the doll, then Lucia,” said Mrs. Ferris, as naturally as any one, but she added, “I can’t see why Laura doesn’t come. She hasn’t been in to see me today. But she told me yesterday that she had to go to some club. Do you know what it was, Lucia? But you weren’t here then, were you?”
Mrs. Ferris looked troubled again, as if she were trying to recall events and could not. “Don’t you think you’d better call up and see if you can find Laura, Bessie? Tell her I want to see her. Oh, I do want to see Laura so much.”
“Of course,” soothingly said the nurse, addressed as Bessie. Mrs. Ferris thought her her maid as formerly. “Shall I open the box, Miss Lucia?”
But Lucia was already taking the cover from the box and disclosing the doll in its tissue wrappings. “See, Grandmother, it hasn’t a thing to wear. I could have gotten dressed dolls, but I had to dress this myself—only I mean Giovanna to do the sewing!” Lucia made a comical face at her “grandmother,” who laughed. “That is just like you, Laura. You were always a hand to get out of work.”
Turning to Betty, Mrs. Ferris continued. “You know, Mary, that I used to do all the work for Laura and her father and the other children. That was before Mr. Ferris made so much money and the children died, all but Laura. Why, Laura, let me get some of your little brother’s things for this baby. Bessie, go to the lower drawer in my mahogany highboy and get me something to dress this child with! There is a long white dress there that Willie was baptized in, and a flannel shirt and bands and embroidered skirts. Bring everything there is!”
Lucia looked troubled, but Mrs. Ferris had only a happy expression as she cradled the doll in her arms. Bessie, who knew that there were no baby clothes in the highboy, also knew where they were to be found. “Wait a moment, Mrs. Ferris,” said she, as she slipped out from the door and flew up to the attic with the key to a trunk. What a blessing it would be if this doll would prove a distraction! But one never could tell.
Lucia glanced around uneasily, but saw, through a door that stood ajar, that the maid was moving about there and was within call. “Do you think the doll pretty, Grandmother!” she asked. But Mrs. Ferris was now turning the doll over with a puled expression. “Its hair is so long,” she said.
Then Lucia had a bright idea. “Wait till I get the other doll they sent out,” she said, “I decided to take this one because I think it is prettier. But perhaps you will like the other better. It looks like a real baby.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Ferris, still puled.
“Lina,” called Lucia, “come here a minute, will you?”
The maid who was in the bedroom beyond, entered at once and needed no direction as she saw the situation. “I’m going down after another doll, Lina,” said Lucia. “Just wait, Betty.”
“Won’t you sit down, Mary?” asked Mrs. Ferris in a moment, politely indicating a chair. Lina drew it nearer for Betty, who sat down. “How is your mother, Mary?” continued Mrs. Ferris. “I intended to get over to see her yesterday, but the weather was so bad. I don’t like the winter weather.”
Betty saw that Mrs. Ferris expected no answer, but she leaned toward her with a respectful and sympathetic expression on her face. Lina stood quietly by. Then Bessie entered, her arms filled with a large pasteboard box, and Lucia was only a moment or two behind Bessie.
“Here are the things, Mrs. Ferris,” said Bessie, depositing the box on a straight chair that she drew up for the purpose. “Wait, Bessie,” said the maid, “I’ll put up the folding table.”
This was done as Lucia exchanged the one doll for the other, Mrs. Ferris evidently approving the change. The second doll was a baby doll, almost as large as a real baby and with soft golden hair like Betty’s.
“This is the prettier doll,” said Mrs. Ferris quite sensibly. “What made you bring those clothes here, Bessie? Oh, yes. I told you to.” Again Mrs. Ferris looked puled. She considered the doll. “This looks like Willie. I believe it is Willie. Poor little thing, with those cheap clothes on! How did that happen, Bessie?”
In a low tone Lucia spoke to Lina. “I’ll leave this doll with Grandmother. Perhaps it will amuse her; shall we go?”
“Slip away without saying anything,” Bessie whispered, edging around by Lucia. “She will not remember. She is bad today, you see.”
It was a great relief to Betty when Lucia drew her toward the door and out. “Oh, Lucia!” she said as they passed down the stairway, “I am so sorry for her! It was so pitiful!”
“Wasn’t it! I never saw her like that. Usually she is just a little queer, but her mind was all mixed up today. It just about breaks Uncle’s heart to see her, even. She was awfully good to him and made her will leaving everything to Laura and to him, even in case of her daughter’s death. So that is one reason that he wants her to be in her own apartment as long as possible. He can engage people to take care of her, even if she should be difficult to manage and then he knows how she is being treated, you see. Mother has an oversight now, too; but that and some other things are nearly wearing Mother’s nerves to pieces. That is why she has so much company and goes so much, though of course, all her old friends want to see her, too.”
