CHAPTER IV
It was a morning abounding in unexpected good fortune. For one thing,Miss Royle was indisposed--to an extent that was fully convincing--andwas lying down, brows swathed by a towel, in her own room; for another,the bursting of a hot-water pipe on the same floor as the nurseryrequired the prompt attention of a man in a greasy cap and Johnnie Blakeoveralls, who, as he hammered and soldered and coupled lengths of pipingwith his wrench, discussed various grown-up topics in a loud voice withJane, thus levying on _her_ attention. Miss Royle's temporary incapacityset aside the program of study usual to each forenoon; and Jane'ssuddenly aroused interest in plumbing made the canceling of that day'sriding-lesson seem advisable. It was Thomas who telephoned thepostponement. And Gwendolyn found herself granted some little time toherself.
But she was not playing any of the games she loved--the absorbingpretend-games with which she occupied herself on just such rareoccasions. Her own pleasure, her own disappointment, too,--these wereentirely put aside in a concern touching weightier matters. Slippersupheld by a hassock, and slender pink-frocked figure bent across theedge of the school-room table, she had each elbow firmly planted on apage of the wide-open, dictionary.
At all times the volume was beguiling--this in spite of the fact thatthe square of black-board always carried along its top, in glaringchalk, the irritating reminder: _Use Your Dictionary!_ There wasdiversion in turning the leaves at random (blissfully ignoring the whileany white list that might be inscribed down the whole of the board) tochance upon big, strange words.
But the word she was now poring over was a small one. "B-double-e," shespelled; "Bee: a so-cial hon-ey-gath-er-ing in-sect."
She pondered the definition with wrinkled forehead and worried eye."Social"--the word seemed vaguely linked with that other word,"Society", which she had so fortunately overheard. But what of theremainder of that visitor's never-to-be-forgotten declaration of scorn?For the definition had absolutely nothing to say about any _bonnet_.
She was shoving the pages forward with an impatient damp thumb in hersearch for Bonnet, when Thomas entered, slipping in around the edge ofthe hall door on soft foot--with a covert peek nursery-ward that wasdesigned to lend significance to his coming. His countenance, which onoccasion could be so rigorously sober, was fairly askew with a smile.
Gwendolyn stood up straight on the hassock to look at him. And at firstglance divined that something--probably in the nature of anedible--might be expected. For the breast-pocket of his liveried coatbulged promisingly.
"Hello!" he saluted, tiptoeing genially across the room.
"Hello!" she returned noncommittally.
Near the table, he reached into the bulging pocket and drew out a smallManila bag. The bag was partly open at the top. He tipped his head todirect one black eye upon its contents.
"Say, Miss Gwendolyn," he began, "_you_ like old Thomas, don't you?"
Gwendolyn's nostrils widened and quivered, receiving the temptingfragrance of fresh-roasted peanuts. At the same time, her eyes lit withglad surprise. Since her seventh anniversary, she had noted a vastchange for the better in the attitude of Miss Royle, Thomas and Jane;where, previous to the birthday, it had seemed the main purpose of thetrio (if not the duty) to circumvent her at every turn--to which end,each had a method that was unique: the first commanded; the secondthreatened; Thomas employed sarcasm or bribery. But now this wave ofthoughtfulness, generosity and smooth speech!--marking a very era in thehistory of the nursery. Here was fresh evidence that it was_continuing_.
Yet--was it not too good to last?
"Why, ye-e-es," she answered, more than half guessing that this timebribery was in the air.
But the fragrant bag resolved itself into a friendly offering. Thomaslet it drop to the table.
Casting her last doubt aside, Gwendolyn caught it up eagerly. Miss Roylenever permitted her to eat peanuts, which lent to them all the charm ofthe forbidden. She cracked a pod; and fell to crunching merrily.
"And you wouldn't like to see me go away, _would_ you now," went onThomas.
Her mouth being crammed, she shook her head cordially.
"Ah! I thought so!" He tore the bag down the side so that she could moreeasily get at its store. Then, leaning down confidentially, andpointing a teasing finger at her, "Ha! Ha! Who was it got caught spyin'yesterday?"
