"Well, I sort of thought you weren't so keen about staying there. Here's the key; suppose you just go down and look at the place and see if you like it before you decide. It ain't any grand house, you know, just one of the row, but it's nice and clean, and it's got a dandy little gas range and a crackerjack hot-water heater. The missus, she had it all cleaned up slick when the other party moved out, and it ain't had time to even get dusty yet."
"We don't want a grand place, Mr. Brady," Phyllis assured him. "We just want a refuge. I don't believe it's even necessary for me to go and look, if you say it is all right."
"Well, you go look," insisted the owner, "and then I'll be better satisfied. And don't you be afraid to say if you don't think it will do. I shan't be at all hurt."
Rosalie came along from school as Phyllis came out of the shop with the key and gladly skipped along with her, her face alight.
"Oh, Phyllis! Not a whole little house to ourselves! How wonderful! And we can move tonight?" she cried. "And will it do for Father to rest in, too?"
"I'm afraid not, Rosy Posy. Father's got to be in the country, but this will do for a few days till we can find the right spot."
They came back from the house radiant, and the big butcher grinned his delight.
"I thought mebbe you'd like it. Need to wait till your mother gets back before we move, or do you wantta start right now? Dan's back with the truck," he said.
"We'll move at once!" said Phyllis joyously. "Mother will be so glad! And my sister, too. I know she just hates the idea of coming back to that awful place again."
"How about the little feller, Bob? I reckon he'll be glad. He let on to me he didn't care fer that place. He was tellin' me this morning how your pappy had got ta go ta the country, and I says to myself that there house of mine would be just the place fer you to stay while you was lookin' round. Stay as long as you like. I ain't needin' ta rent it yet awhile, so ya needn't be in a hurry."
"I don't know how we can ever thank you, Mr. Brady," said Phyllis. "You've been so good to Bob, too. I know he just adores you."
"He's a smart little kid, he is!" said the butcher. "There ain't no flies on him. Well, you run along and get your goods in line, an' my man'll be there in three jerks of a lamb's tail."
It was marvelous how quickly the now-scanty furnishings of the apartment were transferred to the little brick house down in the next street, till nothing was left but the grimy little gas stove that belonged to the house and the ugly iron sink, which also belonged.
Mrs. Barkus seemed to be out again that afternoon, which Phyllis felt was fortunate. She did not want to have any further argument with her, though she rejoiced in the fact that genial Mr. Brady was there while the moving was going on to stand between them, if she should suddenly appear.
"Better let me say all there is to say," said Brady when she confided her fears to him. "We don't want her insultin' that lady mother of yours again like she did last night. When does your new month begin? Do you owe her anything more?"
"Well," said Phyllis, "the month began ten days ago, but of course it's not really due yet."
"We'll fix that up, too. You leave it to me," said Brady. "She's like to charge you for the whole month if she thought she could get away with it. Get out before she gets back if you can, and let the children watch in my shop for your mother and sister and steer them away. When she comes back, I'll run over and fix it all up so she can't make any trouble. If she comes while we're here, you just keep still and let me tackle her. She knows I know good and plenty about her, and she won't dare open her lips. I'll just tell her you're gettin' out because she didn't keep her contract and give you heat as she promised."
So Phyllis went to the new abode with a free mind and began to put things to rights, while Rosalie stayed at the shop to watch for the rest of the family and warn them not to go in.
There wasn't much "righting" to do, it is true, for Brady, with fine instinct, had put a bed in each bedroom and placed the other belongings about as right as any stranger could.
So Phyllis opened up the leaves of the little table and spread a white cloth out of one of the bureau drawers. She discovered a refrigerator on the back porch, and meat and milk and butter already there with potatoes in a basket and several bundles from the grocery store.
"I just thought you might not have time to buy anything," apologized Brady when she spoke to him about it later in the afternoon. "You see, I wanted you to have it real pleasant this first night you spent in my house. I don't expect often to have such grand folks in my property, so I thought I had a right to help out a little," he ended with a beaming smile.
