CHAPTER XV.
HOW CHARLIE RAN AWAY.
"Where is Charlie?" asked Hal as they sat down to the supper-table oneevening.
"She didn't go to work this afternoon, but put on her best clothes, andsaid she meant to take a holiday."
"Well, the poor child needed it, I am sure. To think of our wild,heedless, tomboy Charlie settling into such a steady girl!"
"But Charlie always was good at heart. I've had six of the best andnicest grandchildren you could pick out anywhere, if I do say itmyself."
Granny uttered the words with a good deal of pride.
"Yes," said Kit: "we'll be a what-is-it--crown to your old age."
Granny laughed merrily.
"Seven children!" appended Kit. "You forgot my fiddle."
"Eight children!" said Dot. "You forgot Hal's flowers."
Hal smiled at this.
"I may as well wash the dishes," exclaimed Dot presently. "I guessCharlie will stay out to tea."
After that they sat on the doorstep in the moonlight, and sang,--Dotwith her head in Hal's lap, and Hal's arm around Granny's shoulder. Avery sacred and solemn feeling seemed to come to them on this evening,as if it was a time which it would be important to remember.
"I do not believe Charlie means to come home to-night," Hal said whenthe clock struck ten.
"But she has on her best clothes. She wouldn't wear 'em to the mill."
So they waited a while longer. No Charlie. Then they kissed each othergood-night, and began to disperse.
Hal looked into the deserted flower-room, which was still a kind oflibrary and cosey place. The moonlight lay in broad white sheets on thefloor, quivering like a summer sea. How strange and sweet it was! Howlovely God had made the earth, and the serene heaven above it!
Something on the table caught his eye as he turned,--a piece of foldedpaper like a letter. He wondered what he had left there, and picked itup carelessly.
"_To Granny and Hal._"
Hal started in the utmost surprise. An unsealed letter in Charlie'shandwriting, which had never been remarkable for its beauty. Hetrembled all over, and stood in the moonlight to read it, the slowtears coming into his eyes.
Should he go down and tell them? Perhaps it would be better not toalarm them to-night. Occasionally, when it had rained, Charlie spentthe night with some of the girls living near the mill: so Granny wouldnot worry about her.
O brave, daring, impulsive Charlie! If you could have seen the pain inHal's heart!
He brought the letter down the next morning.
"How queer it is that Charlie stays!" said Dot, toasting some bread. "OHal! what's the matter?"
"Nothing--only--You'll have to hear it sometime; and maybe it willall end right. Charlie's gone away."
"Gone away!" echoed Granny.
"Yes. She left a letter. I found it last night in the flower-room. Letme read it to you."
Hal cleared his throat. The others stood absolutely awe-stricken.
"DEAR GRANNY AND HAL,--You know I always had my heart set on running away; and I'm going to do it now, because, if I told you all my plans, you would say they were quite wild. Perhaps they are. Only I _shall_ try to make them work; and, somehow, I think I can. I have sights of courage and hope. But, O Granny! I couldn't stay in the mill: it was like putting me in prison. I hated the coarse work, the dirt, the noise, and the smells of grease, and everybody there. Some days I felt as if I must scream and scream, until God came and took me out of it. But I wanted to earn some money; and there wasn't any other way in Madison that I should have liked any better. I've had this in my mind ever since I went to work.
"I can't tell you all my plans,--I don't even know them myself,--only I am going to try; and, if I cannot succeed, I shall come back. I have twenty-five dollars that I've saved. And, if I have good luck, you'll hear that too. Please don't worry about me. I shall find friends, and not get into any trouble, I know.
"I am very sorry to leave you all; but then I kissed you good-by,--Hal and Kit this morning, when I said it softly in my heart; and Dot and you, dear Granny, when I went away. I had it all planned so nicely, and you never suspected a word. I shall come back some time, of course. And now you must be happy without me, and just say a tiny bit of prayer every night, as I shall for you, and never fret a word. Somehow I feel as if I were a little like Joe; and you know he is doing beautifully.
