CHAPTER VII SYLVIA'S STORY
"Katherine Adams, whatever has happened to you?" asked Gladys suddenly,meeting her under the bright light in the hall that evening after dinner.
"Why?" asked Katherine, looking startled. "Is there any soot on my face?"
"No," replied Gladys with a peal of laughter, "I didn't mean anythinglike that. I meant that you look different from the way you used to look,that's all. You've changed since the days when I first knew you. Whathave you done to yourself in the last year? You're the same oldKatherine, of course, but you're different, somehow. I noticed it whenyou first came to Brownell last fall, but I've been too busy to give itmuch thought. But since we've been here I've been watching you and Ican't help noticing the difference. Now stand right there under thatlight and let me look at you."
Katherine laughed good humoredly and stood still dutifully while Gladysinspected her with appraising eyes that took in all the littleimprovements in Katherine's appearance. She was heavier than she used tobe; some of her angles were softened into curves. She now stood erect,with her head up and her shoulders thrown back, which made her lookseveral inches taller. Her hair no longer hung about her face in stringywisps; the loose ends were curled becomingly around her temples and earsand held in place with invisible hairpins. She wore a trim worsted dressof an odd shade of blue, which was just the right shade to go with herdull blonde hair and with the dark brown of her neat shoes. Her knuckleswere no longer red and rough; her fingernails were manicured; the saggingspectacles of the old days had given way to intellectual looking noseglasses with narrow tortoise shell rims.
"Well, what's the verdict?" asked Katherine, smiling broadly at Gladys.
"You're wonderful!" said Gladys enthusiastically. "You're actuallystunning! Whoever told you to get that particular shade of blue to bringout the color of your hair?"
"Nobody told me," answered Katherine. "I bought it because it was abargain." But there was a knowing twinkle in her eyes which gave her deadaway, and Gladys, seeing it, knew that Katherine had at last achievedthat pride of appearance which she had struggled so long to instill intoher.
"However did you do it?" she murmured.
"It was your eleven Rules of Neatness that did it," replied Katherine,laughing, "or was it seven? I forget. But I did do just the things youtold me to do, and it worked. There is no longer any danger of my comingapart in public! What a trial I used to be to you, though!" she said,flushing a little at the recollection. "How you ever put up with me Idon't know. How _did_ you stand it, anyway?"
"Because we loved you, sweet child," replied Gladys fondly, "and becausewe all believed the motto, 'While there's life, there's hope.' We knewyou would be a paragon of neatness some day as soon as you got around toit. You never _could_ think of more than one thing at a time, Katherinedear!"
"O my, O my, look at them hugging each other!" exclaimed a teasing voicefrom above. Looking up they saw Justice Dalrymple leaning over thebanisters at the head of the stairs. "You never do that to me," hecontinued in a plaintive tone.
Katherine and Gladys merely laughed at him and walked on, arm in arm, andJustice came down the stairs wringing mock tears out of his handkerchiefand singing mournfully,
"Forsaken, forsa-ken, Forsa-a-a-ken a-m I, Like the bones at a banquet All men pass me-e-e by!"
"Do behave yourself, Justice," said Katherine with mock severity. "If youdisgrace me I'll never get you invited anywhere again. Why can't you begood like the other two boys?"
"'Cause I'm a Junebug," warbled Justice, to the tune of "I'm a Pilgrim,"
"'Cause I'm a Junebug, And I'm a beetul, And I can't be no Rhinoscerairus, 'Cause I'm a Junebug, And I'm a beetul, I can't be no, Rhinoscerairus!"
He advanced into the drawing room, where Katherine now stood alone, anddrew out the last syllable of his absurd song into a long bleating wailthat sent her into convulsions of laughter till the tears rolled down hercheeks.
"Tears, idle tears----"
began Justice, picking up a vase from the table and holding it under hereyes, and then he stopped, as if struck by a sudden recollection. "I saidthat to you once before," he said, "don't you remember? The first time wereally got acquainted with each other. You were standing by the stove,weeping into the apple sauce."
"It was pudding," Katherine corrected him, with a little shamefaced laughat the remembrance, "huckleberry pudding. And I streaked it all over myface and you nearly died laughing."
"Well, you laughed too," Justice defended himself, "and that's how we gotto be friends."
