Jerry’s answer seemed a trifle irrelevant. But he said the things he was certain could not be postponed another instant.
“Look here! I’m going back to school. I’ve been a coward, just like you said, but now I’m going to start out same as David did, and stick to it like that other fellow–I forget his name–and say! I’m–I’m sorry.” He was out of breath when he finished, as if he had been straining every muscle to raise the weight, crushing, overwhelming, that had been lifted from his heart.
They picked up Dorothy without awaking her, and Jerry pulled hard for the bank. “We’ll go straight up through the woods. There’s a house not quarter of a mile back. Prob’ly they’ll all be up and around. You see, the men were going to start early this morning, so’s to–so’s to–” Jerry floundered, his pale face suddenly flushing scarlet, and Peggy understood.
“Oh, Jerry!” Her voice dropped to a shocked whisper. “Oh, Jerry, they thought we were drowned.” Then she uttered a little pained cry. “And at home, too? Do they know?”
“Joe’s going to telegraph first thing this morning.”
“He mustn’t,” Peggy cried fiercely. “I can’t bear it. I won’t bear it to have mother hurt so.” Unconsciously her arm tightened about Dorothy, till the child roused with a little cry.
Jerry looked at the sun. “I guess we’ll be in time to stop him,” he reassured her. “Don’t you fret.” And then, as the boat bumped against the bank, “Here, I’ll take the baby.”
Jerry’s conjecture proved correct. There was a light in the kitchen of the farmhouse, where the farmer’s wife was preparing breakfast for the men hurrying through their morning tasks to be ready for the sombre duties awaiting them. At the sight of Jerry, with Dorothy in his arms, Peggy dragging wearily behind, the men guessed the truth, and the trio was welcomed with such shouts that Dorothy woke up in earnest. As for Peggy, she could hardly keep back the tears at the rejoicing of these total strangers over the safety of Dorothy and herself.
Jerry had thought this problem out in the toilsome climb from the river. “Say, I want the fastest horse you’ve got. They’re going to telegraph this morning to her folks and I’ve got to stop ’em.”
The farmer nodded comprehendingly. “I’ve got a three-year-old that’s a pretty speedy proposition. Ain’t really broken, though. Think you can manage him, son?”
“’Course I can.” In his new-born zeal for atonement, Jerry felt himself equal to the management of an airship. The three-year-old was accordinglyinterrupted in her breakfast, expressing her dissatisfaction by laying her ears close to her head. And as she was hurriedly saddled, Jerry added, “You’ll get ’em home as soon as you can, won’t you? I guess by their looks they’re pretty near beat out.”
“We sure will.” The farmer cleared his throat, for his deep voice had suddenly grown husky. “Driving the two of ’em home alive and well is a good deal pleasanter job than I’d bargained for this morning. Now look out for this here vixen,” he continued, dropping suddenly from the plane of sentiment to the prosaic levels, “for she’ll throw you if she can.”
And while Peggy was making an effort to eat the breakfast the farmer’s wife insisted on her sharing, a clatter of hoofs under the window told of Jerry’s departure.
“Joy cometh in the morning.” At Dolittle Cottage white-faced, sad-hearted girls had crept up-stairs to bed, and some of them had slept and waked moaning, and others had lain wide-eyed and still through the long hours, thankful for the relief of tears which now and then ran down their hot cheeks and wet their pillows. But when the dawn came, nature had its way, and the last watcher fell into the heavy sleep of exhaustion.
Apparently they all waked at once. Down-stairs was a clamor of uplifted voices, strange, choking cries, sounds that almost made the heart stop beating. And then above the tumult, a shrill fretful pipe that to the strained ears of the listeners was the sweetest of all sweet music.
“Make Hobo stop, Aunt Peggy. He’s a-tickling me with his tongue.”
Pandemonium reigned in Dolittle Cottage. There was a wild rush of white-robed figures for the hall, just as a girl in a dress that had once been white,and with dark circles under her eyes, came flying up the stairs. Peggy forgot her aching limbs and weariness in the transport of that moment. And then there was a little time of silence, broken only by the sound of happy sobbing, and everybody was kissing everybody else, without assigning any especial reason, and laughing through glad tears.