"Good-by with a thousand kisses. Don't try to find me; for you can't, I know. I'll write some time again. Your own queer, loving.
"CHARLIE."
"Well, that's too good!" said Kit, breaking the silence of tears."Charlie has the spunk--and a girl too!"
"Oh!" sobbed Granny, "she don't know nothing; and she'll get lost, andget into trouble."
"No, she won't, either! I'll bet on Charlie. And she was saving up hermoney for that, and never said a word!"
Kit's admiration was intense.
"It's about the drawing; and she has gone to New York, I am almostsure," said Hal. "Don't cry, Granny; for somehow I think Charlie willbe safe. She is good and honest and truthful."
"But in New York! And she don't know anybody there"--
"Maybe she has gone to Mrs. Burton's. I might write and see. Or thereis Clara Pennington--they moved last spring, you remember. I'm prettysure we shall find her."
Hal's voice was strong with hope. Now that he had to comfort Granny, hecould see a bright side himself.
"And she has some money too."
"She'll do," said Kit decisively. "And if that isn't great! She coaxedme to run away once and live in the woods; but I think this is better."
"Did you do it?" asked Dot.
"Yes. We came near setting the woods on fire; and didn't we get a jollyscolding! Charlie's a trump."
So they settled themselves to the fact quite calmly. Charlie had takenthe best of her clothes, and would be prepared for present emergencies.
Before the day was over, they had another event to startle them.
Dr. Meade tied his old horse to the gate-post, and came in. Granny wastaking a little rest in the other room; and Dot was up stairs, reading.
"Better to-day, eh?" said the doctor.
"I believe I do feel a little better. I have not had any headache orfever for several days."
"You'll come out bright as a blue-bird next spring."
"Before that, I hope. School commences next week."
"Then you have heard--nothing?"
"Was there any thing for me to hear?"
Hal looked up anxiously; and the soft brown eyes, in their wistfulness,touched the doctor's heart.
"They've served you and me a mean trick, Hal," began the doctor ratherwarmly. "Some of it was my fault. I told the committee that you wouldnot take it next year under five hundred dollars."
"It's worth that," said Hal quietly.
"Yes, if it is worth a cent. Well, Squire Haines has had a niecestaying with him who has taught school in Brooklyn for eight or tenyears,--a great, tall sharp kind of a woman; and she was willing tocome for the old salary. She's setting her cap for Mrs. Haines'sbrother, I can see that fast enough. The squire, he's favored her; andthey've pushed the matter through."
"Then Miss Perkins has it!" Hal exclaimed with a gasp, feeling as if hewere stranded on the lee-shore.
"Exactly. And I don't know but it is best. To tell the truth, Hal, youare not strong, and you did work too hard last year. You want rest; butyou'll never be able to go into the battle rough and tumble. I may aswell tell you this."
"Do you think I shall never"--Hal's lip quivered.
"The fall gave you a great shock, you see; and then the confinement inschool was altogether wrong. You want quiet and ease; and I do thinkthis flower-business will be the very thing for you. I've been castingit over in my mind; and I have a fancy that another spring I'll be ableto do something for you. Keep heart, my boy. It's darkest just beforethe dawn, you know."
r /> "You are so kind!" and the brown eyes filled with tears.
"It will all come out right, I'm pretty sure. This winter's rest willbe just the thing for you. Now, don't fret yourself back to the oldpoint again; for you have improved a little. And, if you want anything, come to me. We all get in tight places sometimes."
Hal repeated this to Dot and Granny; and when Kit came home he heardthe "bad news," over which he looked very sober.
"But then it might be worse," said Hal cheerily; for he was never sadlong at a time. "We have almost a hundred dollars, and I shall try tomake my flowers more profitable this winter."
And the best of all was, Hal _did_ begin to feel better. The terribleweakness seemed to yield at last to some of the good doctor's tonics,his appetite improved, and he could sleep quite well once more.
At this juncture Kit found an opening.