"That seems ages ago," said Katherine, "and yet it's only a little over ayear. What a year that was!"
Both stopped their bantering and looked at each other with sober eyes,each thinking of what the trying year at Spencer had been to them.Justice's eyes traveled over Katherine, and he, too, noticed that she wasmuch better looking than when he first knew her. Katherine noticed theadmiration dawning in his eyes and divined his thoughts. After Gladys'sspontaneous outburst of approval she knew beyond any doubt that herappearance no longer offended the artistic eye. The knowledge gave her anew confidence in herself, and a thrill of pleasure that she had neverexperienced before went through her like an electric shock. At lastpeople had ceased to look upon her as a cross between a circus and alunatic asylum, she told herself exultingly.
"Well, what are you thinking about?" she asked finally, as Justicecontinued silent.
"I was just thinking," replied Justice gravely, "about the difference inplumage that different climates bring about."
"Whatever made you think about birds?" asked Katherine wonderingly. "Youjump from one subject to another like a flea. I don't see how you cankeep your mind on your work long enough to invent anything. By the way,how is that thingummy of yours going? You're as mum as an oyster aboutit."
"Pretty well," replied Justice. "I'm hampered though, by not having theright kind of help, and not being able to get some of the things I need."
Katherine looked at him scrutinizingly. He looked tired and rather worn.The nonsensical boy had vanished and a man stood in his place, a man witha heavy responsibility on his shoulders. Justice had that way of changingall in an instant from a boy to a man. At times he would go frolickingabout the house till you would have sworn he was not a day older thanSlim and the Captain; an instant later he was all gravity, and lookedevery day of his twenty-six years.
Katherine always stood in awe of him whenever that change took place. Heseemed so old and wise and experienced then that she felt hopelesslyignorant and childish beside him. She liked him best when he seemed likethe other boys.
"What do you think of my Winnebagos?" she asked him, leading him awayfrom the subject of his work. He always got old looking when he talkedabout it.
"Greatest bunch of girls I ever saw," he replied heartily. "Never cameacross such an accomplished lot in all my life. Each one's more fun thanthe next. Hinpoha's a beauty, and Gladys is a dainty fairy, and Sahwahlooks like a brown thrush, and Migwan's a regular Madonna. And,say--would you mind telling me how you do it, anyway?"
"Do what?"
"Stick together like that. I thought girls always squabbled amongthemselves. I never thought they could do things together the way yougirls do."
"Camp Fire Girls can do things together!" Katherine informed him withemphasis. "You boys think you're the only ones that know anything aboutteamwork. Teamwork is our first motto."
"I guess it must be," admitted Justice. "You certainly are a team."
The rest of the "team" came in then, Sahwah and Gladys and Hinpoha, allthree arm in arm, and Migwan behind them, pushing Sylvia in her rollingchair. They settled in a circle before the fireplace, and the talk soondrifted around to Uncle Jasper and his blighted romance. Indeed, Hinpohahad done nothing but talk about it all during dinner. Sylvia, too, wascompletely taken up with it.
"I love Sylvia Warrington!" she exclaimed fervently. "I am going to haveher for
my Beloved. I'm glad she had black hair. I adore black hair. AndI'm _so_ glad my name is Sylvia, too. I've been pretending that she wasmy aunt, and that I was named after her. I've been pretending, too, thatshe taught me to sing, 'Hark, hark, the lark!' Now, when I sing it Ialways think of her. Wasn't it beautiful, what Uncle Jasper said abouther? 'She is like a lark, singing in the desert at dawning!' Oh, I cansee it all, the desert, and the sun coming up, and the lark soaring upand singing. I just can't _breathe_, it's so beautiful. And my Beloved islike that!"
A radiant dream light came into her eyes, and she seemed suddenly to havetraveled far away from the group by the fire and to be wandering in somefar-off land.
"Sylvia is a beautiful name," said Katherine. "For whom are you called?Was your mother's name Sylvia?" It was the first time any of them hadspoken of Sylvia's mother, who they knew must be dead.
Sylvia's eyes lost their dreaminess and she looked up with a merry smile.