The appearance of Mrs. Cole, with Dorothy in her arms, was the signal for another outbreak, and perhaps Dorothy’s manifest ill-humor was fortunate on the whole, for something of the sort was needed to bring the excited household down to the wholesome plane of every-day living. Camping out did not agree with Dorothy. She had caught a slight cold from her wetting, and her night’s rest had been far from satisfactory. And now to be seized and passed from hand to hand like a box of candy, while people kissed and cried over her, was too much for her long-tried temper. She screamed and struggled and finally put a stop to further affectionate demonstrations by slapping Amy with one hand, while with the other she knocked off Aunt Abigail’s spectacles.
“She’s tired to death, poor little angel,” cried Mrs. Cole, generously ignoring the fact that Dorothy’s conduct was the reverse of angelic. “Shewants to get to bed and to sleep, and so do the rest of you, before Lucy and me have the lot sick on our hands.”
“Oh, I couldn’t sleep,” protested Peggy, “and I want to wait till Jerry comes, and find out if he stopped Joe from sending that telegram.”
“And we’re dying to hear everything that’s happened,” Amy cried, “and, besides, I’m afraid to go to sleep for fear I’ll dream that this is only a dream.”
But Mrs. Cole was firm, and Lucy Haines, who had come to the cottage before sunrise, added her entreaties to the older woman’s insistence. Then everybody discovered that Peggy was very pale, and Dorothy did some more slapping, and Mrs. Cole’s motion was carried. Although every girl of them, and Aunt Abigail as well, had protested her utter inability to sleep, it was not fifteen minutes before absolute quiet reigned in the second story of the cottage. Wheels ground up the driveway again and again, and penetrating, if kindly, voices made inquiries under the open windows, but none of the sleepers waked till noon.
Jerry Morton, coming to report the success of his mission, was more than a little disappointed not to secure an immediate interview with Peggy. ButLucy, who was peeling potatoes in anticipation of the time when hunger should act as an alarm clock, in the hushed second story, bade him sit down and wait. “I know she’ll want to see you. She was so worried for fear the news would get to her mother.”
“Well, it came mighty near it, I can tell you. Joe was just ahead of me. When I got in he was saying to the operator, ‘Rush this, will you?’ and I grabbed his coat and said nix.” Jerry’s tired face lighted up with satisfaction, and Lucy regarded him rather enviously. It seemed to her that Jerry was getting more than his share. He had found the castaways, and had spared Friendly Terrace the shock of the mistaken news, while Lucy with equally good will, was forced to content herself with peeling potatoes and like humble services.
“How did you ever come to think of looking for them?” she asked, wishing that the happy idea had occurred to her, instead of to Jerry.
“I didn’t. ’Twas just a stroke of luck.” Jerry told the story of his night’s wandering, a recital as interesting to himself as to Lucy, for as yet he had hardly had time to formulate the record of what had happened. Before they had exhausted the fascinating theme there were sounds overheadwhich told that the late sleepers were at last astir.
They kept open house at Dolittle Cottage that afternoon. The country community, aroused by the news of the supposed tragedy, and then by the word that all was well, gave itself up to rejoicing. Vehicles of every description creaked up the driveway, bringing whole families to offer their congratulations. Though farm work was pressing, Mr. Silas Robbins drove over with his wife and daughter, and patted Peggy’s shoulder, and pinched Dorothy’s cheek. Luckily a morning in bed had done much to restore Dorothy to her normal mood, and though she bestowed a withering glance upon the gentleman who had taken this liberty, she did not retaliate in the fashion Peggy feared.
“Couldn’t think of lettingyouget drowned, you know,” remarked Mr. Robbins with ponderous humor. “A girl who can speechify the way you can, might get to be president some day, if the women’s rights folks should win out. I don’t say,” concluded Mr. Robbins, with the air of making a great concession, “that I mightn’t vote for you myself.”
Mr. Smart, too, dropped in to secure additional information for the write-up, which he informedPeggy would appear in the next issue of theWeekly Arena. “Though but a country editor,” said Mr. Smart feelingly, “I believe that the Press ought to be reliable, and I’m doing my part to make it so. No yellow journalism in theArena.” And he showed a little natural disappointment on discovering that even this assurance did not reconcile Peggy to the prospect of figuring as a newspaper heroine.