From the sad scene of the third floor Betty was soon transported to the large dining room of the Murchison home, where the Countess Coletti and a few friends, with Mr. Murchison, the head of the house, sat about a beautifully appointed table with its silver, cut glass and china, its flowers and fragrance. There was cheerful, even clever conversation into which Betty was drawn a little at first, as the older guests politely took an interest in the two girls. But Lucia and Betty, side by side, carried on a low conversation, as they found it proper, or listened with interest to that of their elders. Betty was impressed with the grace and social poise of the countess, but did not care very much for a handsome blonde who sat at Mr. Murchison’s right and whom Lucia said was “trying to marry Uncle,” though that remark had been made before the party went into the dining room. Relieved from much necessity of talking to any one, Betty had plenty of opportunity to study the people about the table, from whose voices and conversation she could gather not a little about their personalities. She could also thoroughly enjoy the excellent dinner, served in attractive courses.
The countess sat at the proper hostess end of the table and at her right was a gentleman who could not, or possibly did not try to conceal his rather sentimental interest in the countess. Of him Lucia, naturally, had not spoken, but Betty wondered. She knew what her father would do if anybody would say such silly things to her mother! Did the countess like it? Nobody appeared to pay the least bit of attention to it. So Betty decided that she would not be shocked. Probably that was the silly way of some people.
She wished she had the recipe of a wonderful pudding that melted in your mouth and preceded an ice-cream confection. A smile of amusement curled around her mouth at the idea of asking for a recipe at this distinguished place; but just then one of the ladies said something really funny, a clever reply to the countess, and Betty’s smile extended into laughter with the rest.
At the close of the meal, Lucia led Betty upstairs again; but they were passed by Mr. Murchison, who patted Lucia’s shoulder as he went up and said to Betty that he hoped she would have a pleasant visit. “Make her have a good time, Lucia,” said he, starting up the second flight.
“I’ll try to do so,” replied Lucia.
The girls turned into Lucia’s room and changed their frocks for comfortable kimonos. Had Betty been at home, she would have put on her thick bath robe; but she had brought her silk kimono as appropriate to this visit. Lucia’s negligee was a pretty affair, and Lucia apologized for the absence of the maid by saying that she would be having her dinner now, she supposed. Lucia tossed her clothes on a chair and her bed, for the maid to put away, Betty supposed; but Betty carried hers into her own room and hung them carefully in a closet, not only because she had been taught to do so, for Betty was no angel or averse to letting things go at times, but because she wanted her garments to keep on looking well while she was here and she did not want to seem to impose upon the service offered. Betty did not mind if Lucia thought her a little careful. It was natural enough, however, though Lucia had told her to “stay and talk,” for Betty to take her clothes to her own room. Little details are sometimes disturbing things to settle, but Betty tried to keep in mind what was most important, when she had them to settle.
“Uncle always goes up to see Grandmother Ferris after dinner,” said Lucia. “He just excuses himself from the company when we have guests. He goes up some other times too, butalwaysthen, before she goes to bed, to see how she is.”
Betty quite approved this, and beamed on him with such a warm smile when he stopped afterwards at Lucia’s door to look in upon them, that he thought, “What a nice little girl Lee has.” Lucia had opened her door because it was too hot in her bedroom; yet to open a window would bring cold breezes in, she thought.
“That was a bright idea of yours, Lucia, to show Grandmother that doll, or both of them. Bessie was telling me all about it. It seems that Grandmother is not like herself at all today and is a little feeble, too. Perhaps the ‘flu’ she had last month is having some effect now.”
Mr. Murchison stopped to consider a moment, soberly.
“Bessie says that she has had a wonderful time dressing that baby doll in the old baby clothes, and Grandmother herself told me to speak softly for fear I’d waken ‘Willie.’ The doll was in her bed! She was very happy and sent her love to Laura——”
Here Mr. Murchison broke off and turned away quickly.
Tears came into Lucia’s eyes, but she whisked them away with the little lace handkerchief which lay by her on the desk to which they had drawn their chairs. “Poor Uncle! He couldn’t have said another word without his voice shaking, I know. But he wanted to tell me. Oh, Betty, isn’t life hard sometimes! I can’t study! Come over here on thechaise longueand let me tell you things. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”