CHAPTER XXIV. JULIE AND GERALD LOST
It was nearly noon when Dan returned to the cabin. He gave a long whistleof astonishment when he saw the disordered living-room and heard no oneabout. Jane at once appeared in her doorway. Her face still showedevidence of her anger. "Dan," she said coldly, "my trunks are all packed.Please put out a flag or whatever you should do to stop the stage. Itpasses about one, does it not, on the way to Redfords?"
The lad went to the girl with outstretched hands. "Jane, dear, what hashappened? Have you and the children had more trouble? Is it so hard foryou to love them and be patient with their playfulness? You know it isnothing more." The girl's lips curled scornfully. "Love them?" sherepeated coldly. "I feel far more as if I hated them. I don't believelove is possible to me. I even hate myself! Dan, there's something allwrong with me, and I'm going back East to Merry, who is about the onlyperson living who can understand me."
There was an expression of tender rebuke in the gray eyes that weregazing at her. "You are wrong," the lad said seriously. "Father and Ilove you dearly, not only because we know that you are different fromwhat you seem to be, but for Mother's sake." Then, turning and glancingagain at the confusion, the lad said, "Tell me just what happened."
Jane did so, adding petulantly: "My head was beginning to ache. I had hadan unpleasant encounter with your Meg Heger." Dan felt a sudden leapingof his heart. How strange, he thought, that for the first time in hislife the name of a girl should so affect him. He had heard of love atfirst sight, but he had never believed in it. With an effort he againlistened to Jane's indignant outpouring of words. "Don't say I deservedjust such treatment," she protested. "No one knows it better than I do. Iacknowledge that I am despicable and I hate myself. Honestly, Dan, I do,but I don't know how to change. I don't seem to really want to bedifferent."
"That's just it, Jane." The boy had grown very serious. "Just as soon asyou desire to be different you will at once begin to change. We are thesculptors of our own characters. We can set before ourselves a model ofwhat we would like to be and carve accordingly." Then, as the clock wasstriking twelve, the lad suddenly inquired, "Jane, when did all thistrouble with the children occur? I left at nine. You think it was aboutan hour after that?"
The girl nodded, then, glancing out of the wide front door, sheexclaimed: "I wonder why they don't come back. I supposed, of course,that they had gone to find you. Gerald knew where you were going, didn'the?"
Dan shook his head. "He could not have known, for I did not myself.Yesterday and the day before I climbed up to the rim-rock and planneddoing it every morning as a strength restorative measure, but today,after we had been wondering how we were to get to the Packard ranch, Ithought I would cross the mountain to the other side and look down intothe valley, and see if I could, how much nearer was the trail which JeanSawyer took on Sunday. But I found that it would be much too rough andhard for you, and so we will wait until we receive directions from Mr.Packard. If you will prepare the lunch, I will go out and put up a whiteflag. Surely Mr. Wallace will know that I wish to speak to him. Then Iwill call the children to come home. They may be close, but since youtold them that you wished you would never see them again, they areprobably hiding, hoping that you are to go on the afternoon stage."
Jane was indeed miserable. Her flaring anger had often caused her to saythings that afterwards she deeply repented. "Perhaps if I would go withyou and call they would know that I did not mean all that I said," sheventured. But Dan was insistent that she, at least, prepare a lunch forherself.
"You must not start for the East without having a good hearty noon meal,"he told her. As he spoke he was fastening an old pillow case to a pole.Leaving the house, he placed it at the top of the stairway.
Then going to the brook, he began a series of halloos, but a hollow,distant echo was all that responded.
Dan, after a fruitless effort to call to the children, returned to thecabin, his face an ashen white. "Jane," he said, and his voice was almostharsh, "you will have to attend to stopping the stage if it comes soon.Mr. Wallace can carry your baggage down without my assistance. I am goingto hunt for those poor little youngsters who felt that they were turnedout of their home. Goodbye."
Jane, with a low cry of agony, leaped forward with arms outstretched, butDan had not given her another look, and by the time she reached the brookhe was out of sight. The girl sank down on a boulder and sobbed bitterly.
"If they're lost I shall never forgive myself. Oh, how selfish, howunkind I have been, thinking only of Jane Abbott and her comfort. I can'tgo away now, and not know what has become of Julie and Gerald."
Then another thought caused her to rise and go slowly to the cabin. "Theywant me to go, all of them, even Dan. Perhaps it would be the best thingfor me to do, and when they come back they will be glad to find that Ihave gone."
Almost unconsciously Jane began to put the living-room in order. Shesmoothed rugs and dragged the heavy furniture into the places it hadformerly occupied. Then she went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. IfJulie and Gerald had been climbing the mountains all the morning theywould be starved, as she well knew. Again Jane Abbott pared potatoes andafter studying upon the subject for some moments she made a fire in thestove and put on a kettle of water. In the midst of these preparationsshe was startled by the shrill blast of the horn carried by the stagedriver. Oh, she could not go just then. She was nowhere near ready. Janesnatched up a letter that she had that morning written to Merry andhurried down the stone steps. The surly driver took it with a grunt whichseemed to express displeasure, although, as Jane knew, taking the mail totown was one of his duties.
When the big creaking stage had rocked around the corner, Jane suddenlyfelt as though a great load had been lifted from her heart. She had notreally wanted to go at all. She wanted to be sure that all was well withthe children, and more than that, she did so want to see Jean Sawyeragain. But her pleasure was short lived, for, with a sense of oppression,she again recalled that they would all be disappointed to find her there,even Dan.
As the water in the tea kettle had not yet started to boil, Jane went toher room to change her dress to one more suitable for the work she hadundertaken. Upon opening her trunk she saw, lying on top, a miniaturepicture delicately colored in a dainty frame of silver filigree. The girllifted it and looked long into the truly beautiful face. Then with ahalf-sob she said aloud, "My mother!"
Instantly she recalled what Dan had said: "We are each of us sculptors ofour own characters. We can choose a model and carve ourselves like it."The girl sank on her knees, the picture held close to her cheek.
"Oh, mother, mother!" she sobbed, "I choose you for my model. Help me; Iam sure you can help me to be more like you."
A strange sense of strength came to her as she arose. She had beenstruggling without a definite goal. She had known, the small voice withinhad often told her, that she was despicable, but she had not found a wayto change, but surely Dan's suggestion would help her. She clearlyremembered her mother, gentle, courageous and always loving.
With infinite tenderness Jane again addressed the miniature:
"Oh, mother, if you had only lived, you would have helped me carve acharacter more lovely, but alone I have made of it an ugly thing, butnow, dearest one, I'll begin all over."
But even as the girl spoke she feared that it might be too late to askJulie and Gerald to forgive her and try to love her.