The small jaws ceased grinding. She lifted her eyes. Their gray wassuddenly clouded--remembering what, for a moment, her joy in the peanutshad blotted out. "But I _wasn't_ spying," she denied earnestly.
"Then what _was_ you doin'?--still as mice behind them curtains."
The mist cleared. Her face sunned over once more. "I was waving at thenurse in the brick house," she explained.
At that, up went Thomas's head. His mouth opened. His ears grew red."The nurse in the brick house!" he repeated softly.
"The one with the curly hair," went on Gwendolyn, cracking more pods.
Thomas turned his face toward the side window of the school-room.Through it could be seen the chimneys of the brick house. He smacked hislips.
"You like peanuts, too," said Gwendolyn. She proffered the bag.
He ignored it. His look was dreamy. "There's a fine Pomeranian at thebrick house," he remarked.
"It was the first time I'd ever seen her," said Gwendolyn, with thenurse still in mind. "Doesn't she smile nice!"
Now, Thomas waxed enthusiastic. "And she's a lot prettier close to," hedeclared, "than she is with a street between. Ah, you ought--"
That moment, Jane entered, fairly darting in.
"Here!" she called sharply to Gwendolyn. "What're you eatin'?"
"Peanuts, Jane,"--perfect frankness being the rule when concealment wasnot possible.
Jane came over. "And where'd you git 'em?" she demanded, promptlyseizing the bag as contraband.
"Thomas."
Sudden suspicion flamed in Jane's red glance. "Oh, you must've didThomas a _grand_ turn," she observed.
Thomas shifted from foot to foot. "I was--er--um--just tellin' MissGwendolyn"--he winked significantly--"that she wouldn't like to loseus."
"So?" said Jane, still sceptical. Then to Gwendolyn, after a moment'sreflection. "Let me close up your dictionary for you, pettie. Jane neverlikes to see one of your fine books lyin' open that way. It might put astrain on the back."
Emboldened by that cooing tone, Gwendolyn eyed the Manila bagcovetously. "I didn't eat many," she asserted, gently argumentative.
"Oh, a peanut or two won't hurt you, lovie," answered Jane, kneeling topresent the bag. Then drawing the pink-frocked figure close, "And you_didn't_ tell him what them two ladies had to say?"
"No." It was decisive, "I told him about--"
"I didn't ask her," interrupted Thomas. "No; I talked about how sheloves us. And a-course, she does.... Jane, ain't it near twelve?"
But Gwendolyn had no mind to be held as a tattler. "I told him," shecontinued, husking peanuts busily, "about the nurse-maid at the brickhouse."
Jane sat back.
"Ah?" She flashed a glance at Thomas, still shifting about uneasilymid-way between table and door. Then, "What _about_ the nurse-maid,dearie?"
It was Gwendolyn's turn to wax enthusiastic. "Oh, she has _such_ sweethair!" she exclaimed. "And she smiles nice!"
Jealousy hardened the freckled visage of the kneeling Jane. "And she'staken with you, I suppose," said she.
"She threw me kisses," recounted Gwendolyn, crunching happily the while."And, oh, Jane, some day may I go over to the brick house?"
"Some day you may--_not_."
Gwendolyn recognized the sudden change to belligerence; and foreseeing apossible loss of the peanuts, commenced to eat more rapidly. "Well,then," she persisted, "she could come over here."
Jane stared. "What do you mean?" she demanded crossly. "And don't you gobotherin' your poor father and mother about this strange woman. Do you_hear?_"
"But she takes care of a rich little girl. I _know_--'cause there arebars on the basement wind
ows. And Thomas says--"
"Oh, _come_" broke in Thomas, urging Jane hallward with a nervous jerkof the head.
"Ah!" Now complete understanding brought Jane to her feet. She fixedThomas with blazing eyes. "And _what_ does Thomas say, darlin'?"
Thomas waited. His ears were a dead white.
"There's a Pomeranian at the brick house," went on Gwendolyn, "and thepretty nurse takes it out to walk. And--"
"And Thomas is a-walkin' our Poms at the same time." Jane was breathinghard.