Mrs. Brady sent over an apple pie and a tin of hot biscuits just at dark, and the little round replica of Butcher Brady who brought them said they were to call upon his mother for anything they needed, that she was right next door.
Melissa came soon after the pie, looking wan and discouraged and attended by Bob and Rosalie, who were both so eager over the new order that they couldn't keep their tongues still.
Bob gave one radiant glance around and said, "Aw, gee! Ain't it great!" and then flew back to watch for his mother.
But Melissa looked around forlornly on the bare floors and scant furniture and said dejectedly: "We're just on charity now, aren't we? I never thought any Challenger would come to that!" And she dropped down in a chair and wept.
Phyllis paused in her tired, happy preparations in dismay.
"Well, no, Lissa!" she exclaimed. "I never thought a Challenger would take life that way. Sit up and cheer up. Barkus can't visit us tonight, and that's at least one thing to be happy about. Charity nothing! Mr. Brady is having the time of his life making us comfortable. You ought to have seen his face when I said it was just heaven to be here. And gaze on that apple pie! Doesn't it just make your mouth water to see the juice ooze out so mellifluently? I guess that's the right word. I mean it seems like poetry and amber and a prayer all mixed up."
Melissa began to laugh hysterically, and Phyllis put down the butter plate on the table and went and hugged her.
"Sit up, Lissie, and drink this glass of milk. We have three whole quarts in the refrigerator, and you can have all you want. I'll just bet you didn't eat your lunch after all my care in fixing that sandwich for you."
"Yes, I did," giggled Melissa wearily. "I ate it on the bridge down by the park standing with my back to a bus that was unloading. We're just tramps, Phyl, just common tramps! Pretty soon I suppose we'll go door to door and beg."
"Well, I hadn't thought of that, but of course we could, couldn't we? Still, there isn't any danger of that tonight. Do you know we have double chops for supper, great big juicy ones? And baked potatoes and sliced tomatoes on lettuce. It's a banquet, child! Why talk of begging? Be thankful and don't worry. It doesn't always stay dark. And, Lissa, I've a hunch there's Someone looking after us greater than Butcher Brady. He's only an underangel somehow. Melissa Challenger, did you know you had a little sister who is praying and she seems to get what she prays for? Do you know that she was in the clothes closet last night praying for that onion and beefsteak when Bob came in with it? What do you think that was, anyway, Liss? Just thought transference?"
"I'm sure I don't know what it was! Just happening, I suppose! But you'll get that child's head turned if you let her go on like that. I think it's rather blasphemous myself--that is, if there is anything to it--talking about onions to a god! But for heaven's sake, don't let's get someone in the family with a religious complex. They warned us a lot about that in college, at least one of my teachers talked a great deal about it. Said it was most unwise; it prevented openness of mind and freedom of thought and tended to narrowness and servitude to traditions. He said the only good prayer at all was its reflex action on your own spirit, or something to that effect."
"For pity's sake, Lissa, where did you get all that high-sounding blah? I thought you had too good sense to take up with such nonsense. You'll be saying yet that there isn't any such thing as sin in t
he world, and you know there is."
"I heard a very great preacher in New York say over the radio, the last time I was privileged to listen to a radio, that the greatest sin in the world was the sin against one's own personality!"
Melissa drew herself up languidly from the chair where she had dropped and eyed her sister tragically.
"That's what makes life so utterly hopeless and impossible, Phyllis," she went on. "How can one help sinning constantly against one's own personality? It's perfectly impossible. I've been thinking a great deal about it today."
"Oh, fiddlesticks!" said Phyllis indignantly. "You make me tired! That sounds to me like selfishness spelled with a big capital S. Cut out that rot and get to work! Forget your personality! It isn't worth any more than anybody else's personality! Come and put the napkins around. Mother ought to be here any minute now. Let's make everybody have a good time. For my part, I prefer Rosalie's viewpoint to yours. Snap out of it, Liss, and get to work."
