The Sewing LessonTHE SEWING LESSON
Inquisitive Sammy retired so hastily that he fell over backward.
"Now, you pull up the slack like this—Hey, Mike! Ididget you—Say, boys, you sheer off a bit while this here's goin' on. I'm plum' dangerous with this here tool."
"What do you do with the thimble?" asked Jeanne, when she had removed placid Annie to a safe distance.
"Durned if I didn't forget that. You puts it on this here finger—no—well now, you puts it onsomefinger and uses it to push the needle like that."
"How do youkeepit on?" asked Jeanne, twirling it rapidly on an upraised finger.
"I guess you'd better use the side of this here freight car like I allus does," admitted Old Captain. "Just push her in like that. Now,youtry."
Jeanne sewed for a while, according to these instructions, then handed the result to her teacher. The Captain beamed as he examined the seam.
"Ain't that just plum' beautiful!" said he, showing it to Michael. "That little gal cansew. But I ain't just sure them is the right tools—this here seam in my shirt now—well, it ain't so goldarned—hum—hum—ladies present—so tarnation thick as that there what I taught ye."
At their worst, the good old Captain's mild oaths were never very bad. Unhappily Jeanne had heard far more terrifying ones from sailors on passing boats. As you see, Captain Blossomtriedto use his very best language in the children's presence; but his best, perhaps, wasn't quite as polished as Léon Duval's.
"I don't see any large black knots in your shirt seam," observed Jeanne. "Mine look as if they'dscratch."
"Maybe they cuts 'em off," returned the Captain, eying the seam, doubtfully. "No, by gum! This here's done by machine. Yours is all right for hand work. But I tell ye what, Jeannie. You come round about this time tomorry and maybe, by then, I can find better needles. An' there was a sleeve I tore off an old shirt—maybe that'd sew better."
"I've always wondered," said Jeanne, "how people made buttonholes. They're suchneatthings. Canyoumake buttonholes?"
"To be sure I can. Nothin' easier. You cuts a round hole and then you takes half hitches all around it. I'm a leetle out of practice just now; but when I've practiced a bit—you see, you got to get started just right. But it's pretty soon to be thinkin' about the buttonholes."
"Do you makes the holes to fit the buttons or do you buy the buttons to fit the holes?"
"Well," replied the Captain, scratching his head, "mostly I makes the holes first like and then I fits the buttons to 'em. That's what I done on this here vest. You see, the natural ones was too small. Besides I lost the buttons, fust lick."
Interested Jeanne examined Old Captain's shabby waistcoat. There was a very large black button to fit a very large buttonhole. Next, a small white button with a buttonhole of corresponding size. Then a medium-sized very bright blue button with a hole to match that. The other two buttons were gone, but the store buttonholes remained.
"Three buttons—as long as they'rebigenough," explained Old Captain, "is enough to keep that there vest on. The rest is superfloo-us. Run along now, but mind you come tomorry and we'll have them other tools."
"I will," promised Jeanne.
"Me'll sew, too," promised Annie.
"Me, too," said Sammie.
"How aboutyou, Mike?" laughed Old Captain.
"Aw,Iwouldn't sew. That's girls' work."
The children had no sooner departed than Old Captain washed his hands and hurried into his coat. Feeling in his pocket to make sure that his money was there, he clambered up the steep bank, back of his queer house, to the road above. This was a pleasant road, because it curved obligingly to fit the shore line. The absence of a sidewalk did not distress Old Captain.
Half an hour later, Jeanne's friend, having reached the business section of the town, peered eagerly in at the shop windows. There seemed to be everything else in them except the articles that he wanted. Presently, choosing the shop that had themostwindows, he started in, collided with a lady and a baby carriage and backed out again. He mopped his bald pink head several times with his faded red handkerchief before he felt sufficiently courageous to make a second attempt. Finally he got inside.
"Tarnation!" he breathed. "This ain't no place for a man—I'm the only one!"
A moment later, however, he caught sight of a male clerk and started for him almost on a run. He clutched him by the sleeve.
"Say," said Old Captain, "gimme a girl-sized thimble, a spool o' thread to fit, and a whole package o' needles."
"This young lady will attend to you," replied the man, heartlessly deserting him.
The smiling young lady was evidently waiting for her unusual customer to speak, so the Captain spoke.
"Will you kindly gimme a girl's-size needle, a spool o' thread, an' a package o' thimbles."
"What!" exclaimed the surprised clerk.
"A thimble, a needle, a thread!" shouted the desperate Captain.
"What size needles?"
"Why—about the size you'd use to sew a nice neat seam. Couldn't you mix up about a quarter's worth?"
"Theycomein assorted packets. What colored thread?"
"Why—make it about six colors—just pick 'em out to suit yourself."
"How about the thimble? Do you want it for yourself?"
"No, it's for a girl."
"About how big a girl?"
"Well, she's some bigger 'round than a whitefish," said the Captain, a bit doubtfully, "but not so much bigger than a good-sized lake-trout. Say, how muchisthem thimbles?"
"Five cents apiece."
"Gimme all the sizes you got. One of each. She might grow some, you know."
"Anything else?"
"Yep," returned Old Captain. "Suppose we match up them spools with some caliker—white with red spots, or blue, now. What do you say tothat?"
"Right this way, sir," said the clerk, gladly turning her back in order to permit the suppressed giggles that were choking her, to escape.
The big Captain lumbered along in her wake, like a large scow towed by a small tug. He beamed in friendly fashion at the other customers; this dreaded shopping was proving less terrifying than he had feared. His pilot came to anchor near a table heaped with cheap print.
