"Is it anything to be ashamed of—doing up a shirt?" she demanded.
"Not doing it up like that! That's a work of art!"
"A work of heart—I did it for Stefana. I've got quite fond of it now, and shall hate to part with it. It's a friend."
"A bosom friend," he parried. Again they laughed and grew more acquainted. Miss Theodosia made tea in her dainty Sèvres cups. The faintest flecks of pink made her face youthful. Miss Theodosia was a good-looking woman always, but, animated, her face was really lovely. John Bradford was better used to paper women, like paper babies, but his taste recognized flesh-and-blood attractiveness. He had always been a lonely man—until now.
"I'm having a beautiful time," he sighed. "Is it anything to be ashamed of, to have a beautiful time?"
"Or two cups of tea? Please! This is my company tea—warranted good to write stories on!"
"Oh—stories. Are there such things? Did I ever write one? Have I got to write another?"
"It's the twenty-eighth," Miss Theodosia reminded demurely. "But you will need another cup of tea. How long does it take?"
"To drink another cup?"
"To write another story. Tell me about it. Perhaps I could do it. Youtake a blotter and a pen and plenty of half-sheets of paper—'tracts,'Evangeline calls them! Then you write 'Good Lord!' That is whatEvangeline says you wrote on a tract! She said maybe it was a sermon."
"Oh—Evangeline! And speaking of angels—"
"Mercy gracious! You're here—both o' you! An' somebody's gone an' spilled a drop of somethin' on that beautiful bosom!"
"A tear-drop, Evangeline, because she wouldn't give it to me."
"Tea drop!" sniffed Evangeline. "Guess I know! After all Stefana's work! Miss Theodosia, can Elly Precious eat your grass? He's out there now. He don't really eat it; he just kind of pretends. Mother says Elly Precious ought to be put out to pasture. We haven't got any grass to speak of, over to our house."
"Don't speak of it! Of course he can eat mine, if you think it is edible. Ask the Reformed Doctor."
"Him a doctor? Mercy gracious—honest? Then he knows if Elly Precious'd ought to eat grass—not really eat, you know."
"Just graze a little—let him graze." The Reformed Doctor rose to his feet and held out his hand to Miss Theodosia. "I'll go out and see how he does it. It's lucky Evangeline came in, or I might not have known enough to go at all. I've had a beautiful time. I'll put you in with the bedful of kiddies."
"And the clothes basket?"
"And the clothes basket."
"You haven't got your shirt—mercy gracious! I thought that's what you came after," reminded Evangeline.
"Was it?" the Reformed Doctor said. "Give it to me, Evangeline."
"Not naked! Without wrappin' up! I never did see!"
"It's such a good-looking shirt—well, then, wrap it up, wrap it up. I've got a newspaper in my pocket. Put that round it, Evangeline." He turned again to his hostess. "It will be a good story if I put—the clothes basket—in it. They won't send it back. Good-by."
He was off to inspect Elly Precious' grazing-ground. Evangeline, at the window where she had gone to make sure her darlin' dear was safe, presented to Miss Theodosia a square, bony little back that was curiously like that of a dwarfed old woman.
The trail of innocent Elly Precious was over that stoopy little figure. Miss Theodosia looked with softened eyes. Then a smile grew in them, wrinkling their corners whimsically. She was noticing something else besides the little old-lady back. Evangeline's braids toed in! Tight and flaxen, they stood out in rounded curves, converging suddenly to the bit of faded ribbon that tied them together. There was something suspicious looking about that ribbon—"Stefana starched it!" smiled Miss Theodosia's thought.
The small figure whirled face about.
"There,hecan see to him awhile." Evangeline was always cheerfully oblivious to any confusion of ideas arising from her use of personal pronouns. "I'm tired. Children are a great care," said Evangeline. She seated herself in an easy chair and dangled thin legs.
"If you drank tea—I'll make you a cup of cocoa, Evangeline."
"Oh, mercy gracious, no! I'm not as tired ascocoa. Jus' sit-'n'-a'-chair tired. You know how it feels—no, you don't either. I forgot. I guess you are pretty lucky. No, I don't guess soeither!" Evangeline suddenly straightened on the edge of the big chair and eyed Miss Theodosia sternly, as though that innocent soul had been the one guilty of disloyalty to darlin' dears.
"Children are a great comfort," declaimed Evangeline with emphasis. She might have been the mother of six comforts. Tenderness crept into her eyes, and her freckles seemed to fade out, and even the small blunt nose of her take on middle-agedness and motherliness. '"Specially when you undress 'em. They're so darlin' an' soft! You ever undressed one—a reg'larbabyone? Of course not one o' your own when you neverhadany, but I thought p'raps you might've undressed a grandbaby or somethin'—"
Miss Theodosia shook a humbled head.
"No," she murmured, "I never undressed even a grandbaby." And curiously she failed either to smile at the child's little notion or to wince at the advanced age it implied for her. She looked across the room from her big chair to Evangeline's with rather a wistful look. She was envying Evangeline.
"I'm sorry," the child said gently, a little embarrassed by the unexpected solemnity of the moment. To relieve it, she had recourse to a sudden funny memory of her own undressings of Elly Precious. She broke hurriedly into laughter.
"I have to have an extra pig for my baby!" she shrilled. "Takes six instead o' five! You know where it ends, 'This little pig said: "Quee! Quee! Quee! can't get over the barn-door sill"?' Mercy gracious, you don't know the little pigs, I s'pose—" More embarrassment. Even Evangeline was losing presence of mind.
"Oh, yes!" Miss Theodosia brightened perceptibly. "I know the one that went to market and the one that stayed at home—all five of them I know."
"But you don't know Elly Precious's extra little pig!" crowed the reassured Evangeline. "Justusknow that one. I made him up. When you have six toes,—I mean when Elly Precious has,—you have to have six pigs. After the one that can't get over the barn-door sill, I say: 'This little pig said—' wait, I'll say the last two together so you'll see they rhyme beautifully. Reg'lar poetry.
"'This little pig said, "Quee! Quee! Quee! can't get over the barn-door sill.'"
"'Thislittle pig said, "He! He! He! when you tickle, I can't keep still!'"
"Elly Precious wiggles it when I tickle! We laugh like everything. I think it is pretty good poetry," added Evangeline modestly.
"It is beautiful poetry. I never could have begun to make up such a lovely, ticklish little pig!"
Evangeline leaned back again in the soft cushiony embrace of the great chair and actually achieved a moment of silence. The talkative clock on Miss Theodosia's mantel filled in the space. Then once more Evangeline:
"But I shall never have any."
"Any—pigs?" smilingly.
"Children. Not any. I've decided I'll rest. They're such a care. But of course I can run in an' undress Stefana's an' Elly Precious's—mercy gracious, Elly Precious's!"