"They'll take me in the melodeon-factory over at Salem," he announcedbreathlessly one evening. "Mr. Briggs told me of it, and I went to see.I can board with Mr. Halsey, the foreman; and oh, can't he play on theviolin! He will go on teaching me, and I can have my board and fourdollars a month."
"Well, I declare!" ejaculated Granny. "What next?"
"Then you won't have me to take care of this winter. I'm about tiredof going to school, and that's nice business. I can come home everySaturday night."
"Yes," said Hal thoughtfully.
"I do believe Mr. Halsey's taken a great liking to me. He wants you tocome over, Hal, and have a talk."
So Hal went over. The prospect appeared very fair. Kit had somemechanical genius; but building melodeons would be much more to histaste than building houses.
"It has a suggestion of music in it," laughed Hal.
So the bargain was concluded. About the middle of September, Kitstarted for Salem and business.
But oh, how lonely the old house was! All the mirth and mischief gone!It seemed to Granny that she would be quite willing to go out washing,and weave carpets, if she could have them all children once more.
There was plenty of room in the Old Shoe now. One bed in the parlorheld Dot and Granny. No cradle with a baby face in it, no fair girlwith golden curls sewing at the window. Tabby sat unmolested in thechimney-corner. No one turned back her ears, or put walnut-shells overher claws; no one made her dance a jig on her hind-legs, or bundled herin shawls until she was smothered, and had to give a pathetic m-i-a-o-uin self-defence.
Oh, the gay, laughing, tormenting children! Always clothes to mend,cut fingers and stubbed toes to doctor, quarrels to settle, noises toquell, to tumble over one here and another there, to have them crosswith the measles and forlorn with the mumps, but coming back to funagain in a day or two,--the dear, troublesome, vanished children!
Many a time Granny cried alone by herself. It was right that theyshould grow into men and women; but oh, the ache and emptiness it leftin her poor old heart! And it seemed as if Tabby missed them; for nowand then she would put her paws on the old window-seat, stretching outher full length, and look up and down the street, uttering a mournfulcry.
One day Dot brought home a letter from the store directed to Hal.
"Why, it's Charlie!" he said with a great cry of joy and confusion ofperson. "Dear old Charlie!"
He tore it open with hasty, trembling fingers.
"DEAR HAL AND GRANNY,--I'm like Joe, happy as a big sunflower! I can't tell you half nor quarter; so I shall not try, but save it all against the time I come home; for I _am_ coming. Every thing is just splendid! It wasn't so nice at first, and one day I felt almost homesick; but it came out right. Oh, dear! I want to see you so, and tell you all the wonderful things that have happened to me,--just like a story-book. I think of you all,--Hal in his school, Granny busy about the house, Dot, the little darling, sweet as ever, and a whole roomful of flowers up-stairs, and Kit playing on his violin. Did you miss me much? I missed the dear old home, the sweet kisses, and tender voices; but some day I shall have them again. I never forget you a moment; but oh, oh, oh! That's all I can say. There are not words enough to express all the rest. Don't forget me; but love me just the same. A thousand kisses to all you children left in the old shoe, and another thousand to Granny.
"Your own dear CHARLIE."
Hal's eyes were full of tears. To tell the truth, they had a goodcrying-time before any of them could speak a word.
"Dear, brave Charlie! She and Joe are alike. Granny, I don't know butthey are the children to be proud of, after all."
"Where is she?" asked Granny, wiping her nose violently.
"Why, there isn't a bit of--address--to it; and the post-mark--beginswith an N--but all the rest is blurred. She means to wait until shecomes home, and tell us the whole story; and she will not give us anopportunity to write, for fear we will ask some questions. She means tokeep up her running away."
They were all delighted, and had to read the letter over and over again.
"She must be in New York somewhere, and studying drawing. I've a greatmind to write at a venture."
"And she will come home," crooned Granny softly.
"I'm glad she thinks us all so happy and prosperous," said Hal.
I shall have to tell you how it fared with Charlie and not keep youwaiting until they heard the story.