"We're having a sale on these goods," said she.
"What's the matter with 'em?" asked Old Captain, suspiciously.
"Why, nothing," replied the clerk. "They're all good. How much do you need? How many yards?"
"Well, just about three-quarters as much and a little over what it'd take for you. No need o' bein' stingy, an' we got to allow some for mistakes in cuttin' out."
"If you bought a pattern," advised the clerk, "there wouldn't be any waste."
"But," said Old Captain, earnestly, "she needs a waist and a skirt, too."
"I mean, you wouldn't waste any cloth. See, here's our pattern book."
Old Captain turned the pages, doubtfully. Suddenly his broad face broke into smiles.
"Well, I swan! Here she is. This isher—the girl them things is for. Same eyes, same hair, same shape—"
"But," queried the smiling clerk, "do you like the way that dress is made?"
"No, I don't," returned Captain Blossom. "It's got too many flub-dubs. I wouldn't know how to makethem. You see, I'm a teachin' her to sew."
Finally, by dint of much questioning, the girl arrived at the size of the pattern required and the number of yards. Then Old Captain selected the goods.
"Gimme abluerblue than that," he objected. "You got to allow a whole lot for to fade. Same way with the pink. Now that there purple's just right. And what's the matter with them red stripes? And that there white with big black spots. No, don't gimme no plain black—I'll keepthatspool to mend with. Now, how about buttons? The young lady's had one lesson already on buttonholes."
"We're having a sale on those, too. Right this way. About how many?"
"About a pint, I guess," said Old Captain. "And for Pete's sake mix 'em up as to sizes so they'll fit all kinds of holes."
This time the clerk giggled outright.
"They're on cards," said she. "Here are three sizes of white pearl buttons—a dozen on each card. Five cents a card."
"Make it three cards of each size," returned the Captain, promptly. "She might lose a few. And not bein' flower seeds, they wouldn't sprout and growmore. Now, what's the damage for all that?"
The Captain's money smelled dreadfully fishy, like all the rest of his belongings; but the good old man didn't know that. He was greatly pleased with himself and with his purchases. But when he reached the open air, he paused on the doorstep to draw a deep breath.
"'Twould a taken less time to bought the riggin' fer a hull boat," said he, mopping his pink countenance. "But I made a rare good job of it."
When Jeannette, according to her promise, arrived the next afternoon, the impatient Captain, who wished he had saidmorning, escorted her inside the old box-car. Sammy and Annie were at her heels; but Patsy was having a nap. The rough table was nicely decorated with folded squares of gorgeous calico. The cards of buttons, spools of thread, and glittering thimbles formed a sort of fancy border along the edge. The packets of needles were placed for safety in the exact center of the table.
"Them's yourn," said the Captain. "This here's a pattern. You spread it on you to see if it fits. It's your size."
"But," said Jeanne, "I wanted the clothes for thechildren."
"That's all right. You cut it out like this here paper. Then you just chop a piece off the end, wherever it's too long. There's enough for you and the little chaps, too. I'll get my shears and we'll do like it says on the back of the pattern."
The old shears, unfortunately, declined to cut; but the Captain sharpened the blade of his jack-knife, and, after Jeanne had laid the pieces, according to the printed directions, succeeded in hacking out the pink dress. The Captain insisted that Jeanne should begin on the pink one. He liked that best. Fortunately the shop girl had been wise enough to choose a very simple pattern; and Jeanne was bright enough to follow the simple rules.
"With one of them there charts," declared Old Captain, admiringly, "I could make a pair o' pants or a winter overcoat—all but the sewin'. My kind's all right in summer; but 'twouldn't do in winter—wind'd get in atween the stitches. Here, you ain't makin' that knot big enough!"
"Don't you think a smaller one would do?" asked Jeanne, wistfully. "I don't like such big, black ones. See, this little one doesn't; come through when I pull."
"Well, just add an extry hitch or two when you begin—that's right. Why, you're a natural born sewer."
It was a strange sight—the big red Captain and the slight dark girl, side by side on the old bench outside the battered freight car; Old Captain busy with his net, the eager little girl busy with her pink calico. If it seemed almosttoopink, she was much too polite to say so. She had decided that Annie should have the purple and that Sammy should have the blue. Little Patsy wouldn't mind the big black spots. As for the red stripes, that piece could wait.
"You see," thought Jeanne, "I'll ask Father to buy Michael some regular boys' clothes. A pair of trousers anyhow. If he doesn't get him a shirt too, I suppose Icanmake him one out of that, but I'dratherhave it for Annie. And I do hope I can squeeze out a pair of knickerbockers for Sammy. There was enough pink left for one leg—but I'll do his blue clothes before I plan anyextraones."
Jeanne's fingers were as busy as her thoughts; and, as the Captain had hoped, the seams certainly looked better when done with the proper tools.
"Iliketo sew," said Jeanne.
"Well," confided the Captain, "I can't say as how Ido."
Suddenly, wild shrieks rent the air. Sammy was jumping up and down in a patch of crimson clover. One grimy hand clasped a throbbing eyelid.
"Sammy smelled a bumby-bee," explained Annie, when Jeanne, dropping her pink calico, rushed to the rescue.
There were many other interruptions, happily not all so painful, before the new garments were finished; but, for many weeks, Jeanne's sewing traveled with her from end to end of the old dock; while she kept a watchful eye on her restless small charges.
"Father," asked Jeanne, one evening, when the pink dress was finished and Michael had received what the Captain called "a real pair of store pants," "aren't Michael and Sammy and Annie and Patsy your children, too?"