One of the surprises of the day was Mrs. Snooks’ appearance. Never since her education had been taken in hand by the occupants of Dolittle Cottage, had she darkened its doors. But now she came smiling, and with an evident determination to regard bygones as bygones. For when she had expatiated at some length on the effect of Elisha’s harrowing news upon her nerves, and had repeated in great detail what she had said to Mr. Snooks, and what Mr. Snooks had said to her, she gave a crowning proof of magnanimity.
“Now, I’ve got to be getting back home. Mr. Snooks is a wonderful good-natured man, but he likes his victuals on time, same as most men-folks. I wonder if you could lend me a loaf of bread? I was just that worked up this morning that I didn’t get ’round to set sponge.”
The bread-box was well filled, thanks to Mrs. Cole, and Peggy insisted on accompanying Mrs. Snooks to the kitchen and picking out the largest loaf. She also suggested that Mrs. Snooks should take home a sample of the new breakfast food they all liked so much. As they parted on the doorstep Peggy was sure that the last shadow of their misunderstanding had lifted, for Mrs. Snooks turned to say, “I got a new cooky cutter from the tin peddler the other day–real pretty. And any time you’d like to use it, you’re perfectly welcome.”
Even then the surprises of the eventful day were not over. For late in the afternoon, when the kindly strangers occupying the porch chairs were just announcing that they guessed they’d have to move on, two figures came up the walk at a swinging pace. Ruth who was a little in the background was the first to notice them, and she was on her feet in a moment, with a glad cry. There was a general movement in the direction of the new arrivals, but Ruth was the first to reach them.
“Oh, Graham! Oh, Graham! You don’t know–”
“Yes, I’ve heard all about it,” Graham said in a voice not quite natural. The two boys on their way back to the city had stopped for dinner at thefarmhouse where Peggy had taken breakfast, and had been favored with all the details of what Jack called the “near tragedy,” though his effort at facetiousness was far from expressing his real feelings.
It was distinctly disappointing to the girls to find that their visitors planned to continue their trip next morning. “My vacation’s up Saturday,” explained Jack Rynson. “And Graham thinks he’s loafed as long as he should.”
“And Elaine is going to-morrow,” sighed Peggy. “I almost wish–” She checked herself abruptly.
“Dear old Friendly Terrace,” Amy murmured. “Seems as if we’d been away a year.”
“Well, we’ll be starting in ten days or so,” said Priscilla, with an air of trying to make the best of things.
Peggy flashed a surprised glance about the circle. “Girls, why, girls! I believe we’d all like to go home to-morrow! Then let’s.”
There was no doubt as to the popularity of the suggestion. The strain of those few hours when shadows darker than those of night hung over Dolittle Cottage, had implanted in the hearts of all the longing for home. In the clamor of eager voices there was no dissent, only questioningwhether so hasty a departure were possible. And when this was decided in the affirmative, hilarity reigned.
“You must all stay to supper,” Peggy declared, overflowing in joyous hospitality. “There won’t be enough of anything to go around, but there’s any amount of things that must be eaten.” Graham and Jack accepted the invitation as a matter of course, and Lucy and Jerry yielded, after considerable insistence on Peggy’s part. And on the faces which surrounded the dinner-table, lengthened for the occasion by an extra leaf, there was little to call to mind the black dream of the night.
It was an unusual supper in many ways. There were only half a dozen ears of corn, and the lima beans served out a teaspoonful to a plate. It was understood that whoever preferred sardines to corned beef might have his choice, but that it was a breach of etiquette to take both. However, since several varieties of jellies and preserves graced the table, and there was an abundance of Mrs. Cole’s delicious bread, both white and brown, there was no danger that any one would rise from the meal with his hunger unsatisfied.
Peggy was busy planning while she ate. “Oh, dear, what in the world am I going to do withHobo? I won’t leave him without a home, that’s sure. And I don’t know what Taffy’ll say to me if I bring back another dog.”
“I’ll take him off your hands,” said Jack Rynson.
Peggy leaned toward him with shining eyes. “Really? And would you like him? For I don’t want you to take him just to oblige me.”
Jack made haste to defend himself against such a charge. His home, it seemed, was on the outskirts of the city, and his mother sometimes complained that it was lonely, and would be glad, Jack was sure, of a good watch-dog. “And I’ll get Graham to give him a certificate on that score,” concluded Jack, with a meaning smile in the direction of his friend, who was always easily teased by references to the time when Hobo had rushed to the defence of Graham’s sister against Graham himself.