It required too great a mental effort to visualize them. Elly Precious's children werefunny! Evangeline giggled softly. "Then I'll be a gran'mother, won't I! I've always wanted to be a gran'mother an' say what I did whenIwas a child an' how I alwaysminded." A fresh giggle. "'Inever had to betold totwice, my dears,' I'll say to Elly Precious's children! They'll all be my dears. I'll help bring 'em up. Isn't it queer," broke forth Evangeline suddenly, "how when you get to be old you never were bad when you were young? The badnesses have kind of—kind of faded out. I bet therewerebadnesses!"
And Miss Theodosia found herself nodding decisively. She, too, bet there were.
A hilarious little crow suddenly sounded from without the window; it was accompanied by a deep man-sound of mirth. Miss Theodosia and Evangeline smiled across at each other indulgently.
"Elly Precious is havin' a good time. That's his good-time noise. Oh, I think he's a nice person, don't you?"
"Nice? I love him!" cried Miss Theodosia warmly. Her face that was still the face of a girl was tenderly flushed. "I love every inch of him, Evangeline."
"Merry gra—that's a lot of lovin'! I guess you are ahead o' me!"
"Evangeline Flagg, aren't you ashamed! When he is the dearest, cunningest—"
"Not—notcunnin'est. But he's got beautiful whiskers. I mean if he didn't shave 'em off. When he came, he had 'em on. You can't love his whiskers when you never saw—"
Miss Theodosia held up a limp hand to stem this terrible tide of words.
"Oh, stop!wait, Evangeline!" she begged. "Who are you talking about?"
Why stop for grammatic rules at a time like this?
"Why, he—him. I said I liked him, an' you said you lov—"
"I have been talking about Elly Precious, naturally," Miss Theodosia returned stiffly. "You are very careless with your pronouns, Evangeline," she added with an effect of severity. Her cheeks that persisted still in being a girl's cheeks had grown a warm, becoming pink. In pink Miss Theodosia was lovely.
"Don't you think you'd better relieve Elly Precious' caretaker by this time? He may not enjoy being left in charge quite so long."
"Not enjoy! Come an' see him not enjoy!" sang Evangeline from the window. She was flattening her nose against the pane and bubbling with sympathetic glee. Miss Theodosia went over and stood beside her.
Out there the two of them were frolicking together—two joyous children. It was the good old game of Peek-a-boo, but seemed a new, surprising game to Miss Theodosia. The big playmate on the grass spread a handkerchief over the little playmate's face, and with a shriek of joy the little playmate did the rest. Then the big child's turn—turn and turn about. Deep voice and thin, sweet tinkle of baby voice joined in a curiously harmonious chorus that rang through the window pane into the two pairs of listening ears.
It was a new light in which to see—a new sound in which to hear John Bradford. Miss Theodosia had a guilty consciousness of being an eavesdropper, yet she kept on eavesdropping. At a particular climax in the little play, she laughed aloud softly. Evangeline wriggled with enjoyment. Her fingers drummed applause on the glass, and the big player glanced quickly up and saw the two lookers-on. He did not hesitate in the play, did not stop the next little gleeful peek. Miss Theodosia loved it in him for not stopping. They were not ashamed—Elly Precious and John Bradford.
In the next few days Miss Theodosia unpacked the rest of her trunks and put the things away neatly in permanent places. She sang as she did it. Life seemed a singing thing to Miss Theodosia who had been a lonely woman—until now. Now she could look out of her window and see the little House of Flaggs. Any minute Evangeline might burst in. The steam whistle might blow. The Shadow Reformed-Doctor Man might come for another cup of tea. Anything might happen.
Something did happen, but it was not a singing thing. Evangeline did burst in. It was some days later than the Day of the Shirt. Miss Theodosia sat comfortably sipping her afternoon tea. Two dainty cups were before her.
"Mercy gracious—mercy, mercy, mercy gracious! This is the worst! This is worse than Aunt Sarah! An' to think it's Elly Precious, my darlin' dear! An' to think I never had—! An' to think I did it myself!"
Even to Evangeline, words failed to express this worst of all things. She dropped, a little leaden thing of despair, into Miss Theodosia's great chair and rocked herself in anguish.
"What is it, dear?" Miss Theodosia cried anxiously. The little word of endearment slipped out unconsciously, though she was not used to "dears." But she was not used to this, either—this rocking in anguish of a little child in her great chair.
"Can't you stop crying and tell me?" Evangeline not able to talk! Miss Theodosia was actually alarmed. If speech did not return quickly—but speech returned.
"Oh, mercy gracious me!" Evangeline sobbed, rocking harder, "to think I went an' set him right down in the middle of 'em—right slap in the middle! An' he didn't want to be set down. Elly Precious despises the Benjamin baby. He knows he's a girl, an' girl-babies don't count. But I set him down—oh, mercy gracious me, I went an' set him down, slap!"
Sobs and words collided and inextricably mixed. In the dark MissTheodosia waited; she saw no light as yet.
"If I could only have 'em—if I only had've, anyway! Then I could take care of my darlin' dear. But Elly Precious's is the only measles we ever had in the family."
Ah, light! Miss Theodosia blinked in the sudden inflow of it.Evangeline's released tongue leaped ahead.
"How'd I know the Benjamin baby had 'em when she only just sneezed? Oh, I suppose she sneezed 'em all around, an' I set Elly Precious down in 'em! Right in a nest o' measles!"
"What was Elly Precious doing there? I don't remember any Benjamins."
"No'm—oh, no'm. They're very recent. It's that house with the baby-pen in the front yard to keep their baby in. I set Elly Precious down in it, too, one day."
Evangeline shuddered. "While I was gettin' Stefana's starch at the store; I asked if I could, till I got back."
Miss Theodosia's face put on sternness. "What was the mother of theBenjamin baby thinking of, to let you?" she demanded.
"Oh, I don't know—I don't know! That's a very speckled baby, anyway, an' perhaps she didn't know measles from speckles. He didn't bloom out reg'lar built till next day—I mean she didn't—oh, I don't mean the mother didn't—"
"I know, dear; I know what you mean," soothed Miss Theodosia gently.
"Yes'm, that's what I mean. Next day they found out for sure."
"But have you found out 'for sure'? How do you know Elly Precious has the measles? Has he—bloomed out? Perhaps his are speck—"
"Elly Precious!" rose Evangeline's voice of indignation. "He's the unspeckledest baby you ever saw! I guess—I guess you never saw Elly Precious!"
Stefana appeared suddenly in the doorway,—a blanched and frightenedStefana. But she was determinedly calm.
"He's fell asleep, and Carruthers is watching him through the door. I told him not to go any nearer'n that. I came over to ask if I'd better send word to Mother. He said to ask you."
"Carruthers?" Miss Theodosia was a little bewildered.
"The Tract Man. He's the one that—that discovered Elly Precious's measles when we found he was broken out—I mean Elly Precious broken out—"
"Yes, yes, I know. He is a doctor—I mean—" Miss Theodosia caught herself up firmly. One at least must steer a clear course.