"Why, yes," replied Mr. Duval.
"Then why don't you take as much pains with them as you do with me? You never scold Michael for eating with his knife or for not being clean or for saying bad words. You didn't like it at all the day I said those bad words to Mollie's mother.Youremember. The words I heard those men say when their boat ran into the dock. You said that ladiesneversaid bad ones. Of course you couldn't make a lady out of Michael; but there's Annie. Whyisit, Daddy?"
"Well," returned Mr. Duval, carefully shaved and very neat and tidy in his shabby clothes, "they are Mollie Shannon's children. You are the daughter of Elizabeth Huntington. Your full name is Jeannette Huntington Duval. I want you to live up to that name."
"Do you mean," asked Jeanne, who was perched on the old trunk, "that Mollie's childrenhaveto be like Mollie?"
"Something like that," admitted Mr. Duval.
"That's a pity," said Jeanne. "Ilikethose children. They'resweetwhen they're clean. And Michael's almost always good to the others."
"Perhaps it wouldn't be right," said her father, "to make Mollie's children better than she is. They might despise her and be unkind to her. It is best, I fear, to leave things as they are."
"Don't youlovethose other children?" queried Jeanne.
"You are asking a great many questions," returned her father. "It is my turn now. Suppose you tell me through what states the Mississippi River flows?"
Mr. Duval admitted to himself, however, that he didnotlove those other children as he loved Jeanne. He tried hard, in fact, not to hate them. They were so dreadfully like Mollie; so dirty, so untidy, so common. Dazed from his long illness, half crazed by the death of his beautiful young wife, he had married Mollie Shannon without at all realizing what he was doing. He hadn't wanted a wife. All he thought of was a caretaker for wailing Jeannette, who seemed, to her inexperienced father, a terrifying responsibility.
Mollie, in her younger days, with a capable, scheming mother to skillfully conceal her faults—her indolence, her untidiness, her lack of education—hadseemeda fitting person for the task of rearing Jeanne. Bolstered by her mother, Mollie looked not only capable, but even rather pleasing with the soothed and contented baby cuddled in her soft arms. At the moment, the arrangement had seemed fortunate for both the Duvals and the Shannons.
Duval, however, was not really so prosperous as his appearance led the Shannons to believe. He had arrived in Bancroft with very little money. Time had proved to his grasping mother-in-law that he was not and never would be a very great success as a money-maker. Some persons aren't, you know. As soon as Mrs. Shannon had fully grasped this disappointing fact, she suffered a surprising relapse. She began to show her true colors—her vile temper, her lack of breeding, her innate coarseness. Her true colors, in fact, were such displeasing ones that Léon Duval was not surprised to learn that Mollie's only brother, a lively and rather reckless lad, by all accounts, had run away from home at the age of fourteen—and was perhaps still running, since he had given no proof of having paused long enough to write. When his absence had stretched into years, Mrs. Shannon became convinced that John was dead; but Mollie was not so sure. The runaway had had much to forgive, and the process, with resentful John, would be slow.
Of course, without her mother's aid, easy-going Mollie resumed her former slovenly habits, neglected her hair, her dress, and her finger nails. Most of her rather faint claim to beauty departed with her neatness.
After a time, when his strength had fully returned and his mental powers with it, Duval realized that he had made a very dreadful mistake in marrying Mollie; but there seemed to be nothing that he could do about it. After all, the only thing in life that he had ever really cared for was buried in Elizabeth Huntington's grave.
At first, Jeanne had been precious only because she was Elizabeth's daughter. As for Mollie's children, they were simply little pieces of Mollie. With the years, Mollie had grown so unlovely that one really couldn't expect a fastidious person to like four small copies of her. Unfortunately, perhaps, Léon Duval was averyfastidious person.
Mrs. Shannon, perpetually crouched over the battered stove for warmth, had a grievance.
"If Duval earned half as much as any other fisherman around here," said she, in her harsh, disagreeable voice, "we'd be livin' in a real house on dry land. And what's more, Mollie, you ain't gettin' all he earns. He's savin' on you. He's got money in the bank. I seen a bankbook a-stickin' out of his pocket. You ain't gettin' what you'd ought to have; Iknowyou ain't."
"Leave me be," returned Mollie. "We gets enough to eat and more'n a body wants to cook. Clothes is a bother any way you want to look at 'em."
"He's a-saving ferJeanne," declared the old lady. "'Tain't fair to you. 'Tain't fair to your children."
"Well," said Mollie, waking up for a moment, "I dunno as I blame him. I likes Jeanne better myself. She's gotlooks,Jeanne has; an' she's always been agoodchild, with nice ways with her. Neither me nor mine has much more looks nor a lump o' putty."
"You'd havesome, if you was tidy."
"Well, I ain't," returned Mollie, truthfully. "You got to lace yourself in, an' keep buttoned up tight an' wear tight shoes an' keep your stockings fastened up an' your head full o' hairpins if you wants to look neat, when you're fat, like I be. I hates all of them things. I'd ruther be comfortable."
Jeanne had often wondered how soft, plump Molliecouldbe comfortable with strands of red hair straggling about her face, with her fat neck exposed to the weather, her uncorseted figure billowing under her shapeless wrapper, her feet scuffling about in shoes several times too large. Even when dressed for the street, she was not much neater. But that was Mollie. Gentle as she was and thoroughly sweet-tempered, it was as impossible to stir her to action as it was to upset her serenity. As for wrath, Mollie simply hadn't any.