"And he says she's lots prettier close to--"
A bell rang sharply. Thomas sprang away. With a gurgle, Jane flouncedafter.
The next moment Gwendolyn, from the hassock--upon which she had settledin comfort--heard a wrangle of voices: First, Jane's shrill accusing,"It was _you_ put it into her head!--to come--and take my place fromunder me--and the food out of my very mouth--and break my hear-r-r-rt!"Next, Thomas's sonorous, "Stuff and fiddle-sticks!" then sounds oflamentation, and the slamming of a door.
The last peanut was eaten. As Gwendolyn searched out some few remainingbits from the crevices of the bag, she shook her yellow hair hopelessly.Truly there was no fathoming grown-ups!
The morning which had begun so propitiously ended in gloom. At the noondinner, Thomas looked harassed. He had set the table for one. Thatsingle plate, as well as the empty arm-chair so popular with Jane,emphasized the infestivity. As for the heavy curtains at the sidewindow, which--as near as Gwendolyn could puzzle it out--were the causeof the late unpleasantness, these were closely drawn.
Having already eaten heartily, Gwendolyn had little appetite.Furthermore, again she was turning over and over the direful statementsmade concerning her parents. She employed the dinner-hour in formulatinga plan that was simple but daring--one that would bring quickenlightenment concerning the things that worried. Miss Royle was stillindisposed. Jane was locked in her own room, from which issued anoccasional low bellow. When Thomas, too, was out of the way--gonepantry-ward with tray held aloft--she would carry it out. It called forno great amount of time: no searching of the dictionary. She would closeall doors softly; then fly to the telephone--_and call up her father_.
There were times when Thomas--as well as the two others--seemed topossess the power of divination. And during the whole of the dinner hismanner showed distinct apprehension. The meal concluded, even to the useof the finger-bowl, and all dishes disposed upon the tray, he hungabout, puttering with the table, picking up crumbs and pins, dustingthis article and that with a napkin,--all the while working his lipswith silent speech, and drawing down and lifting his black eye-browsmenacingly.
Meanwhile, Gwendolyn fretted. But found some small diversion instanding before the pier glass, at which, between the shining rows ofher teeth, she thrust out a tip of scarlet. She was thinking about thediscussion anent tongues held by her mother and the two visitors.
"Seven," she murmured, and viewed the greater part of her own tonguethoughtfully; "_seven_."
The afternoon was a French-and-music afternoon. Directly after dinnermight be expected the Gallic teacher--undesired at any hour. Thomasputtered and frowned until a light tap announced her arrival. Thenquickly handed Gwendolyn over to her company.
Mademoiselle Du Bois was short and spare. And these defects sheemphasized by means of a wide hat and a long feather boa. She ledGwendolyn to the school-room. There she settled down in a low chair,opened a black reticule, took out a thick, closely written letter, andfell to reading.
Gwendolyn amused herself by experimenting with the boa, which shefestooned, now over one shoulder, now over the other. "Mademoiselle,"she began, "what kind of a bird owned these feathers?"
"Dear me, Mees Gwendolyn," chided Mademoiselle, irritably (she spokewith much precision and only a slight accent), "how you talk!"
_Talk_--the word was a cue! Why not make certain inquiries ofMademoiselle?
"But do little _birds_ ever talk?" returned Gwendolyn, undaunted. Theboa was thin at one point. She tied a knot in it. "And which little birdis it that tells things to--to people?" Then, more to herself than toMademoiselle, who was still deep in her letter, "I shouldn't wonder ifit wasn't the little bird that's in the cuckoo clock, though--"
"_Ma foil!_" exclaimed Mademoiselle. She seized an end of the boa anddrew Gwendolyn to her knee. "You make ze head buzz. Come!" She reachedfor a book on the school-room table. "_Attendez!_"
"Mademoiselle," persisted Gwendolyn, twining and untwining, "if I do myFrench fast will you tell me something? What does _nouveaux riches_mean?"
"_Nouveaux riches_," said Mademoiselle, "is not on ziss page._Attendez-vous!_"
Miss Brown followed Mademoiselle Du Bois, the one coming upon the heelsof the other; so that a loud _crescendo_ from the nursery, announcingthe arrival of the music-teacher, drowned the last paragraph of French.