"He was goin' past," Evangeline put in, "an' I asked him, if he uster be a doctor, wouldn't he please to be one now an' 'xamine Elly Precious's spots."
"Measles," Stefana said briefly and hopelessly. "Shall we send forMother, or what'll we do? Aunt Sarah isn't knitting."
"Aunt Sarah—" began poor Miss Theodosia. Would she ever get used to little Flaggs? Evangeline broke in gloomily with explanation.
"No'm, not knittin', Mother wrote Stefana. Kind of—of unravelin' instead. An' Mother's caught it."
Miss Theodosia turned appealing eyes to Stefana.
"Her knee's bad, too. Maybe it's just rheumatism, but she borrows AuntSarah's crutches when they're empty. I don't see how she'd get home—"
"Don't send for her!" Miss Theodosia directed. Some inner voice seemed to say it through her lips. The same dictate from within prompted the rest.
"Bring the baby over here. Bring all his nightgowns. I'll take care of him. It won't do for all you children to come down. Does the Reform—does the doctor think you can have caught them already? I don't believe it! Not till the disease is further advanced."
"That's what he said—not till." Stefana hurried in eagerly. "Hedidn't believe it."
"The Benjamin baby wasn't further advanced," doubted Evangeline discouragingly.
"Never you mind the Benjamin baby! You bring your baby over here at once with his nightgowns! I believe we're in time. I'll be reading up my medicine book. You can tell the doctor to come here instead of to your house. Don't any of you dare to kiss Elly Precious good-by!"
Miss Theodosia was moving briskly about the room, doing strange things,—pulling down shades and drawing together draperies.
"Mustn't have too much light, though maybe that is later on, too. I'm sure there is something about being careful of the eyes. Evangeline, wait! Let Stefana go. I don't trust you; you might kiss him."
"Yes'm, I might," sighed poor little Evangeline. "He's my darlin' dear." A terrible separation yawned before her like a bottomless pit of desolation. How was she to live Elly Preciousless?
"Can't I come over an'—an' hold him when he isn't—when he isn't sneezing?" she suddenly sobbed forth. Miss Theodosia was too engrossed to be sympathetic. There were many things to think of.
"Come over?—I should say not! You can't do anything but look through the window, and I shall ask the doctor if that's safe. Now listen—dear," again the "dear" slipped through her lips unconsciously. "Listen! When you see Stefana coming, you go out the back door! I wish I'd told her to bring him in the clothes basket instead of in her arms—"
"I'll tell her to! Through the window. I'll tell her to bring him by the handles," and Evangeline hurried away excitedly.
An hour later Miss Theodosia, in a voluminous white apron and a hastily invented white cap, had formally assumed her astonishing new rôle. Under the cap Miss Theodosia's cheeks were prettily pink. It was becoming to her to be Elly Precious' nurse. But the queer feeling of it! An hour ago Theodosia Baxter, in a big house, alone; now this becapped and pink-cheeked Theodosia in a house with a baby! It was an exciting change; what else might it become? She was a little afraid of Elly Precious.
"Not now, while he is asleep, but when he wakes—" she thought. What would she do with Elly Precious when he waked?
Of course, she had sent for the Reformed Doctor, and equally, of course, she would do precisely what he told her to do. But how would it feel? So far, it felt queer.
"I'll wait and see," she concluded with philosophy. At six the doctor came. It was significant how he had left his rôle of authorship at home and came physicianly, brisk and competent.
"Measles haven't changed, anyway, in ten years," he said as he removed his coat. Long ago, as a doctor, John Bradford had had his idiosyncrasies, and one of them had been to work in his shirt sleeves. The laying aside of his coat now had, if Miss Theodosia had but known, bridged over the ten years.
"Am I quarantined?" demanded the nurse.
"You are," promptly replied the doctor.
"Mercy gracious!"
Silence while the tiny patient was carefully examined, with so delicate a touch that he slept on.
"For how long?" then.
"Oh—weeks. Two, perhaps. Perhaps three. He is beginning to be feverish in earnest now. You got him over here just in time. May I have a glass of water?"
Miss Theodosia went away to get it on shaking legs. She almost staggered. The plot was getting thick!
"If you think his mother ought to be sent for—I'm afraid I'm in a blue funk!" She had returned and was splashing the water over the edge of the glass as she held it out. He laughed reassuringly. His face, turned sidewise up at her, was as reviving as cool water upon a faint. Miss Theodosia "came to."
"I've got over it. Go ahead—tell me precisely what you want done. Write it down somewhere. I can read writing! And I can't forget it. Of course I can rock him?"
He did not answer at once, and she misinterpreted his silence.
"I shall rock him," she said with firmness. "Written down or not written down." And again he laughed, with the same curiously explosive little effect as when she had first heard him do it as a Shadow Man.
It was long after he left before Elly Precious woke. With remarkable presence of mind, Miss Theodosia had darkened the room to make the difference between herself and Evangeline or Stefana as inconspicuous as possible. It helped. Elly Precious, even busy with his measles, might have vigorously refused this strange new ministering. But in the darkness he accepted it with a measure of resignation. He appeared to be looking inward at his own poor little pains instead of outward or upward at Miss Theodosia. She wisely refrained from speech during those first critical moments.
Ten-year-old arms may not be as steady for cradling as thirty-six-year olds. Miss Theodosia's were steady and soft. The baby nestled into them and she rocked him.
She was rocking a baby! She was glad to be alone in the dark. The sensation rather overwhelmed her. Then Elly Precious flung up little hot hands and touched her face, and the sensation was no longer a new one. Surely she had felt it before. Was it in another incarnation that she had rocked a little child? The small, hot hands tugged at her heartstrings—they must have tugged, just so, at that ancient rocking. It was a beautiful tune, but not a new tune that the small hands played. No, no—not new!
Miss Theodosia began to croon softly, no longer afraid of sound. AndElly Precious snuggled deeper.
Shut in together—she and he and the measles—they grew accustomed to each other. After the first, the days went rather fast, with Evangeline's help through the window and under the door. Evangeline helped from the first. Miss Theodosia found little letters emerging through the tight crack under her outside door. The first one she read smilingly:
[Illustration: Evangeline established a stage of action outside the window.]
"He likes jiggy tunes best—please sing him jiggy tunes."
So she sang them to Elly Precious and found he liked them best;Evangeline knew. This method of helping promised to be valuable.
One day there were two little letters under the door.
"When he crys, he'll stop if you distrack him. Like this—boo—or make a cow-noise or a horse-noise, but it doesn't always work. Sometimes he keaps right on and then its no use to distrack him. Try tickleing unless tickleing is bad for measles."
This was a long note. Miss Theodosia did not smile this time because of the new sensitiveness in the region of her heart. When she read the second note, she held it a long time in her hand while something wet blistered it in spots.
"Please don't be mad if I worry a little for fear Elly Precious will throw off his cloes. He's a dreadfull throw-offer, so we pin his sides to the cloesbasket but maybe you don't sleep him in a cloesbasket. I couldent sleep last night.