"You could burn the house down," declared Mrs. Shannon, "an' Mollie'd crawl into the Cinder Pond an' set there an'sleep. Her paw died just because he was too lazy to stay alive, and she's just like him—red hair and all. If it wasredred hair, there'd be some get up and go to them Shannons; but itain't. It's justcarrotred, with yaller streaks."
"When Annie's hair has just been washed," championed Jeanne, after one of Mrs. Shannon's outbursts against the family's red-gold locks, "it's lovely. And if Sammy ever had a lazy hair inhishead, I guess Michael pulled it out that time they had afightabout the fish-pole."
"Where's Sammy now?" asked his grandmother, suspiciously. "'Tain't safe to leave him alone a minute. He's always pryin' into things."
"He and Michael are trying to pull a board off the dock for firewood."
That was one convenient thing about the wharf. You could live on it and use it for firewood, too, provided you were careful not to take portions on which one needed to walk. To anyone but the long-practiced Duvals, however, most of the dock presented a most uninviting surface—a dangerous one, in fact. If you stepped on the end of a plank, it was quite apt to go down like a trap-door, dropping you into the lake below. If you stepped in the middle, just as likely as not your foot would go through the decayed board. But only the long portion running east and west was really dangerous. The section between the Duvals and dry land, owing to the accumulation of cinders and soil, bound together with roots of growing plants, was fairly safe.
"Of course," said Jeanne, who sometimes wished for Patsy's sake that there were fewer holes in the wharf, "if it were agooddock, we wouldn't be allowed to live on it. And if peoplecouldwalk on it, peoplewould; and that would spoil it for us. As it is, it's just the loveliest spot in the whole world."
Mrs. Shannon had been right about Mr. Duval. Hewassaving money. Also, it was for Jeanne; or, at least, for a purpose that closely concerned that little maiden.
What Mrs. Shannon had not guessed was the fact that Old Captain and Mr. Duval had discovered—or, rather, had been discovered by—two places willing to pay good prices for their excellent whitefish and trout. Thechefof a certain hotel noted for planked whitefish gave a standing order for fish of a certain size. And a certain dining-car steward, having once tasted that delicious planked fish, discovered where it was to be obtained in a raw state and, thereafter, twice a week, ordered a supply for his car.
The townspeople, moreover, liked to buy fish from Old Captain's queer shop in the end of his freight car. The third partner, Barney Turcott, whose old sailboat had been equipped with a gasoline motor, had been fortunate in his catches. Altogether, the season was proving a satisfactory one.
Sometimes Duval looked at his bankbook and sighed. He had vowed to save the money because it wasrightto save it for the unhappy purpose for which he wanted it. But when he should have enough! Duval could not bear to think of that moment. It meant a tremendous sacrifice—a horrible wrench. Yet every penny, except what was actually needed for food, went into the bank. And the fund was growing almosttoorapidly for Duval's comfort.
One evening, when Jeanne stepped over the high threshold of her father's little room for her lesson—no matter how tired the fisherman might be, the daily lesson was never omitted—she found Mr. Duval kneeling beside the little old trunk. It was open and the tray had been lifted out. From the depths below, her father had taken a number of fine white shirts—what Old Captain called "b'iled shirts." A pair of shoes that could have been made for no other feet than Léon Duval's—they were so small, so trim, and yet so masculine—stood on the table. Beside them were two pairs of neatly-rolled socks—of finest silk, had Jeanne but known it. Still in the trunk were several neckties, a suit of fine underwear, also a suit of men's clothing.
Duval carefully lifted out the coat and slipped it on. It fitted him very well.
"Tell me, little one," said Duval, eagerly, "if it looks to you like the coats worn by the well-dressed men of today?"
"I—I don't think I'veseenvery many well-dressed men—that is, to notice their clothes," said Jeanne.
"Nor I," said her father. "I am on the lake daytimes, where the well-dressed are apt to wear white flannels and are nineteen years of age. Often there is a pink parasol. Thelakefashions, I fear, are not for a man of my sober years. In the evening, the well-dressed man is either indoors or in his overcoat. I think I must ask you to do me a favor."
"I'd love to, Daddy. What is it?"
"Tomorrow, you will be taking this book back to the library for me. On the way there and on your way back, through the town, whenever you can, walk behind a well-dressed gentleman. I want you to study the seams and the tails of the coat. Now look well at these."
Mr. Duval, decidedly dandified in his good coat, turned his back to his daughter.
"Observe the seams," said he. "The length of the tails, the set of the sleeves at the shoulder. At the cut also in front; at the number of buttons. Tomorrow, you must observe these same matters in the coats of other men. Above all, my Jeanne, do not seem to stare. But keep your eyes open."
"I will, Daddy. I know exactly what you mean. When I made this pink dress for myself and the things for Annie and Sammy, I looked at the clothes on other children to see how wide to make the hems, how long to make the sleeves, how high to make the necks, and where to make thingspuffy."
"And you made a very good job of it all, too, my little woman. I am proud of your skill with the needle and greatly obliged to your good friend, Old Captain. Now look again at the seams in the back and then for our lesson. But first bring a plate of water and a large spoon. I will teach you how to eat soup."
The garments were put away and the trunk closed by the time Jeanne returned. The soup lesson amused her greatly.
"I can eat it muchfaster," she said, "the way Sammy does. And it's hard, isn't it, not to make a single bit of noise! I think I'm gettingfunnylessons—sitting with both feet on the floor and standing with my shoulders straight and cleaning my finger nails every day, and brushing my teeth and holding my fork. And last night it was writing letters. I liked to do that."