So Melissa took off her hat and coat, washed her hands and face and combed her hair, drank her milk, and felt quite cheerful when the two children came joyously in with their mother, who looked wan and pale but was smiling.
They smothered her with hugs and kisses. Phyllis brought a hot wet towel, washed her face softly and dried it with little gentle dabs, put her in a chair at the table, and set a steaming cup of coffee before her.
"Mother's going to have something to eat before anybody asks any questions," she commanded, and they all sat, too, and ate their delicious supper.
It was strange how the new surroundings pulled their thoughts away from their troubles.
"Why, there's a fireplace," said Mother, gazing about her, "and it looks as if it had been used recently, too."
"Yes," said Phyllis. "Mr. Brady said he had left some wood in that little closet so we could enjoy the open fire this evening. I haven't had the time to lay it yet. I thought Bob might like to do it."
"Gee!" breathed Bob out of his glass of milk in which he had been taking deep draughts. "Sure I would!"
"What a wonderful man that butcher is!" said the mother with a great light in her eyes. "I must tell your father about him. It is enough to restore one's faith in human nature to meet a man like that."
"Did you see Father today, Mother?" asked Rosalie wistfully. "I wish I could see my father."
"You shall pretty soon, dear," said the mother and then drew an anxious sigh, wondering if her words would really come true. "No, I didn't see him today. The nurses wanted him to rest after his examination yesterday."
"Where have you been all day, Mother?" the little girl persisted. "Have you hunted for apartments?"
"Some," said the mother noncommittally. "I've been making inquiries, and--seeing some--real estate men."
"But where would we get the money, Mother?" Rosalie's questions always went right on to the end of a subject if it had an end.
"Well, that's to be seen," said the mother again with a dreamy look in her eyes.
"Did you find anything yet, Mother?" went on Rosalie.
"Well, I'm not sure yet, dear. Not definitely. Not yet."
"But you heard of something that perhaps we could afford?" asked the little girl.
"Well, perhaps," said the mother. "I've got on track of a house in the country, but the owner is in Europe. The agent has cabled. Oh, I don't suppose we could possibly afford it unless I can make some arrangements for a loan. I've been trying all the afternoon to get in touch with some of your father's old friends who might help, but they all seem to be out of town."
"Now, Rosalie, don't bother Mother anymore. Can't you see she's dead tired?" protested Melissa.
"Yes, Rosy Posy, let's just enjoy our supper and our new house, for tonight and the next few days, and not worry about anything more. Let's just be glad we haven't any Barkus woman to keep us from our nice supper."
Rosalie smiled.
"Awright!" she said and passed her plate for another potato.
After supper they put their mother in the one big chair that was left, and Bob built a lovely fire while the three girls whisked the dishes away as fast as could be, and then they put out the light and sat around on the floor watching the flicker of the fire.
"Wouldn't this just be lovely if it were only in the country and Father could be here?" said Rosalie; and the mother sighed again and put her hand on the child's head gently.
"Yes, it certainly would," she said. "But I'm very thankful for this little quiet house all to ourselves tonight."
By common consent they put away the cares and perplexities of their situation and told only the pleasant or the funny things they had seen that day. Phyllis made them all laugh telling how she had made her secondhand man give her a bigger price for the things than he had at first offered, and she imitated his voice and his plaintive surprise that she was not satisfied with the pittance he had suggested until they were all filled with merriment.
Bob told about some boys at school who tied a girl's hat to a string and suspended it on a rod from a little transom above the teacher's desk. Letting it down on his head right in the middle of the geography class. And Rosalie described how a girl forgot her piece in the recitations and went over and over it from the beginning, trying to remember it, till all the class was laughing. Even Melissa told about a little dog running away from a fine lady who had been walking with him on a leash. She got up and imitated the lady's mincing step.
Only Mother did not tell anything that had happened to her that day. They all noticed it, but because she seemed cheerful and a little distraught, they did not speak of it. She was tired, of course, they told themselves. It was nice to not have to think of puzzling questions. Just relax and enjoy the fire and the good warm room.