"P.S. With safety pins."
Sometimes they were cheerful little letters that peeped under the tight crack. Evangeline wrote the news to Elly Precious. That Stefana's washes came easier now and Carruthers was good all the time, only they never let him be steam whistles, of course. That they all missed Elly Precious and hoped that they'd be short measles and, mercy gracious, yes, they loved him, and Aunt Sarah was knitting again.
As the baby began to convalesce (they were short measles) and could sit up on Miss Theodosia's lap in front of the window, Evangeline's most important assistance began. For Elly Precious had very restless occasions and even Miss Theodosia's new skill failed always to "distrack" him.
Evangeline established a stage of action outside the biggest-paned, lowest-silled window, where vision was least obscured from within. On that stage she danced wild, long dances, varying with each performance. It was amazing how she varied them—sometimes bending and bowing tirelessly, sometimes evolving remarkable skirt dances from legs and toes and whirling petticoats. She grimaced unweariedly as long as Elly Precious would laugh at her faces. When he tired of those, she impersonated a cow—a horse—and made cow-noises and horse-noises at the top of her voice, to carry to Elly Precious.
Day after day she came, and they watched her from the big-paned window—the baby and Miss Theodosia. It was a great help to the measles.
"I never saw such a child!" Miss Theodosia said to the Reformed Doctor."She never gets tired of doing it."
"Never was but one Evangeline—but she gets tired all right. Needn't tell me!"
"Then it's—love," Miss Theodosia said gently.
"It is," nodded he.
They had proceeded far in their acquaintance. Elly Precious had been so tiny a thing between them, as they ministered to him! It was not to be wondered at that they had drawn closer. After his professional "call," John Bradford fell into the way of lingering till she brought him tea.
"Talk about women loving tea!" she gibed gayly.
"Talk about it being the men that want three lumps!"
"That is queer, isn't it? We're the wrong way about; I like mine sweet and you don't want any sugar. We're the exceptions that prove the rule. If you'll hold Elly Precious a minute, I'll fill your cup."
"That will make three."
"'And I'll do it again, if you like—and again if you like!'" she quoted.
"Are you making stories now?" she asked him that day.
And he nodded gravely, "One—a love-story."
"Tell me about it! We want to hear it, don't we, Elly Precious? We love love-stories."
"Not yet. Not till it is a little farther along." He set the third cup down untasted. His face, as Miss Theodosia looked smilingly at it across the baby's head, had grown grave. She wondered simply. Miss Theodosia was not making a love-story.
"Will you tell us about it when it's farther along? About the heroine and how she likes being in a love-story? Mercy gracious, it must be exciting!"
"If I can find out how she likes it," was his enigmatic answer. "She may not work out as I want her to. Heroines are women, you know."
"Well, of all things! If you can't make your heroine behave, I don't see who can!"
"I don't," he said slowly. "But I shall do my best."
Another day, she had something to show him, and she made a little mystery of it at first. She and Elly Precious knew! It was something sweet—it could be worn, but you seldom looked at it. It was soft and hard, too. You could—kiss it! When it was empty you wanted to kiss it, and when it was full you had to!
"Show it to me!" he commanded; "think I can guess all that?"
She brought it and laid it in his hands, delighted like a girl.
"Feel of it—isn't it soft? And I never made one before, so it was hard! You seldom look at it, because it's worn in the dark. You'd like to kiss it now, it's so sweet, but when I put Elly Precious into it, you'llhaveto kiss it! There, didn't I tell you right?"
It was a little nightgown she had made for Elly Precious. He held it on his two big hands like something wonderful. Its little sleeves dangled over, and she caught one of them and squeezed it in a sort of soft ecstasy.
"It's so little!" she cried in a whisper. "Aren't you going to kiss it?"
"If you'll look away—I'm afraid to when you're looking."
"I won't look," she laughed. "You look, Elly Precious!"
The bath-times were the pleasantest to Miss Theodosia. Getting things together—little tub and powders and soaps and the fresh little clothes—was a beautiful beginning, and after that—after that, the deluge! The practice she had had washing that little ancient baby, in her former incarnation, stood Miss Theodosia in good stead! As she had bathed and rubbed and powdered her first baby eons ago, she bathed and rubbed and powdered this second one now. For she called Elly Precious her baby. That was their beautiful play.
"We'll keep it a secret, won't we?—just between you and me, dear! We won't even tell Evangeline that you're my darlin' dear," she crooned over this second baby. Elly Precious played the game; he was a little sport, was Elly Precious.
The morning after the little new-nightgown episode, the bath progressed thrillingly. That was, it seemed, the morning set by Elly Precious to give this new mother a glorious surprise. It could not be said that he had it up his little sleeve, being innocent of any manner of garment, but he had it prepared.
Miss Theodosia dried the tiny body and set it far forward on her knees, facing her, and began as usual:
"Now, baby, watch—watch hard! Make exactly the same noise I do." She put her lips in position for clear enunciation.
"Mam—m-ma."
Customarily, Elly Precious sat and chuckled gleefully and nakedly. This was a favorite play. But, oh, to-day—
"Mum—mum," said Elly Precious distinctly. Miss Theodosia caught him to her, slippery and sweet, with a cry of rapture.
"You said it! You said it, Elly Precious—darlin' dear! Now I shall wrap you in a beautiful soft blanket and sing you a jiggy tune! Before I dress you in horrid, bothery sleeves, we'll rock, and rock, you and make-believe mum-mum!"
The big chair creaked delightsomely to the ears of Elly Precious. To its accompaniment sang Miss Theodosia.
"Darlin' Dear! Darlin' Dear, Mum-Mum's here—oh, Elly Precious, I shall send you to college! Of course, to college. You shall be a doctor—" Was that the chair creaking, or a door? It was a door. On the doorsill stood the Reformed Doctor, gazing in. The blanket had slipped away and it was a beautiful, bare Elly Precious in Miss Theodosia's arms, against her breast. The little picture stood out, distinct. But so soon it faded. She was on her feet and facing that treacherous doorway. Flames burned on her cheeks.
"Is it anything to be ashamed of to pretend he is my baby! Well, I've done it—I'm pretending now. We were having a beautiful time till—"
"Till I came."
"Till you came. You heard what I said about making a doctor of him, I suppose?"
He nodded. "I heard," he said meekly.
"But you didn't give me time to say it all. I was going to say he'd stay a doctor and not reform!" With which Parthian shot, delivered with spirit, Miss Theodosia turned her back and Elly Precious' back to the intruder. What was left for him to do but retire, vanquished and diminished? The business of the bath went on, but joyless now. There was no further putting off of the horrid, bothery sleeves that Elly Precious abhorred. He set up indignant wails, and Miss Theodosia's soul wailed in unison.
"All our dear good time spoiled! We're not pretending any more; you're Evangeline's darlin' dear. I'll put you on the bed and give you your bottle." So abruptly had the beautiful game come to an end. Miss Theodosia went away to prepare the bottle. As she went, a glint of white underneath the door to out-of-doors caught her attention. Evangeline had not tucked it under as far as usual. Perhaps it was not unnatural, considering her new mood, that Miss Theodosia picked up the little letter almost impatiently.