"There is much more that Ishouldteach you, my Jeannette, that I am unable. I am behind the times. Fashions have changed. Only a gentlewoman could give you the things that you need. But books—and life—Ah, well, little Jeanne, some day, you shall be your mother's true daughter and I shall have done one good deed—at a very great cost. But take away these dishes—you have eaten all your soup."
"It was prettythinsoup," laughed Jeanne. "What are we to try next?"
"Another letter, I think."
"That's good," said Jeanne. "I like to do letters, but I'msoafraid I'll forget and wipe my pen on this pink dress. I almost did last time."
The next day Jeanne remembered about the coat. Unfortunately it was a warm day and an inconvenient number of well-dressed men had removed their coats and were carrying them over their arms. But those were mostly stout men. She was much more interested in short, slender ones. Happily, a few of slight build were able to endure their coats. Jeanne's inquisitive eyes all but bored twin holes in the backs of a number of very good garments. At first she had been very cautious, but presently she became so interested in her queer pursuit that she forgot that the clothes contained flesh and blood persons.
Finally a sauntering young man wheeled suddenly to catch her very close to his heels.
"Say," said he, grinning at her, "I've walked twice around this triangle to see if you were really following me. What's the object?"
"It's—it's your coat," explained Jeanne, turning very crimson under her dusky skin.
"My coat! What's the matter with my coat?"
"The—the style."
"What! Isn't it stylish enough to suit you?"
"It's theseams. I'm—I'm using them for a pattern."
"Ah, I see. Behold the lady tailor, planning a suit of clothes for her husband."
"Ihaven'tany husband," denied Jeanne, indignantly. "I'm too young to be married. But I'm awfully glad to see thefrontof your coat. I've seen a great many backs; but it's harder to get a good look at fronts. Good-by."
"Queer little kid!" said the young man, pausing to watch Jeanne's sudden flight down the street. "Pretty, too, with those big black eyes. Looks like a French child."
In her flight, Jeanne overtook a boy of about her own height, but far from her own size. He was stout and he puffed as he toiled up the hill. Where had she seen that plump boy? Was it—yes, itwasthe very boy she had pulled out of the lake, that pleasant day in May, when the lake was still cold. Whatshouldshe do if that grateful boy were to thank her, right there in the street! Having passed him, she paused irresolutely to look at him. After all, if he wished to thank her, he might as well have a chance to get it over.
But Jeanne needn't have been alarmed. Roger glanced at her, turned bright scarlet, and dashed into the nearest shop. Jeanne, eying the window, wondered what business a boy could possibly have in that particular place. So did Roger after he got inside. It was a hair-dresser's shop for ladies. He bolted out, tore past a bright pink dress, and plunged into a tobacco shop. That at least was a safe harbor for aman.
"I guess," said Jeanne, surprised at Roger's sudden agility, "he didn't know me in these clothes. Next time I'll speak to him."
That night, Jeanne asked her father to try on the old coat, in order that she might compare it with those she had seen. He slipped it on and turned so that she might view it from all sides.
"I'm afraid, Daddy," said she, sorrowfully, "that none of thebestcoats are quite like yours. You havemoreseams, closer together and not so straight. And your tails are longer. And you fold back differently in front."
"I feared so," said Mr. Duval. "This coat was not new when I laid it away and the styles have changed perhaps more than I suspected."
"I am sorry," apologized Jeanne.
"I fear I am not," said Mr. Duval, with one of his rare smiles. "You have put off an evil day—forme. It is too warm for lessons. Let us pay Old Captain a visit. You must see the big trout that Barney brought in today."
Not only Barney's big trout but Barney himself was at Old Captain's. Jeanne liked Barney. He was younger than either of his partners and so exceedingly shy that he blushed whenever anybody looked at him. But he sometimes brought candy to the Duval children and he whittled wonderful boats. He never said anything, but he did a great deal of listening with his large red ears.
This time, at sight of Jeanne, Barney began to fumble awkwardly at his pockets. Finally he pulled forth a large bag of peanuts and a small brown turtle. He laid both in her lap, for by this time Jeanne was perched on the bench outside the old car.
"Thank you, Barney," smiled Jeanne. "We'll have a tea-party with the peanuts tomorrow and I'll scoop out a tiny pond, some place, for the turtle. Isn't he lovely!"
Barney grinned, but made no other response.
"I'm glad you folks come," chuckled Old Captain. "Barney here has nigh about talked me to death."
Still, it appeared, even the matter of the out-of-date coat could not put off the evil day forever. One Saturday night—the only night that stores were open in Bancroft—Mr. Duval took Jeanne to the business section of the town, where they entered the very store in which Old Captain had made his purchases.
The month was September and the pink dress, washed many times by Jeanne herself and dried in the full sunshine on the old dock, had faded to a more becoming shade.
Unlike the Captain, Léon Duval behaved quite like an ordinary shopper. He carried himself with dignity and seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He said:
"Stockings for this little girl, if you please."
The clerk, after a hasty glance at the rather shabby garments of her customers, laid some cheap, coarse stockings on the counter.
"Better ones," said Mr. Duval.
"Not good enough," said he, rejecting a second lot. "Something thinner and finer. Yes, these are better. Four pairs, please.
"Now I shall want some underwear for her. Lisle-thread or balbriggan, I think. Also two chemises, night-dresses, whatever petticoats are worn now and a good, serviceable dress—a sailor suit, I think. And after that shoes."
"Why, Daddy!" gasped Jeanne. "I thought you were going to buynails. Yousaidnails."
"Nails, too, perhaps; but first these."