To Gwendolyn an interruption at any time was welcome. This day it wasdoubly so. She had learned nothing from Mademoiselle. But MissBrown--She made toward the nursery, doing her newest dance step.
Miss Brown was stocky, with a firm tread and an eye of decision. AsGwendolyn appeared, she was seated at the piano, her face raised (as ifshe were seeking out some spot on the ceiling), and her solid frameswaying from side to side in the ecstasy of performance. Up and down thekey-board of the instrument her plump hands galloped.
Gwendolyn paused beside the piano-seat. The air was vibrant with melody.The lifted face, the rocking, the ardent touch--all these inspired hope.The gray eyes were wide with eagerness. Each corner of the rosy mouthwas upturned.
The resounding notes of a march ended with a bang. Miss Brownstraightened--got to her feet--smiled down.
That smile gave Gwendolyn renewed encouragement. They were alone. Shestood on tiptoe. "Miss Brown," she began, "did you ever hear of a--a beethat some ladies carry in a--"
Miss Brown's smile of greeting went. "Now, Gwendolyn," she interruptedseverely, "are you going to begin your usual silly, silly questions?"
Gwendolyn fell back a step. "But I didn't ask you a silly question daybefore yesterday," she plead. "I just wanted to know how _any_body couldcall my German teacher Miss _French_."
"Take your place, if you please," bade Miss Brown curtly, "and don'twaste my time." She pointed a stubby finger at the piano-seat.
Gwendolyn climbed up, her cheeks scarlet with wounded dignity, herbreast heaving with a rancor she dared not express. "Do I have to playthat old piece?" she asked.
"You must,"--with rising inflection.
"Up at Johnnie Blake's it sounded nice. 'Cause my moth-er--"
"Ready!" Miss Brown set the metronome to _tick-tocking_. Then sheconsulted a watch.
Gwendolyn raised one hand to her face, and gulped.
"Come! Come! Put your fingers on the keys."
"But my cheek itches."
"Get your position, I say."
Gwendolyn struck a spiritless chord.
Miss Brown gone, Gwendolyn sought the long window-seat and curled upamong its cushions--at the side which commanded the best view of theGeneral. Straight before that martial figure, on the bridle-path, a manwith a dump-cart and a shaggy-footed horse was picking up leaves. Heused a shovel. And each time he raised it to shoulder-height and emptiedit into his cart, a few of the leaves went whirling away out ofreach--like frightened butterflies. But she had no time to pretendanything of the kind. A new and a better plan!--this was what she mustprepare. For--heart beating, hands trembling from haste--she had _tried_the telephone--_and found it dead to every Hello!_
But she was not discouraged. She was only balked.
The talking bird, the bee her mother kept in a bonnet, her father'sharness, and the candles that burned at both ends--if she had _only_known about them that evening of her seventh anniversary! Ignoring MissRoyle's oft-repeated lesson that "Nice little girls do not askquestions," or "worry father and mother," how easy it would have been tosay, "Fath-er, what little bird tells things about you?" and, "Moth-er,have you _really_ got a bee in your bonn
et?"
But--the questions could still be asked. She was balked onlytemporarily.
She got down and crossed the room to the white-and-gold writing-desk.Two photographs in silver frames stood upon it, flanking therose-embossed calendar at either side. She took them down, one at atime, and looked at them earnestly.
The first was of her mother, taken long, long ago, before Gwendolyn wasborn. The oval face was delicately lovely and girlish. The mouth curvedin a smile that was tender and sweet.
The second photograph showed a clean-shaven, boyish young man in arough business-suit--this was her father, when he first came to thecity. His lips were set together firmly, almost determinedly. But hisface was unlined, his dark eyes were full of laughter.
Despite all the well-remembered commands Miss Royle had issued; despiteJane's oft-repeated threats and Thomas's warnings, [and putting aside,too, any thought of what punishment might follow her daring] Gwendolynnow made a firm resolution: _To see at least one of her parentsimmediately and alone_.
As she set the photographs back in their places, she lifted each to kissit. She kissed the smiling lips of the one, the laughing eyes of theother.