“Oh, that’s such a load off my mind,” Peggy declared. “He can go with you to-morrow, can’t he? And now there’s one thing more, and that’s his name.”
“Yes?” Jack looked a little puzzled.
“I named him myself, and I’ve been ashamed of it ever since. For he never was a tramp dog,really. He wanted a home all the time, and people of his own to love and protect and be faithful to. And, if you don’t mind, before he goes I’d like to change his name to Hero.”
The emphasis on the last word roused Hobo, who was sleeping in the next room. Perhaps his ear was not sufficiently trained to the niceties of the English language to distinguish between this name and the other by which he had been addressed all summer. Be that as it may, in an instant he was at Peggy’s elbow, looking up into her face, and wagging his tail.
“I believe he knows,” cried Peggy, while the table shouted. The new name was unanimously endorsed, and with his re-christening, Peggy’s canine protégé discarded the last survival of his life as a wanderer.
“And now about the chickens,” continued Peggy, whose face had lost its look of weariness in overflowing satisfaction. “I’m going to give them to you, Lucy. I’m sorry there’s only three of them, but–”
“Two,” Amy interrupted in a plaintive undertone from the other side of the table.
Peggy stared. “What! Has anything happened to Freckles?”
“No, he’s all right. And so’s the yellow hen, of course. But, Peggy, the other chicken has disappeared. Lucy noticed this morning that it was gone, and when all those people were here, she and I hunted everywhere. And the old hen keeps on scratching and clucking just the same.”
Peggy’s countenance reflected the disgust of Amy’s voice. “It isn’t much of a gift, Lucy. That yellow hen is really the worst apology for a mother I ever imagined. Freckles is a nice chicken, but he’s got some very bad faults. Hewillcome into the house whenever the screen door is left open, and he seems to have a perfect mania for picking shoe-buttons and shoe-strings. I suppose it’s because of the way he’s been brought up, but he’s so fond of human society that he makes a perfect nuisance of himself.”
“Chicken pie would cure all those faults,” suggested Graham, and they all laughed again at Peggy’s expression of horror. “Didn’t you tell me they’d bring forty cents a pound,” the young man persisted, teasingly.
“Yes, but that was before I got acquainted with them. I couldn’t turn even the yellow hen into chicken pie, much as I dislike her. The wonder to me,” Peggy ended thoughtfully, “is that anybodyever makes money out of raising chickens.”
Between the supper and the early bedtime there was much to be done. Trunks were packed, except for the bedding and similar articles, which could not be dispensed with before the morning. The remnants of the groceries were bestowed on Mrs. Snooks, and some matters which the girls did not have time to attend to were left in charge of the capable Mrs. Cole. Against everybody’s protest, Peggy insisted on running over to the Cole farmhouse to say good-by. Graham acted as her escort, and the two were admitted by Rosetta Muriel, at the sight of whom Peggy gave an involuntary start.
“Do you like it?” asked Rosetta Muriel, immediately interested. The fair hair which she usually arranged so elaborately, was parted and drawn back rather primly over her ears, giving her face a suggestion of refinement which was becoming, if a little misleading.
Peggy was glad she could answer in the affirmative. “Indeed, I do. The simple styles are so pretty, I think.”
“There was a picture of Adelaide Lacey in the paper, with her hair done this way. She’s goingto marry a duke, you know.” It was characteristic of Rosetta Muriel thus to excuse her lapse into simplicity, but though the ingenuous explanation was the truth, it was not the whole truth. Even Rosetta Muriel was not quite the same girl for having come in contact with Peggy Raymond, and her poor little undeveloped, unlovely self was reaching out gropingly to things a shade higher than those which hitherto had satisfied her.
The news of the hasty departure was magically diffused. Amy said afterward that she began to understand what they meant when they talked about wireless telegraphy. For as the stage rattled and bumped along the dusty highway the next morning, figures appeared at the windows, handkerchiefs fluttered, and hands were waved in greeting and farewell. In many a harvest field, too, work halted briefly, while battered hats swung above the heads of the wearers, as a substitute for a good-by. And at the station, to the girls’ astonishment, quite a company had collected in honor of their departure.
Graham and Jack had deferred their start till they had put the girls on the train, and they regarded the gathering in amazement. “Sure they’re not waiting for a circus train?” Graham demanded. “Are you responsible for all this? Rather looksto me, Jack, as if we weren’t quite as indispensable as we fancied.”