Jeanne regarded her father thoughtfully. He had always been very gentle with her, but of late—yes, certainly—he had been very much kinder to her. And now, all these clothes. Was he, perhaps, going to send her to a real school—the big public school that stood so high that one could see its distant roof from the wharf? A lack of proper clothing had heretofore prevented her going—that, the distance, and her usefulness at home. She was older now, she could manage the walk. Michael disliked the task, but hecouldlook after the younger children. But withclothes, she could go to school. That would be splendid. Perhaps, in another year, Michael could have clothes, too.
But how particular her father was about hers. The chemises must have a little fine lace on them, he said. And the petticoats—the embroidery must be finer. Yes, the blue serge dress with the fine black braid on the sailor collar would do nicely. And next, a small, neat hat.
Jeannette gasped again. A hat! She had never worn a hat except when she had gone "up town" and then it hadn't been any special hat—just anybody's old cap. But, of course, if she went to school she'd need a hat.
"Now, if you please," said Mr. Duval, "we'd like to see some gloves."
"Kid, or silk?"
"Whichever is the more suitable."
"It's getting late for silk. Maybe you'd better take kid."
Mr. Duval did take kid ones. The sales-woman, with many a curious glance at her unusual customers, fitted a pair of tan gloves to Jeanne's unaccustomed fingers. Her fingerswouldn'tstay stiff. They doubled and curled; but at last the gloves were on—and off again. Jeanne gave a sigh of relief.
Then there were shoes. Jeanne was glad that the holes in her stockings were quite small ones. Supposing it had been her other pair!Allholes! As it was, the man to whom the clerk had transferred her customer seemed rather shocked to seeanyholes. Was it possible that there were people—even entire families—withnoholes in their stockings? The fat boy that had tumbled off the wharf that morning and hadn't known her afterwards in the new pink dress, probably that fortunate child had whole stockings, because everything else about him seemed most gloriously new and whole; but surely, the greater part of the population went about in holes. Mollie, Mrs. Shannon, her father—even Old Captain. She had seenhimput great patches in his thick woolen socks.
But what was the clerk putting on her feet! She had had shoes before. Thick and heavy and always too large that they might last the longer. Mollie had bought them, usually after the first snow had driven barefooted Jeanne to cover. But never such shoes as these. Soft, smooth, and only a tiny scrap longer than her slender foot. And oh, so softly black! And then, a dreadful thought.
"Daddy," said Jeanne, "I just love these shoes formyself; but I'm afraid they won'tdo. You see, Sammy gets them next. They aren'tboys'shoes."
"These areyourshoes, not Sammy's," replied her father.
When Mr. Duval had paid for all the wonderful things, they were tied in three big parcels. Jeanne carried one, her father carried two. It was dark and quite late when they finally reached the wharf.
"We will say nothing about this at home," said Mr. Duval, when Jeanne proposed stopping to show the things to Old Captain. "For the present, we must hide them in the old trunk. I have no wish to talk about this matter with anybody. It concerns nobody but us two. Can you keep the secret—even from Old Captain?"
"Why, Iguessso. Will it beverylong? I'm afraid it will bubble and bubble until somebody hears it. And oh! That darling hat!"
"Not long, I fear."
"I'll try," promised Jeanne.
"Give me that package. Now, run along to bed. I guess everybody else is asleep."
It was a long time before excited Jeanne was able to sleep, however. One by one she was recalling the new garments. She wished that she might have had the new shoes under her pillow for just that one night.
Perhaps the only thing that saved the secret next day was the wonderful tale that she told the children, after she had led them to the farthest corner of the old wharf.
"The beautiful princess," said she, "wore a lovely white thing called a chemise—theprettiestthing there ever was. It was trimmed with lovely lace that had a blue ribbon run through it. There was a beautiful white petticoat over that and on top ofthata dress."
"What for," asked Sammy, the inquisitive, "did she cover up her pretty chemise with all those things? Was she cold?"
"Oh, no. Onlygrand. A chemise is to wearunder."
"I'm glad I'm not a princess," said Michael. "Botherin' all the time with blue ribbons. Didn't she wear no crown?"
"Anycrown. No, she had just a little dark blue hat the very color of her dress, some brown gloves and oh! thesmoothestshoes. They fitted her feet just like skin and she had stockings—"
"Aw, cut out her clothes," said Michael. "What did sheeat?"
School had started. Jeanne knew it because on her last trip to the library she had met a long procession of boys and girls hurrying homeward; chattering as only school children can chatter. But still Mr. Duval had said nothing to Jeannette aboutgoingto school. The home lessons went on as usual, and the wondering pupil hoped fervently that she was not outgrowing that hidden wardrobe.Thatwould be too dreadful.
The following Saturday evening, Mr. Duval shopped again. This time, he went alone; returning with more bundles. These, too, were concealed. The wharf afforded many a convenient hiding place under its old planks; and this time, even Jeanne failed to suspect that anything unusual had happened during the evening. There were never any lessons Saturday night; and this particular evening she had been glad of the extra time. She was finishing the extra dress she had started for Annie, the red and white striped calico. Mollie was in bed and asleep, Mrs. Shannon was dozing over the stove, Jeanne sat close to the lamp, pushing her needle through the stiff cloth.
"There!" breathed Jeanne, thankfully. "The last button's on. Tomorrow I'll dress Annie up and take her to call on Old Captain. He'll like her because she'll look so much like the American flag."