"He says he can come home day after to-morrow if he don't colapse, soStefana is cleaning the house and I'm helping and we can't hardly wait.We've got a new cloesbasket Stefana's going to make bows for thehandles, tell Elly Precious.
"P. S. Pink bows."
Miss Theodosia was not impatient as she folded the little letter again. Tears stood in her eyes. She hurried back, bottleless, to Elly Precious, to tell him. That he had fallen asleep made no difference.
"You are going home day after to-morrow! Dream it in a little dream, dear. When you wake up, it will be true. They can't hardly wait and there's a new 'cloesbasket' with bows—P. S., pink bows. Oh, Elly Precious, you know you're glad to go home! You've been pretending, too!" Game little Elly Precious, to pretend! She stooped and kissed his eyes, close shut in that dream of going home. "They are cleaning the house," she whispered, "they can't hardly wait."
A prescience of awful loneliness swept over her. She saw Theodosia Baxter—lone and babyless again—set back in her empty house. The curtain had gone down—would go down day after to-morrow—on the last beautiful act.
"But I have two days left! I demand my pound—fifteen little pounds of flesh!" Elly Precious' little pink flesh. She would play that last act of the little game of make-believe. Intruders or no intruders, she would play it! At once, she began again where they had left off.
"You will have to go to college very young, dear," she said. "They are going to take you away from me day after tomorrow. A day and a half is such a little college course; you'd be such a little Freshman, Elly Precious! So we will have to give it up, dear. We'll just spend our last days together. Who wants to know Latin and Greek anyway? I'll teach you to pat little cakes in English!" Surely, surely she must have taught her first baby to pat-a-cake. The blundering little hands in hers felt strangely familiar. The first baby had been just as funny and sweet as Elly Precious at that little lesson.
"If I only had a little more time!" sighed Miss Theodosia. "There is so much left for us to do; it is cruel to hurry us so! We might—we might run away, dear! You and I. To Europe and Asia and Africa! I'd show you all the wonders of the world. Listen, Elly Precious,—thepyramids! Wouldn't you love to see the pyramids? You could play in the warm sand, anyway,—bury your little twelve toes deep! We would keep watch all the time andrunwhen we saw Evangeline coming. We would never stop to put on our shoes and stock—Elly Precious, you've gone to sleep!" So little was he thrilled at the prospect of pyramids.
Miss Theodosia rocked him gently in her arms. Perhaps she would rock him the whole day and a half—they could not prevent her! She would not stop rocking if twenty Reformed Doctors came and looked at her. She would rock in their faces!
A sudden and queer thought came to her of Cornelia Dunlap standing in the doorway, looking in as John Bradford had done.
She saw the wreck of Cornelia's plump calm—Cornelia's wide-eyed amazement. After she had reluctantly deposited the small, limp body upon the couch to finish out the nap, she got her writing materials and wrote to Cornelia Dunlap, with a whimsical little smile playing about her lips. Her pen moved fast across the sheet.
"The baby is having a beautiful nap. While he is asleep, I can write to you. Of course my time is limited—'what with' scalding and filling bottles and giving little baths—Cornelia Dunlap, go and get a little baby and wash him! In a tub, with your sleeves rolled up. Let him splash the water into your face—over your dress—hear him laugh! Give him the soap for a little ship a-sailing. Oh, Cornelia, teach him to pat-a-cake! Get a baby with the measles if there's no other way. You will love him in between all his little measles. But, listen to me;take this advice: Don't let them take him back! Hold on to both his little hands. Run away to Africa with him if there is no other way—he will love to play in the sand beside the pyramids. Send him to college, Cornelia, and I think—yes, make a doctor of him. Doctors are best.
"Morituri salutamus—we who are about to lose our babies and die wish you happiness with yours, is the free translation.Hold on to yours. He is a dear, I know. He may be as dear as mine, but he hasn't twelve toes!"
* * * * *
"Mercy gracious!"
It was the two days later and it was Evangeline. The child's radiant face lighted up the room.
"He let me come! I promised Stefana I wouldn't kiss him till I got him home so's she could, too. He said to kiss his neck or behind his ears." As usual no confusion of personal pronouns troubled Evangeline.
"Mercy gracious!—oh, mercy gracious, he's improved! He's fatter! I never thought measles'd be fattenin'! You're glad to see me, aren't you, darlin' dear? I'm Evangeline! I've come to take you home. We've got everything ready, only one bow, an' Stefana's piecin' that. Oh—my darlin' dear!"
The curtain had gone down. Theodosia Baxter stood quite alone in her big room. In her ears was suddenly the shriek of a steam whistle of welcome; it died away, and the silence ached. A crumpled something half under a chair caught her eye and she openly sobbed. It was a forgotten little nightgown.
"I'm going to Rome—I'm going to Paris—to Anywhere! I can't stand this!" she wailed. And then the creak of a door again.
He stood on the door-sill looking in.
"I've done it again!" came from the doorway repentantly, "but this time I knocked, honest to goodness. Regular bangs! You ought to have heard," his tone assuming an injured cadence.
Miss Theodosia had recovered herself. She was unfeignedly glad to see him this time.
"Maybe it was you, steam-whistling," she laughed. "I heard that! Oh, I am glad enough you came this time! You've saved me from a trip to Rome—tea is so much less expensive! I'll go and get it." She was off directly and back again in remarkably quick time with her little kettle and lamp. "Less time and fuss, too. See how little baggage! Now, Rome—"
"Don't mention Rome!" There was a deep note in John Bradford's voice. He watched her making the tea. Miss Theodosia's hands were worth watching.
"Speaking of steam whistles reminds me of ears," he said.
"Naturally! The two go together, all right!" But she saw that his face remained grave. "Oh!—you mean the steam-whistler's ears—I see."
"Yes, I have examined them rather carefully. They aren't hopeless little ears—not hopeless. I'm not ready to go any farther than that yet. But I intend—you see, I specialized in ears and a few other things at the University—in practice, too, before—before I reformed."
Quickly Miss Theodosia looked up.
"There! You are harking back; please don't hark back! It was mean in me to say it. I'm sorry! If I'd sent Elly Precious to college—while he was my baby—and given him a doctor's degree, he could have taken it or left it. He'd have had a right. Men have rights to their own lives."
"Sure," but John Bradford's tone was thoughtful rather than emphatic."Still—I sometimes wonder—"
"Why?—tell me why!" Now she was championing the Reformed Doctor! "You could do as you pleased, couldn't you? It was your own life you were 'reforming.' Still, I wonder, too. Tell me how it happened."
"How do I know how it happened?" He was walking up and down the room. "It was in my blood to write stories. I wrote them every chance I could get. Had to write them. I suppose I woke up to the rather decent conclusion that a man can't serve two masters and serve them well. Isn't efficient. So I chose my favorite master. There you have it in a nutshell. May I have mine in a teacup?"