The stage was never early, and the girls hardly had time to make the rounds before the whistle of the train was heard. “Come back next summer,” cried Mrs. Cole, catching Peggy in her arms, and giving her a motherly squeeze. “I declare it’ll make me so homesick to drive by the cottage, with you girls gone, that I shan’t know how to stand it.”
Peggy was saying good-by all over again, but she saved her two special favorites for the last. “Now, Lucy,” she cried, her hands upon the shoulders of the pale girl, whose compressed lips showed the effort she was making far self-control, “you must write me now and then. I want to know just how you’re getting along.”
“Yes, I’ll write,” Lucy promised. “But you mustn’t worry about me. I’m not going to get discouraged again, no matter what happens.” The train was coming to a snorting halt and Peggy had time for just one more word.
“Good-by, Jerry. Don’t forget.”
The girls scrambled aboard, followed by a chorus of good-byes. “What’s this? Old Home week?” asked an interested old gentleman, dropping hisnewspaper and crossing the aisle, to get a better view of the crowd on the platform. And, meanwhile, Amy was tugging at the window, crying excitedly, “Oh, help me, quick, Peggy, or it’ll be too late.”
The window yielded to the girls’ combined persuasion. Amy’s camera appeared in the opening, and a little click sounded just as the train began to move. “Oh, I hope it’ll be good,” cried Amy, whose successes and failures had been so evenly balanced that her attitude toward each new effort was one of hopeful uncertainty. “It would be so nice to have something to remember them by.” But Peggy, looking back on the station platform, was sure that she needed no aid to remembrance, Amy’s camera might be out of focus, and the plate blurred and indistinct, as so often happened, but the picture of those upturned, friendly faces was printed upon Peggy’s heart, a lasting possession.
“Well, old man!” It was Jack Rynson speaking over Graham’s shoulder. “Guess we might as well start. Come on, Hobo–beg pardon, Hero.” And the dog who had whimperingly watched the train which bore Peggy out of sight, only restrained by Jack’s hand on his collar from rushing in pursuit, yielded to the inevitable, and followed his new masterwith the curious loyalty which does not change, no matter how often its object changes.
The people were breaking up into groups of twos and threes, and moving away, but Lucy Haines and Jerry stood motionless, their gaze following the vanishing speck which was the south-bound train. Then slowly Lucy’s head turned. She had never been friendly with Jerry Morton. She had shared the disapproval of the community, intensified by her inherent inability to understand the temperament so unlike her own. Yet all at once she found herself feeling responsible for him. To be helped means an obligation to help, at least to unselfish natures.
She went toward Jerry half reluctantly. But when she was near enough to see that he was swallowing hard, apparently in the effort to remove some obstruction in his throat which would not “down,” the discovery seemed to create a bond between them. Her voice was eager and sympathetic as she said: “It’s fine that you’re going to start school again, Jerry. And if I can help you with anything, I’ll be glad to.” She hesitated, and then, in spite of her natural reserve, she added: “We mustn’t disappoint her, either of us.”
Jerry had to swallow yet again before he couldreply. But his answer rang out with a manful sincerity which would have gladdened Peggy’s heart had she heard it.
“Disappoint her! Not on your life!”
SAVE THE WRAPPER!
If you have enjoyed reading about the adventures of the new friends you have made in this book and would like to read more clean, wholesome stories of their entertaining experiences, turn to the book jacket–on the inside of it, a comprehensive list of Burt’s fine series of carefully selected books for young people has been placed for your convenience.
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THE COURAGE OF ANNAnn makes many new, worthwhile friends during her first year at Forest Hill College.
ANN AND THE JOLLY SIXAt the close of their Freshman year Ann and the Jolly Six enjoy a house party at the Sterling’s mountain ranch.
ANN CROSSES A SECRET TRAILThe Sterling family, with a group of friends, spend a thrilling vacation under the southern Pines of Florida.
ANN’S SEARCH REWARDEDIn solving the disappearance of her father, Ann finds exciting adventures, Indians and bandits in the West.
ANN’S AMBITIONSThe end of her Senior year at Forest Hill brings a whirl of new events into the career of “Ann of the Singing Fingers.”
ANN’S STERLING HEARTAnn returns home, after completing a busy year of musical study abroad.
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