Tuesday had been a wonderful day. Never had the lake or the sky seemed so softly blue, the air so pleasant or the green bushes so nearly like real trees. The two boys had been good all day and Annie and Patsy had beensweet. There had been a late wild rose on the bush near Old Captain's freight car—a deep rose streaked with crimson. The Captain, heavy and clumsy, had scrambled up the bank to pluck it for Jeannette, who had placed it carefully in a green glass bottle on her father's little table.
Her lesson the night before had been a queer one. Her father had taught her how to dress herself in the new garments. Also, he had given her an obviously new brush and comb, and had compelled her to use them to reduce her almost-curly hair to a state of unaccustomed order. That had taken averylong time, because, when you have been using a very old brush and an almost toothless comb your hair does get snarled in spite of you.
Her lessons were getting so queer, in fact, that she couldn't help wondering what would come next. What came was the queerest thing of all.
The rose in the green glass bottle on her father's table filled the little room with fragrance. Again the door was fastened and the lid of the trunk cautiously lifted.
"Fix your hair as you did last night," directed Mr. Duval, in an odd, rather choked voice. "Put on your clothes, just as you did last night. Be very quiet about it. You were in the Pond today?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Good! Then you are clean. I will wait outside until you are dressed."
"Are we going some place, Daddy?"
"Yes," replied her father, who had taken a parcel from the box on which he usually sat. "Dress quickly, but neatly, and put on your hat. Put the gloves in your pocket. Then sit quietly here until I come for you."
Eyes shining, pulses leaping, Jeannette got into her new garments. But where were the extra ones that had been in the trunk? The two frilly night-dresses, the other chemise, the other petticoat, the extra stockings? Never mind. Her father, she was sure, had taken good care of them.
"There! my hair's going betterthistime. And my feet feel more at home in these shoes. And oh! My white, white petticoat—howniceyou are! Ineverhad trulywhitethings. I suppose a real princess has heaps and heaps of them."
Mr. Duval had neglected to supply stocking-straps. It is quite possible that he didn't know that little girls' stockings were fastened that way. Motherless Jeanne certainly didn't. Mollie's were never fastened at all. Old Mrs. Shannon tiedherswith a string. Jeannette found two bits of raveled rope, hanging from a nail. They, she thought, would answer the purpose.
"It's only for this evening," said Jeanne, eying with dissatisfaction the bits of frayed rope. "I'll find something better tomorrow—some nice pieces of pink calico like my dress, maybe."
Next she got into the pretty sailor suit and smoothed it into place. Then the good little dark blue hat was put on very carefully. Last of all, Jeanne lifted down the small, cheap mirror that hung on the rough wall.
"I certainly do looknice," said she. "I think Elizabeth Huntington would like me."
Most anybody would have thought the same thing. Certainly her father did when, a moment later, he opened the door.
"Turn out the light," said he. "It is time to start."
Hand-in-hand the pair stole silently along the pier to the low place where Roger Fairchild had climbed out of the lake. Here a small boat awaited them. In it were two rectangular objects that Jeanne did not recognize. They were piled one on top of the other, and the little girl was to sit on them. Blushing Barney Turcott had the oars. Evidently he was to do the rowing. Duval climbed in and took the rudder strings.
They were some distance from the dock, with the boat headed toward the twinkling lights of Bancroft, before anybody said a word. After that, while the men talked of fish, of nets, and of prices, Jeanne's investigating fingers stole over the surface of the objects on which she sat, until finally she discovered handles and straps. They were suitcases! People coming out of the Bancroft station sometimes carried them. Was it possible that she was to ride on a train or on one of the big lake steamers that came four times a week to the big dock across the Bay in the harbor of Bancroft? She who had never ridden in much of anything! Wherecouldshe be going?
When they disembarked near the foot of Main Street, Mr. Duval handed a letter to Barney Turcott.
"Please hand this to Mrs. Duval tomorrow morning," said he.
Barney nodded. Then, for once, he talked.
"Pleasant journey, sir," said he. "Good-by, Jeanne. I suppose—"
"Good-by," said Mr. Duval, taking the suitcases. "Come, Jeanne, we must hurry."
Jeanne wondered what Barney had supposed.
"I have our tickets," said Mr. Duval, as the pair entered the station; Jeanne blinking at the lights like a little owl. "Come this way. Our train is over here."
"Lower five and six," said he, to the colored man who stood beside the train. Jeanne wondered if the colored gentleman owned it; she would ask her father later.
Then they were inside. Her eyes having become accustomed to the light, Jeanne was using them. She didn't know which was the more astonishing, the inside of the coach or her father.
Like herself, Mr. Duval was clad throughout in new garments. He wore them well, too. Spotless collar and cuffs, good shoes and socks, and a suit that had the right number of seams in the proper places. He was all right behind, he was all right in front. Jeanne eyed him with pride and pleasure.
"Why, Father!" she said. "You don't evensmellof fish."
"I'm glad to hear it," said he, his eyes very bright and shining. "Before I came to Bancroft I was dressed every day like this—like a gentleman. So you like me this way, eh?"
"That way andanyway," she said. "But, Father. Where are we going?"
"You will sleep better if I tell you nothing tonight. Don't worry—that's all."
"But, Daddy, are we going tosleephere? I don't see any beds."
Presently, however, the porter began pulling beds right out of the air, or so it seemed to Jeanne. Some came down out of the ceiling, some came up out of the floor—and there you were, surrounded by beds! Oh, what a fairy story to tell the children!
A few whispered instructions and Jeanne knew how to prepare for bed, and how to get up in the morning. Also what to do with her clothes.
"We change in Chicago in the morning," added her father; "so you must hop up quickly when I call you."