She had indeed followed out her old plan. Child as she was, when shewent to work in the mill she crowded all her wild dreams down in thedepths of her heart. No one ever knew what heroic sacrifices CharlieKenneth made. She was fond of dress, and just of an age when a brightribbon, a pretty hat, and a dozen other dainty trifles, seem to add somuch to one's happiness.
But she resolutely eschewed them all. Week by week her little hoardgained slowly, every day bringing her nearer the hour of freedom. Sheplanned, too, more practically than any one would have supposed. Andone evening she smuggled a black travelling-bag into the house, hidingit in a rubbish-closet until she could pack it.
She seized her opportunity at noon, to get it out unobserved; and,putting it in an out-of-the-way corner, dragged some pea-brush over it,that gave it the look of a pile of rubbish. Then she dressed herself,and said her good-bys gayly, but with a trembling heart, and went offto take her holiday.
Charlie tugged her bag to the depot, and bought a ticket for Newbury.Then she seated herself in great state, and really began to enjoy theadventure. She wondered how people could spend all their lives in alittle humdrum place like Madison.
At Newbury she bought a ticket for New York. Then she sat thinking whatshe should do. A family by the name of Wilcox had left Madison twoyears before, and gone to New York. The mother was a clever, ignorant,good-hearted sort of woman, of whom Charlie Kenneth had been ratherfond in her childish days. Mary Jane, the daughter, had paid a flyingvisit to Madison that spring, and Charlie had heard her describe theroute to her house in Fourteenth Street. This was where she purposed togo.
The cars stopped. The passengers left in a crowd, Charlie following.If they were going to New York, she would not get lost. So the ferrywas crossed in safety. Then she asked a policeman to direct her to CityHall. A little ragged urchin pestered her about carrying her bag, butit was too precious to be trusted to strangers.
She saw the Third-avenue cars; but how was she to get to them? Thestreet seemed blocked up continually. By and by a policeman piloted heracross, and saw her safely deposited in the car.
Charlie paid her fare, and told the conductor to stop at FourteenthStreet; but, after riding a while, she began to look out for herself.What an endless way it was! and where _did_ all the people come from?Could it be possible that there were houses enough for them to live in?Ah! here was her corner.
She turned easterly, watching for the number. There was Mrs. Wilcox'sfrowsy head at the front basement window; and Charlie felt almostafraid to ring at the front-door, so she tried that lowly entrance.
"Come in," said a voice in response to her knock.
It was evident she had grown out of Mrs. Wi
lcox's remembrance, so sherather awkwardly introduced herself.
"Charlie Kenneth! The land sakes! How you have growed! Why, I'm rightglad to see you. How is Granny and all the children, and all the folksat Madison?"
Charlie "lumped" them, and answered, "Pretty well."
"Did you come down all alone? And how did you find us? Mary Jane'll bepowerful glad to see you. Ain't you most tired to death luggin' thatheavy bag? Do take off your things, and get rested."
Charlie complied. Mrs. Wilcox went on with her endless string ofquestions, even after she rose to set the supper-table.
"And so Florence is married. Strange you've never heard about her.She's so rich and grand that I s'pose she don't want to remember poorrelations. And Hal's been a teachin' school! Why, you're quite gettin'up in the world."
Mary Jane soon made her appearance. A flirting, flippant girl ofsixteen, rather good-looking, and trimmed up with ribbons and cheapfurbelows. She appeared glad to see Charlie, and all the questions wereasked over again. Then Mr. Wilcox came in, washed his hands and face,and they sat down to supper. Before they were half through, Tom and Edcame tumbling in, full of fun and nonsense.
"Boys, be still!" said their father; which admonition they heeded forabout the space of ten seconds.
Mary Jane rose from the table as soon as she had finished her supper.
"Charlie'll sleep with me, of course," she said. "Bring your bag andyour things up stairs, Charlie."
Charlie followed her to the third story,--a very fair-sized room, butwith an appearance of general untidiness visible everywhere.
"You can hang up your clothes in that closet," indicating it with herhead. "Did you go to work in the mill, Charlie?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you like it?"