She filled the dainty shell, but it rattled a little on its saucer. MissTheodosia felt about for less moving things; she was strangely moved.
"How is the love story getting on?" she asked.
"The—oh! Well, it had a setback awhile ago. Setbacks are not good for love stories. But I shall go to work on it again."
"At once—to-day?" What was this sudden freak of hers to drive him to work?—the work she had all but derided before.
"To-day. I'm working on it now—that is—er—"
"Before and after—tea," she smiled. "Well, I shall help you all I can on that story. I feel in a penitent mood. When you begin on it again—"
"I've begun on it again."
"After you go home, I mean. When you go to work again, make believe I'm David Copperfield's Dora—holding the pens!" Too late she saw her error and hedged. "Or cups of tea to keep up your strength."
"I like pens better. If Dora were there—"
"One more cup? You've only had one. The cups are no size at all. And while you drink it, tell me about your heroine. What have you named her?"
"Dora," he said promptly. "You see, you've helped already."
It was pleasant, drinking tea like this, with John Bradford there, opposite, having his second cup. A pleasant way to drink tea—with a John! Miss Theodosia hugged herself happily. Even the forgotten little nightgown on the floor failed to diminish her content. She had not forgotten Elly Precious; she was merely making the most of the ameliorations the gods offered. The kind gods. But conscience had to put in its pious oar.
"I'm having a beautiful time; I don't know whether you are or not. But I'm going to send you back to that love story. I hope the Recording Angel will give me a white mark for it, or cross out a black one. The goodness of me! I've been sitting here trying to strangle my conscience, but you see it isn't my own—it's my grandmother's conscience; you have to respect your grandmother's conscience. You'll have to go."
"I can work on it here," he pleaded, but she shook her head mournfully.
"I haven't the materials. It takes special paper, doesn't it, and pens?"
"I could—er—think up my plot."
"With me talking a blue streak? I should talk a blue streak; that's my grandmother's, too. No, you must go. How will you ever get it done, if you don't?"
"I sha'n't if I do. Staying here is doing me good. I need to 'get up more strength.'"
She laughed, but remembered her grandmother. "No more tea," she said kindly. "Conscience! But I'll tell you—you may come back after you've worked."
"To-day?"
"To-morrow."
And for many to-morrows he came back. On one of them the talk once more reverted to the book that the Story Man was understood to be writing, in some mysterious Place of Pens and Paper.
"I hope it's a regular romance," Miss Theodosia said.
"Romance? What is that? Is there such a thing? There may have been once—"
Miss Theodosia's fair cheeks took on faint color. She turned upon him.
"Once nothing! I can't help it if that is slang; the occasion demands slang. Are you trying to tell me romance is dead?"
He nodded. "Sterilized—Pasteurized—boiled out of us. I suppose," he sighed, "we are more hygienic, but we have faded in the process. It dulls romance to Pasteurize it."
She held up a staying hand.
"Please!" she said, "in words of one syllable and maybe you can convince me. But you can't. Do you mean to say there are no sweet, blushing girls left, with—with dreams?"
Again his sigh. It pained him to disillusion her.
"Not blushing ones. I tell you the color won't stand our modern sterilization process. I misdoubt the dreams, too. If they dream 'em, they're of independence and careers and votes; you wouldn't call those romantic dreams, would you? The little 'clinging vines'—" he waved them back into the past with a comprehensive sweep of his hand—"all gone. Our present-day soil is too invigorating, too stimulating. The young things stand up on their own roots. No more clinging. Each one aspires to be a spunky little tree by herself. Look at 'em and see for yourself—the subways and elevateds are full of 'em at the crush hours, nights and mornings—all glorying in their independence—their fine, strong, young roots. No blushing, no clinging there! Are you convinced?"
"I am not," flashed Miss Theodosia gamely. "There must be one little dreamer of love dreams left."
"Show her to me."
"That isn't fair. I'm not in a way to know girls. I know just Stefana."
"And Evangeline."
"And Evangeline," laughed Miss Theodosia.
"Is she romantic?" demanded the Story Man. And there he had Miss Theodosia. She had instant vision of Evangeline growing, straight and thrifty already, on her own small roots. It was not possible to visualize a blushing—a clinging little Evangeline.
"She is still young," Miss Theodosia murmured. "Besides, she's one of a kind. There's only one Evangeline. You can't reason by only one of anything. The exception proves the rule."
"Then you yield me Evangeline?"
"Yes, you may have her on your side," conceded Miss Theodosia generously. It was rather in the way of a relief to shift the responsibility for Evangeline. Miss Theodosia suddenly bubbled into low laughter.
"She is going to be a plumber."
"Evangeline a plumber?"
"Yes, because she's got to be rich, she says. She's 'sick 'n' tired' of being poor, and you can make suchdarlin', roary, snappy fires in a tin pail! Plumberin' will be fun."
He laughed a little, too, enjoyingly, but returned to his arguings. Said he:
"Bea plumber, not marry one, you see. What did I tell you? Oh, you have no monopoly on Evangelines! The woods are full of tame Evangelines, anyway. You will have to come over to my side."
"Not at all. I haven't given up my own side. I shall hold on a little while longer. I am not going to admityetthat all sentiment is dead and buried. And, anyhow, I don't see what it's being dead or alive has to do with your story. I thought authors were creators. Can't you create a little sentiment—romance? To my order?" she added demurely.
Replied the Story Man with grave eyes: "I shall do my best. We are a good deal at the mercy of our heroines. But I will do all that I can to win mine over, dear lady. Heaven knows I want to!"
"Then you are on my side now; you have changed your mind!" she cried tauntingly. "Woman, thy name is not Fickleness, it is thy husband's name! Well, I am glad it is going to be my kind of a story. How did I know but it was to be a historical novel or a problem story—ugh! And, instead, you're going to make love to your heroine in the dear old thrilly way."
He stirred in his seat, and his eyes sought his hostess. But Miss Theodosia's eyes were cheerfully following the infinitesimal stitches with which she was rimming an infinitesimal round hole in the bit of linen in her hand.
"How far have you got?" she questioned over a new stitch.
"Not very far," sadly; "I think I am a little afraid of my heroine."
"Mercy gracious! Well, I think I'd take her by the ear and march her round to suit myself! If I wanted her to say 'yes'—do you want her to say 'yes'?"
Did he want her to say yes!
"I'm trying to lead her up to it," he said gently. Miss Theodosia bit off her thread.
"March her up to it, march her! You're too gentle with her. What is the use of being a Story Man? Might as well be a plumber like Evangeline!"
It was at this moment that Evangeline appeared on the little Flagg horizon. They saw her coming their way, loaded as usual with Elly Precious. The sag of her wiry little figure on the Elly Precious side appealed strongly to Miss Theodosia. She dropped her foolish bit of linen and hurried to meet that little sag. When she came back with Elly Precious in her own arms, the Story Man was wandering away. He waved his hat to them smilingly.