"I made it up myself," she said. "I don't know what my first real namewas, but when Aunt Aggie got me she named me Aggie, after herself. ButAggie is such a hopelessly unimaginative sort of name. It doesn't makeyou think of a thing when you say it. You might just as well be named'Empty' as 'Aggie.' Then once we lived in the same house with a lady whosang, and she used to sing, 'Who is Sylvia?' It was the most _tuneful_name I'd ever heard, and I wondered and wondered who Sylvia was. But Iguess the lady never found out, because she kept right on singing, 'Whois Sylvia?' So one day I said to myself, 'I'll be Sylvia!' Don't youthink it's a _fragrant_ name? When I say it I can see festoons of pinkrosebuds tied with baby ribbon. I made people call me Sylvia, and that'sbeen my name ever since."
"Oh, you funny child!" said Nyoda, joining in the general laugh atSylvia's tale of her name.
"But Sylvia," said Sahwah wonderingly, "you said you didn't know whatyour _first_ real name was before you came to live with your aunt. Didn'tyour aunt know it?"
"No," replied Sylvia. "You see," she continued, "Aunt Aggie isn't my realaunt. She adopted me when I was a baby."
"Oh-h!" said the Winnebagos in surprise.
"But why do you call her 'aunt'?" asked Sahwah. "Why don't you call her'mother'?"
"She never would have it," replied Sylvia. "She always taught me to callher Aunt Aggie. I don't know why."
Sylvia moved restlessly in her chair, and from the folds of the loosedressing gown which she wore a picture tumbled out. Katherine picked itup and laid it back on her lap. It was a small colored poster sketch of ared haired girl in a golf cape, which had evidently been the cover designof a magazine some years ago.
"Why are you so fond of that poster, Sylvia?" asked Katherine curiously."You brought it along with you when you came here, and you keep it withyou all the time."
Sylvia's tone when she answered was half humorous and half wistful."That's my mother," she said.
"Your mother!" exclaimed Katherine, incredulously.
"Oh, not my really real mother," Sylvia continued quickly. "I never saw apicture of her. But Aunt Aggie said my mother had red hair and was mostuncommonly good looking, so I found a picture of a beautiful lady withred hair and called it my mother. It's better than nothing." TheWinnebagos nodded silently and no one spoke for a moment.
Then Katherine asked gently, "What else do you know about mother?"
Sylvia sat up and related the tale told her hundreds of times by AuntAggie, in answer to her eager questioning about her mother. Unconsciouslyshe used Aunt Aggie's expressions and gestures as she told it.
"'Me an' Joe was coming on the steam cars from Butler to Philadelphy, andin back of us sat a young couple with a baby about a month old. Thegirl--she wasn't nothing but a girl even though she was a marriedwoman--was most uncommon good looking. She had bright red hair and biggrey eyes, and she wore a golf cape. Her husband was a big, red facedfeller, homely but real honest lookin'. They weren't either of themtwenty years old. Farmers, I could tell from their talk, and as well as Icould make out, the name on their bag was Mitchell. Well, well, alongbetween Waterloo and Poland there suddenly come a terrible bump, and thena smash and a crash, and the next thing I was layin' under the seat andJoe was trying to pull me out. When I did finally get out the car wasa-layin' over on its side all smashed to bits. Somehow or other when Joedug me out from under the seat I had ahold of the little baby that hadbeen in the seat in back of me. The young man and woman were under thewreck. They were both killed, but the baby never had a scratch.
"'Nobody ever found out who the red headed woman and the man were,because they were all burned up in the wreck, and all their luggage.
"'I had taken care of the baby, thinkin' I'd keep her until her peoplewere found, but they were never heard from, so I decided to keep her formy own. That baby was you, Sylvia.'
"So that's all I know about my mother and father," finished Sylvia with asigh. "But I can think up the most _dazzling_ things about them!"
"Sylvia," said Katherine, "who was the man I saw on the stairs of yourhouse the night I came in and found you?"
Sylvia looked at her in wonder. "What man?"
"When I came into the hall there was a man leaning over the banistersabout half way up the stairs. When I came in he ran down the stairs andout of the front door."
"I can't imagine," said Sylvia. "No man ever came to the house to see us.I didn't hear anybody come in that day."
"But the front door stood open when I came up on the porch," saidKatherine. "That hadn't been standing open all day, had it?"
"No," replied Sylvia, "for Aunt Aggie was always careful about closing itwhen she went out."