"Not very much," slowly shaking out her clean calico dress.
"I shouldn't, either. What did you earn?"
"Sometimes four dollars and a half."
"I earn six, week in and week out. Then I do a little overwork everyday, which gives me Saturday afternoon. Charlie, why don't you stay?"
Mary Jane was taking down her hair, and turned round suddenly.
"I thought I would;" and Charlie blushed. "I've saved up a littlemoney, enough to pay my board for a few weeks, until I can findsomething to do."
"Flower-making is first-rate. Some of the girls earn ten dollars aweek. I've only been at it a year, you see. They pay a dollar a weekwhile you're learning. Shall I try to get you in?"
"I don't know yet," was the hesitating answer.
"What makes you wear your hair short, Charlie?"
"Why--I like it so. It's no trouble."
"But it's so childish!"
Mary Jane was arranging a wonderful waterfall. On the top of this shehung a cluster of curls, and on the top of her head she tied in a bunchof frizettes with a scarlet ribbon.
"Now, that's what I call stylish;" and she turned round to Charlie. "IfI was you, I'd let my hair grow; and, as soon as it is long enough totie in a little knot, you can buy a waterfall."
Charlie was quite bewildered with these manifold adornments.
Then Mary Jane put on a white dress, a red carved ivory pin andear-rings, and presented quite a gorgeous appearance.
"Charlie, I've been thinking--why can't you board here? I pay mothertwo dollars a week, and you could just as well have part of my room.Mother wanted me to let the boys have it, because there were two ofthem; but I wanted plenty of room. Yes: it would be real nice to haveyou here. I'll ask mother. I know you can find something to do."
A great load seemed lifted from Charlie's heart.
Then they went down to the next floor. The boys had the hall bedroom,and the back room was used by the heads of the family. There were twolarge pantries between, and then a front parlor. Charlie was quitestunned; for the place appeared fully as gorgeous as Mary Jane. A cheapBrussels carpet in bright colors, the figure of which ran all over thefloor; two immense vases on the mantle, where grotesque Chinese figureswere disporting on a bright green ground; a rather shabby crimson plushrocker; and some quite impossible sunsets done in oil, with showy widegilt frames. Mrs. Wilcox had purchased them at auction, and consideredthem a great bargain.
Then Mary Jane, with a great deal of giggling and blushing, confessedto Charlie that she had a beau. "A real nice young man," clerk in adry-goods store, Walter Brown by name, and that he came almost everyevening.
"You can't help liking him," was the positive assertion. "I wish youdidn't have short hair, nor look so much like a little girl; for youare as tall as I am."
Which was very true; but Charlie felt herself quite a child, and verymuch startled at the idea of beaux.
Mary Jane took out some embroidery, and did not deign to revisit thekitchen. A trifle after eight Mr. Brown made his appearance, lookingneat as a pink, and nearly as sweet with perfume. For the first time inher life, Charlie was painfully bashful. When he proposed a walk to anice-cream saloon, she would fain have remained at home; but Mary Janeover-ruled.
The walk was quite pleasant, and the cream a positive treat. Charliesaid some very bright things, which Mr. Brown appeared to considerexceedingly funny. Then they rambled around a while; and when theyreturned, Mary Jane lingered at the hall-door to have a little privatetalk, while Charlie ran up stairs. Mrs. Wilcox sat in the parlorfanning herself, and eagerly questioned the child as to where they hadbeen, and how she liked New York.
Tired and excited, Charlie went to bed at last; but she could notsleep. The strange place, the tinkle of the car-bells, the noises inthe streets, and, most of all, her own thoughts, kept her wakeful. Shecould hardly believe that she had achieved her great ambition, andactually run away. On the whole, it was rather comical.
Had they found her letter yet? What did Hal and Granny think? Wouldthey be very much worried?
And if she only _could_ find out something about pictures, and begin towork in good earnest at the right thing. It was as much to her as theflowers were to dear Hal. God bless and keep them all!