Jeanne could hardly sleep for the joy of her lovely white night-dress. Never had the neglectful Shannons provided her with anything so white and soft and lovely as that night-dress fordaytime, let alone night. Disturbing, too, was the motion of the train, the alarming things that rushed by in the darkness, the horrible grinding noises underneath, as if the train were breaking in two and shrieking for help. Howcouldone sleep!
But finally she did. And then her father's hand was on her shoulder. After that, only half awake, she was getting into her clothes. Oh,sucha jiggly, troublesome business! And one rope garter had broken right in two.
Next they were off the train and eating breakfast in a great big noisy station that seemed to be moving like the cars. Jeanne was whisked from this into something that really moved—a taxicab. After that, another train—adaycoach, her father said. Jeannette was thankful that she didn't have to go to bed inthat; but oh, how her head whirled!
And now, with the darkness gone, all the world was whizzing past her window. A shabby world of untidy backyards and smoke-blackened houses, huddled horribly close together—at least the Duvals had had no untidy neighbors and certainly there had been plenty of elbow room. But now the houses were farther apart. Presently there were none. The country—Oh, that wasmuchbetter. If one could only walk along that woodsy road or play in that pleasant field!
"Jeanne," said Mr. Duval, touching her hand softly, "I'll tell you now where we are going. It happens that you have a grandfather. His name is William Huntington—your mother's father, you know. Some weeks ago I wrote to an old friend to ask if he were still living. He is. Your mother's brother Charles and his family live with him: a wife and three children, I believe. Your aunt is undoubtedly a lady, since your uncle's marriage was, I understand, pleasing to his family. Your mother was away from home at the time of our marriage and I met only her parents afterwards. Your grandfather I could have liked, had he liked me. Your grandmother—she is dead now—seemed the more unforgiving. Yet, neither forgave."
"Do they know aboutme?" asked Jeanne.
"They knew that you were living at the time of your mother's death. I want them toseeyou. If they like you, it will be a very good thing for you. It is, I think, theonlyway that I can give you what your mother would have wanted you to have; the right surroundings, the proper friends, education, accomplishments. You are nearly twelve and you have hadnothing. If anything were to happen to me, I should want you with your mother's people rather than with Mollie. This—visit will—help you, I think."
"Shall I like my grandfather? And my uncle? I've never had any ofthose, you know."
"I hope so."
"But not as well as you, Daddy, nothalfas well—"
"We won't talk about it any more just now, if you please. See that load of ripe tomatoes—a big wagon heaped to the top. We don't have such splendid fruit in our cold climate. See, there is a farm. Perhaps they came from there. Such big barns and comfortable houses."
"Daddy," said Jeanne, "what does a lady do when her stocking keeps coming down and coming down? This morning I broke the rope—"
"The rope!" exclaimed astonished Mr. Duval.
Jeanne hitched up her skirt to display the remaining wisp of rope.
"Like that," she said.
"My poor Jeannette," groaned Léon Duval, "it is certainly time that you were with your mother's people. You need a gentlewoman's care."
"But, Daddy. You said we'd be on this train all day, and it's only nine now. My stocking drops all the way down. Haven't you a bit of fish-twine anywhere about you?"
"Not an inch," lamented Mr. Duval. "But perhaps the porter might have a shoestring."
"Shoestring? Yass, suh," said the porter. "Put it in your shoe foh you, suh?"
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Duval, gravely; but Jeannette giggled.
"Daddy, if you'll spread your newspaper out a good deal, I think I can fix it. There! That's ever so much better."
They spent the night in a hotel; Jeanne in a small, butveryclean room—the very cleanest room she hadeverseen. She examined and counted the bed-covers with much interest, and admired the white counterpane.
But she liked the outside of her snowy bed better than the inside, after she had crawled in between the clammy sheets.
"I wish," shivered Jeanne, "that Annie and Sammy were here with me—or even Patsy, if hedoeswiggle. It's so smooth and cold. I don't believe I like smooth, cold places."
Poor little Cinder from the Cinder Pond! She was to find other smooth, cold places; and to learn that there were smooth, cold persons even harder to endure than chilly beds.
In the morning Jeanne dressed again in her new clothes. Then the travelers had breakfast. By this time, you may be sure, Jeanne was very grateful for her father's past instructions in table manners. They had proved particularly useful in the dining-car, where Mr. Duval had added a few more lessons to fit napkins, finger-bowls, and lamb chops.
After a leisurely meal, they got into a street car in which they rode for perhaps twenty minutes along paved streets lined with high buildings or large houses very close together. Then they got out and walked along several blocks of very hard pavement, until they came to a large gray house with a tall iron fence. They climbed a number of stone steps leading to a tightly closed, forbidding door.
"Your grandfather lives here," said Mr. Duval, ringing the bell.
A very stiff butler opened the door, ushered them in, and told them to be seated in a very stiff reception-room, while he presented the letter that Mr. Duval had handed him. Jeanne eyed the remote ceiling with wonder and awe.
The butler returned presently with six persons at his heels. They had evidently risen hastily from the breakfast table, for two of them had brought their napkins with them. A very tremulous old man, a large, rather handsome woman, a stout, but decidedly mild-looking gentleman, two tall girls, and a boy; all looking as if they had just had a shock of some kind. They did not shake hands with Mr. Duval. They all gazed, instead, at Jeanne. A great many eyes for so small a target. Jeanne could feel herself shrinking under their piercing glances. For what seemed like a very long time, no one spoke. But oh, how they looked and looked and looked! Finally, Mr. Duval broke the embarrassing silence.