"Please drop him—drop Elly Precious," Evangeline said, "anywheressoft. I don't want him to distrack your mind. You play with your dolly an' be a darlin' dear, Elly Precious, while we talk."
Very gently Evangeline subtracted Elly Precious from Miss Theodosia and removed him to an undisturbing distance. Then she returned and stood before Miss Theodosia.
"Stefana was born to-morrow," Evangeline stated gravely. "You didn't know, of course, nor neither did I till it kind of came out. I told him," nodding in the direction taken by the Story Man. "We plotted up a hatch—I mean we hatched up a plot. He said to talk it over with you. I don't know what he's goin' to do, but he'll do it—he said he would. An' I thought—I thought—" Unwonted hesitations disturbed Evangeline's smooth flow of speech. She sat down suddenly.
"I guess I can say it easier sittin' than I could standin'. It's some hard to say—it's so kind ofbareheaded. But I don't know what else to do. You see, Stefana'd hear me beatin' the eggs an' stirrin', if I did 'em at home. An' besides, it would fall—oh, mercy gracious, I know it would! I thought if I could do it over here—"
"Evangeline," Miss Theodosia said gently, "drop your voice at a period and begin all over with a capital letter. Take your time, dear."
Said Evangeline with a sigh: "I'll try standin' up. I guess I kind of mixed you up, didn't I? You see, what Imeantwas, could I make Stefana's birthday cake over here to your house where she can't hear me stirrin'?"
"Oh, Stefana's birthday! That is why she was 'born to-morrow.'"
"Yes'm, in a thunder storm. I've heard Mother tellin'. It will have to be a graham cake."
"A—what kind of cake, Evangeline? Maybe you'd better try sitting down;I don't think I just understand."
"No'm, no'm, I guess you wouldn't, because you probably can always 'ford white flour. I thought if I frosted it over real white, it would hide the grahamness. I've got two eggs."
Understanding came to Miss Theodosia, though a little slowly. Was she growing stupid?
"Evangeline, we'll make Stefana's cake together; we'll take turns 'stirrin''! We'll do it over here and keep it a beautiful secret."
The child was standing up now certainly, her wiry little body a-tilt with excitement, a-quiver with it. Evangeline's eyes shone.
"Oh, I knew you would! I knew you would! You're such anangel!If you was a kind of folks that liked to be kissed—"
The soft pink of Miss Theodosia's cheeks! She lifted her head and sat very still.
"Come and try me, dear. Maybe I am that kind of folks." And in a little whirlwind of tender gratitude descended Evangeline upon her. It was a whole-souled kiss, the only brand possible to Evangeline.
"I—I am that kind!" gasped Miss Theodosia, emerging laughing but tender-eyed. "Now let's begin the cake."
"Oh, yes, mercy gracious, yes! I'll go get the eggs 'n' graham flour, an'—an' molasses. Could we sweeten it with molasses, Miss Theodosia? It'll take all o' my sugar for the frostin'. We are pretty used to bein' sweetened with molasses—"
Miss Theodosia had a swift mental taste on her tongue of Stefana's graham birthday cake, molasses-sweet. There were her heartstrings at their odd little twitching again!
"You won't have to go home at all, Evangeline. I've got all the materials—" but at sight of the child's face, a little fallen and troubled, she hastily appended—"except the eggs. I guess you'd better go home and get those."
"Two!" sang Evangeline joyously, already on her way; "I've got two.Two's a lot of eggs, isn't it?"
They mixed and beat and stirred together, and Evangeline never knew how many more eggs than two went into the rich golden batter. Elly Precious, tied for safety-first into one of Miss Theodosia's chairs, looked on with an interest more or less intermittent; when Evangeline's offerings of "teeny speckles" of toothsome batter were delayed, the interest flagged. The baking time was for Evangeline a period of utmost anxiety—there were so many direful things that might happen to Stefana's cake. If it fell down or burned up—
"Oh!" she breathed with infinite relief when the strain was over, and only lovely things had happened to the cake, "I'm so happy I could sing if I had any vocal strings! That's queer about me, isn't it? I don't have any trouble with mytalkin'strings."
"Not a bit," agreed Miss Theodosia gayly. "What makes you think you couldn't sing?"
"Because once I tried to sing Elly Precious to sleep an' it woke him up, awfully up. He was scared. So I always talk him to sleep. Miss Theodosia, don't birthday cakes sometimes have candles round the edge of 'em? I don't mean Stefana's, of course, but rich folks' birthday cakes."
"Imean Stefana's. Evangeline, we'll have thirteen candles!" but inwardly she was wondering if forty would not fit better round the edge of aged little Stefana's birthday cake. "And we'll decorate it—write something on the top, you know. We'll make the Story Man do it for us."
Evangeline was awed into near-silence. "You mean—poetry? Mercy gracious, poetry!"
"Something lovely," nodded Miss Theodosia a little vaguely. If it be poetry, the Story Man must do that part, too. A little later, when Evangeline had shouldered Elly Precious and departed and the Story Man had sauntered again into sight, she hailed him with relief. Displaying the snowy little cake, she explained the situation.
"You must do the rest. We want a 'sentiment' on it, Evangeline and I. What is the use of being a literary person if you cannot inscribe a birthday cake?"
He groaned a little, reminiscently. He remembered the autograph albums of his bashful youth. How much better than an autograph album was a frosted cake?
"Something appropriate, you know," encouraged Miss Theodosia, brightly."In lovely pink writing on top."
"'She hath starched what she could,'" he offered tentatively.
"Oh, for shame! Something nice and romantic."
"But romance is dead—hold on, I beg pardon! That is not decided yet; I remember. You shall have your poetry, you and Evangeline. Something after this wise:
"'Our most esteemed Stefana,May rough winds never pain her'
"Do winds 'pain' people? But, to speak modestly, I call that a pretty neat sentiment to turn out extempo like that. 'Stefana'—you can't deny Stefana is a hard word to rhyme with. Now tell me a harder one!"
"Evangeline—Theodosia," she murmured. Her eyes dwelt lovingly on the little white cake. He should not make fun of it!
"I'll decorate it myself," she said, "I'll have a little pink heart on it—twolittle pink hearts."
"With but a single thought. Make them with but a single thought—beat them as one. There! I'm perfectly sober and sane now. It's a fine little cake, and I'm not worthy to write poetry for it. Longfellow—Shakespeare—Whitcomb Riley—we'll canvass them. Don't think I'm not respectful to Stefana's birthday."
"I don't know what you call respect!" she retorted. But she knew the next day. She found out what he called respect. The knowledge came, as so much that was worth while came, through Evangeline, Elly Precious in its wake. They came running this time. Elly Precious' small body rolled and lurched with their hurry and the agitation of Evangeline's soul.
"Somethin's—happened."
"Give me the baby. Sit down, dear. Now."