"Then he must have opened it," said Katherine.
"How queer!" said Sylvia. "What do you suppose he could have been doingthere? He never knocked on the inside door."
"Possibly he thought the house was empty, and went in to get out of thecold," concluded Katherine. "Then he heard you singing, and it scaredhim. He looked frightened out of his wits when I saw him. When I came inhe just ran for his life." Katherine laughed as she remembered her owndismay at seeing the man and thinking that he was the owner of the house,when he was only a stray visitor himself and worse frightened than she.Here she had prepared such an elaborate apology in her mind, and he wasnothing but a tramp! The humor of it struck her forcibly, now that it wasall in the past, and she laughed over it most of the evening.
About nine o'clock Hercules came shuffling in, suffering from a bad cold,and asked Nyoda to give him something for it. While Nyoda went upstairsto the medicine chest Sahwah craftily asked the old man, "Hercules, didyou ever hear of there being a secret passage in this house?"
Hercules gave a visible start. "Whyfor you ask dat?" he demanded.
"Oh, for no special reason," said Sahwah casually. "I just thought maybethere was one and that you might know about it. There always is one inthese old houses, you know."
"Well, dere ain't in dis!" answered the old man vehemently, and at thesame time looking relieved. "Marse Jasper he always useter say to me,'Herc'les,' he useter say, 'dere's one good thing about dis house, anddat is it ain't cluttered up wif no secrut passidges.' Secrut passidgesam powerful unlucky, Mis' Sahwah. Onct I knew a man dat lived in a housedat had a secrut passidge an' one night de ole debbil got in th'u datsecrut passidge an' run off wif him! Don' you go huntin' no secrutpassidges, Mis' Sahwah, if you knows what's good fer you. Dey suttinly ampowerful unlucky!"
Nyoda came down stairs and bore Hercules off to the kitchen, and theWinnebagos and the boys had their laugh out behind his back. "How _can_he tell such fibs in such a truthful sounding way!" remarked Justice. "IfI didn't know about that passage from Uncle Jasper's diary I'd beinclined to believe every word he said. But I bet the old sinner knowsall about it, just as Uncle Jasper did. Even if he doesn't, how can heinvent such convincing speeches on the part of Uncle Jasper out of theempty air? He's the most engaging old fibber I ever came across."
Nyoda came back and bore Sylvia off to bed and then she returned to thelibrary. "Sherry," she said
thoughtfully, leaning her chin in her hand,"Dr. Crosby was here this morning to return those binoculars he borrowedthe other day, and I talked to him about Sylvia. He said he had once beencalled in to treat her for tonsilitis when she lived in Millvale, and hadexamined her spine at the time. He said it was a splintered vertebra andit could be fixed by grafting in a piece of bone. They're doing wondersnow that way. He said Dr. Gilbert, the famous specialist, could performan operation that would cure her. He hadn't had a chance to talk it overwith Sylvia's aunt because he had been called away suddenly and when hereturned to town the Deane's were gone. He had no idea what had become ofthem. He only made a hasty examination, but he is positive she can becured. I know the Deane's can't afford to pay for such an operation, butDr. Crosby said he was sure he could persuade Dr. Gilbert to perform itfree, in his clinic. I told Dr. Crosby to bring Dr. Gilbert to Oakwood assoon as he could. He said he thought it would be possible soon. I thoughtas long as we are going to keep Sylvia in our care until her aunt is wellagain we might as well have her fixed up in the meantime. I would like tohave the operation over before her aunt knows anything about it, say thefirst week of the new year. What do you think?"
"Whew!" whistled Sherry, looking at his wife in astonishment. Therapidity with which Nyoda got a project under way was a nine days' wonderto Sherry, who usually spent more time in deliberating a course of actionthan she did in carrying it out. "Go ahead!" was all he could say.
The Winnebagos gave long exclamations of joy. It had never occurred tothem that anything could be done for Sylvia.
"Does she know it?" asked Hinpoha.
"Not yet," replied Nyoda. "I thought we would keep it for a birthdaysurprise. Her birthday is the twenty-ninth. I'll have Dr. Gilbert comethat day and let him tell her himself. Don't anybody mention it to heruntil then."
"We won't," promised the Winnebagos, and trooped off to bed, heavy withtheir delicious secret.