Just before they went to bed, Phyllis remembered Steve's phone call and told them about it. She made it quite commonplace, telling that he had promised to take "someone" to a dance, which was why he needed new clothes so badly. Somehow that seemed so much better than to say "a girl" in the tone Steve had used.
Mother understood, and a cloud of worry sat in her eyes for a moment during the talk, but as Phyllis went on to say that she had told him their circumstances, she relaxed again and commented:
"Poor boy! But I'm glad you told him. He wouldn't otherwise have understood why we couldn't help him in a crisis like that. I'm sorry he had to know before he was done, but it won't be long now before he can come home and understand it all."
They had a merry time getting to bed, finding the right sheets for each bed, finding their various night garments that Phyllis had had to stuff into any drawer that would hold them, finding their hairbrushes, and locking up the new house for the night. After they were all settled in the three nice little upstairs bedrooms that opened out into the hall in a triangle and seemed so friendly and cozy, the cuckoo clock sang forth the hour of midnight, and they all cheered him. Good old cuckoo! He was theirs still, and they were not starving, either.
And so at last they settled to sleep. But no one had seen Rosalie in her little white nightgown, kneeling in the darkness by her bed before the others were ready, her curly head buried in her pillow, praying that God would give them a place where Father could rest and get well.
They were all nervously exhausted, and everyone slept very late the next morning, so that when they woke they had to hurry to get some breakfast together and get the two children off to school.
It was just before they left for school that a boy came to the door with a telegram.
"Challenger live here?" he asked.
The mother's hand trembled as she opened the envelope. She thought at once of course of her husband, whose life had hung for so many months in the balance.
But the telegram was not from the hospital. It was signed by the dean of Steve's college. It said:
Your son Stephen Challenger in hospital with broken leg and concussion, result of an automobile accident last night. He was driving a borrowed car. Nobody fatally injured. Challenger doing
as well as could be expected.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The family stood in absolute silence and watched their mother read the telegram. They could tell by her face that it was bad news. Her lips grew ashen. Phyllis was afraid she was going to faint again and put out her hand to steady her.
"Is it Father?" Melissa caught her breath in fear.
The mother shook her head and handed the telegram to Phyllis.
"Read it," she said from a dry throat and dropped into the nearest chair.
Phyllis read the telegram slowly, her young face hardening. So, it was that girl again after all! How glad she was that she had not mentioned the girl. Mother needn't bear that part anyway.
There was an awful silence again while the family looked at the future as at another blank wall shutting them in from all that was right and good.
Then the mother spoke.
"How much money have you got, Phyllis?"
"Nineteen dollars and forty-three cents," said Phyllis deprecatingly. "It wouldn't be enough for carfare, would it? At least not both ways."
"Somebody ought to go at once," said the mother in a pained voice, "but I don't see how we are to manage it."
"There is always the clock," said Phyllis thoughtfully, looking up at the exquisite carving of the little Gothic structure where the butcher had hung it reverently on a hook and set it ticking again.
"No," said Mrs. Challenger, "we mustn't use that. I tried to ask your father about it yesterday. I went down to the hospital after all, hoping to get to see him a minute and ask him about it. And they did let me in, just for fifteen minutes. Of course, I didn't dare tell him all we were going through, nor that we needed money. He would have taken alarm at once. He doesn't know of course about the closing of the bank where our bonds are, and he thinks we have plenty to get along on with care. He said that so peacefully and thankfully yesterday that I just let him think it. But I told him we were trying to find a better apartment if we could, that the landlady wasn't pleasant, and in speaking of moving I brought in the clock, said it was rather hard to move, did he care to keep it or should I try to sell it? He spoke up right away and said most insistently, almost peremptorily, that we must not part with it on any account. It represents a great sacrifice on the part of the boy who gave it to him, and someday he might come to see us and would expect to find the clock. He said he would rather sell the coat off his back than part with that clock, that it represented not only great devotion but a real victory in a life that had started on the downward track."