"The flower wagon brought Stefana—roses," whispered Evangeline. "In a long box—an' tissue paper. Oh, my mercy gracious, stopped right straight at our house! An' nobody dead." Evangeline's whisper rose to a weird little cry. The wonder of the flower wagon stopping right straight! And every one alive!
"Stefana's countin' 'em. I guess she's counted 'em a hundred times. They's—thirteen! They've got the longest stems you eversaw! Stefana can't get over their stems; she said they most made her cry."
For very breath Evangeline stopped. Over the little uneasy head of Elly Precious shone Miss Theodosia's eyes. Miss Theodosia was softly thrilled. The stems appealed, too, to her; she loved them long—long.
"Roses, you say? Oh, Evangeline! Birthday roses for Stefana! What color?"
"Red—red—red," chanted Evangeline "Thirteen red roses an' thirteen long stems. In a pasteboard box with 'Miss Stefana Flagg' wrote on it. You ought to seen how Miss Stefana Flagg looked! She—she kissed the box. I guess now she's kissin' the roses. She never 'spected to have any roses till she was dead. An' then she couldn't 've kissed 'em an' cried at the stems," added Evangeline softly. She was suddenly a softened little Evangeline, curiously gentled by Stefana's sweet, red roses. Miss Theodosia caught her breath at the sight of the child's face and the thought of Stefana kissing her roses.
"I wish—I wish you'd go over an' congratcherlate Stefana," whisperedEvangeline. "She'd be so tickled. I'll keep Elly Precious ever here, an'Carruthers is playin' ball in a field." As though this ceremony of'congratcherlation' demanded quiet and privacy.
And by and by Miss Theodosia went. She had a whimsical impulse to carry her little silver card case, but she did not yield to the whimsey. She did take off her little white apron and smoothe her hair. Stefana to-day was a person for ceremonies and respect. Oh, the kindness, the clearness of those long-stemmed roses! She had not thought to do it herself, but he—a man creature—Miss Theodosia's eyes were tender.
Stefana was still sitting among her roses. They lay across her lap.
"Oh! Oh, come right in, Miss Theodosia!" she cried welcomingly. "But please to excuse me for not getting up—I can't bear to disturb them. Seems as if I could sit right straight in this chair till they withered! I'm breathing easy so not to breathe the smell out. I never had any roses before."
Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. She whispered a little laugh.
"Seems as if I'd ought to be married while I have 'em! They're such beautiful roses to be married in!"
And this was Stefana, their matter-of-fact, starchy little white-washer!This rapt, dreamy little face was Stefana's face!
"Sometimes," Stefana murmured, "sometimes I've dreampt—" but Miss Theodosia did not quite catch what it was Stefana had sometimes "dreampt," but it was something sweet. Stefana a little dreamer of sweet dreams! One of them must have been a rose-dream, and this was that dream come true.
The call of congratulation was a brief one. It seemed little short of irreverence to have seen at all that picture of Stefana rocking her roses in the little wooden rocker. Miss Theodosia slipped away with it hung on the walls of her mind—she would never take it down.
John Bradford was coming along the road and she went a little way to meet him. Some of Stefana's radiance was in her own face.
"I've found it," she announced in soft triumph.
"Good!" he hazarded at random. It was always good to find things. But he wondered at the radiance.
"My romance that I knew was somewhere. I've found it! I told you so!"
"Found it where?" he demanded. He was unconsciously stirred by her emotion. He followed her glance to the little House of Flaggs. "Not—there?"
"Yes, there. Stefana is dreaming it over a lapful of red roses. I have been there and seen her. Is romance dead—is it? Go and look at Stefana!" But she held him back from going. "No, no, I didn't mean it! Not in cold blood—I didn't go in cold blood. You will have to take my word for it."
"I will take your word."
"That romance is not dead?"
"That romance is alive. But who would have thought of it's beingStefana!"
"Who would have thought!" echoed Miss Theodosia.
Elly Precious was fretting restlessly when she got back. The children were on the porch.
"Nothing's the matter with him," Evangeline explained, "unless it's because he's a-goin' to be taken. I told him he was. It is kind of scaring to be taken. I feel kind of that way, too."
"Taken where?"
"Not any where—justtaken. His picture an' mine an' Carruthers'—we're all goin' to be taken now, pretty soon. I must go home an' prink Elly Precious an' Carruthers. You see, Mr. Bradford promised to take Stefana because it's her birthday, an' first we knew he said he'd take all o' us! He's got a camera. That's him now! I guess he's waitin' for Elly Precious an' me."
She was hurrying away, but bethought herself of something. "The cake!" she said. "If Elly Precious'll be still, I can carry it on my other arm. Maybe we'll be so busy being taken that I can't come over again before supper."
"Run along," Miss Theodosia said; "I'll take it over. I haven't quite got it ready yet," for there were the two little pink hearts to add,—Stefana's heart and a little dream-heart. She smiled tenderly over the fashioning of those little pink hearts. Miss Theodosia was not an artist—they wavered and leaned, but they leaned toward each other! Perhaps they were better to be little leaning hearts.
She carried the cake over, covered with a napkin. There were other things, too, that she had prepared, and several trips were necessary. A mold of quivering, scarlet jelly, full of fascinating glints of light; scalloped, currant-rich cookies, a little platter of cold chicken—Miss Theodosia carried them all over covered with napkins.
Evangeline was putting the finishing touches to the supper-table, which was brave with the best Flagg dishes. It was rather a pitiful little bravery, but satisfying to Evangeline. She hurried Miss Theodosia aside and talked very fast.
"I've sent Stefana out with Elly Precious. We're goin' to blind her an' lead her in an' count one—two—look! She'll see the cake the very quickest thing! She won't cut off an inch o' the stems, so they're kind of tall up 'n' down, you see. I mean the roses. I've put a corset steel o' Mother's in an' kind of tied 'em to it. I hope you don't see any corset steel."
"No." Miss Theodosia looked not at the centerpiece of roses but at the cake, the tremulous jelly, the platter,—anywhere else. "No, I don't see any, dear."
"It's perfectly lovely, isn't it? Mercy gracious—oh, mercy gracious!It'lldazzleStefana. An' most every speck you did, Miss Theodosia.Won't you please stay? Won't youpleaseto please?"
"No," for the sixth time persisted Miss Theodosia. "I'm going beforeStefana gets back. This is a Flagg celebration, dear. Just littleFlaggs."
Evangeline drew a long breath. Then little twinkles lighted in her eyes.
"Well," she said, "they'll be star-spangled Flaggs to-night!"
She followed Miss Theodosia to the door. Even then she could not stop talking. Her excited little voice followed Miss Theodosia home.
"He took us! He's blue-printing us to see if we wiggled. Elly Precious did—mercy gracious! But maybe one of him, just one, didn't. He's goin' to make reg'lar black an' white pictures of the unwiggled ones. I guess you'll be surprised when you see us!" She was surprised. John Bradford brought the little blue pictures to her the next day. They bent over them together.