Kitabı oku: «The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe: or, There's No Place Like Home», sayfa 17
Hal and Joe talked it over that evening.
"How good everybody is to us!" said Hal. "There was Mrs. Howard, when I was so ill, and the Kinseys, while they were in Madison, and Dr. Meade, and" —
"Mrs. Van Wyck, who snubbed Flossy, and prophesied that I should come to the gallows. Hal, dear old chap, we have had ups and downs, and been poor as church-mice; but it is all coming around just right. And I'd take the place: I know you will succeed."
"But eight thousand dollars; and the green-houses, and the plants afterward" —
"Why, I'd be responsible for the place myself. The property would be worth a fortune in twenty years or so. And, with Mr. Darol to hold it, there wouldn't be the slightest risk."
"But if I should not live" —
"Nonsense! I'll come in and administer. I'll be thinking about your epitaph. Mine is already stored away for use: —
'From which it is believed,
The unfortunate bereaved
Went to sea, and was promiscuously drownded.'"
"Now, isn't that pathetic?"
"O Joe! you are too bad!"
"It's a sign of long life, my dear. I have had to be worse than usual, to balance your account."
Everybody said Hal must have the place. Mr. Darol actually purchased it, and took Dot over to see the cottage. It was not very large, but sufficiently roomy for them, and had only been tenanted for a year; a pretty parlor and sitting-room, with a nice large kitchen, and abundance of closets. The chambers up stairs were very pleasant, and commanded a beautiful view.
"Will it do for you, O morsel of womankind?" asked Mr. Darol. "I propose to buy you a dog, and call you Mother Hubbard."
Dot laughed, and blushed, and expressed her satisfaction.
Then Hal declared they must return to Madison, and he would consider what could be done.
"You can count on me for three hundred a year," said Joe with his good-by.
They wanted Granny to remain with Florence, but she would not: so they returned together.
Oh, poor little cottage! The chimney over the "best room" had blown down in a March gale, and the roof leaked worse than ever. The street was surveyed, and staked out; and, oddest of all, Mr. Howard had received a call to Brooklyn.
"I suppose we must go," said Granny. "Dot needs a pretty home, and this isn't" —
"The palaces have spoiled us," said Dot. "Think of having hot and cold water in your kitchen without a bit of fuss; and a bath-room, and the work so easy that it is just like playing at housekeeping. Why, Granny, you and I would have the nicest time in the world!"
Mrs. Meade had cared for the flowers while Hal was away, though they missed his loving hand. But he decided that it would be best to sell them all out, and dispose of the place as soon as he could. The township offered him three hundred dollars for the ground they needed; and presently Hal found a purchaser for the remainder, at twelve hundred dollars. By the time of Joe's next return Hal was ready to take a fresh start.
One thousand was paid down; and Joe promised three hundred of the interest every year, and as much more as he could do. Mr. Darol was to superintend the erection of the green-house, – two long rows, joined by a little square at the end, a kind of work-room, which could be opened or closed at pleasure. They were built on the back part of the two lots, and the space in front was to remain a summer-garden. The street had a lovely southern exposure, while a great elm-tree shaded the house.
They all came back to the Old Shoe for a farewell visit. It was June, and they had supper out of doors; for, somehow, half the neighborhood had invited itself. Everybody was sorry to lose Hal and Granny; and everybody thought it wonderful that the Kenneths had prospered, and had such luck.
Then Florence took Granny and Dot to a pretty seaside resort, where Charlie was to join them. Kit and Hal were to pack up whatever household treasures were worth saving, and afterward domesticate themselves with their brother-in-law.
Good-by, Old Shoe! Tumble down at your will. There is no more laughing or crying or scolding or planning for you to hear, – no tender children's voices singing Sunday-evening hymns in the dusk, no little folded hands saying reverent prayers. O old house, brown and rusty and dilapidated! there has been much joy under your roof; many prayers answered, many sorrows, and some bitter tears, that God's hand wiped away. Every crumbling board has some tender memories. And, as Hal and Kit sit on the old stone step for the last time, their hands are clasped tightly, their eyes are full of tears, and neither can trust his voice to speak.
Good-by! The birds said it, the wandering winds said it, the waving grasses, and the rustling trees. You have had your day, old house, and the night has come for you.
CHAPTER XXII
CHRISTMASTIDE
Hal watched the hot-houses with strange delight. They seemed to him on a most magnificent scale. The boiler was put in, the pipes laid, the force-pump and coal-bins arranged; then the stands of steps, rising higher, the wide ledge by the window for small plants and slips, lattices for vines, hooks for hanging-baskets, and every thing in complete order.
When Charlie rejoined Granny, Florence came back for a brief stay. She and Edmund went over to the cottage, and measured and consulted; and the result was, that one morning it looked wonderfully as if some one was moving in. Hal ran to inform them of their mistake.
The carpet-men said they had their orders, and wouldn't budge an inch. Down went carpets and oil-cloths. Such a hammering, and knocking-about, and unrolling! Kit stood it as long as he could: then he went out of doors, perched himself on a pile of stone, and played on his beloved fiddle.
The next day there was another raid. This time it was furniture. Florence and Edmund soon made their appearance.
"Oh!" exclaimed Hal.
"It is to be our gift," began Edmund. "Florence wished it so much! She feels that she took her pleasure when you were all toiling and suffering, and is better satisfied to make some amends. Besides, we have an interest in Dot and grandmother."
"And I am only going to put in the principal things," explained Florence. "There are so many that you will prefer to select yourselves."
The parlor and library, or sitting-room, were carpeted alike. The furniture was in green, with here and there a bright article to relieve it; a pretty book-case and writing-table, a console for Dot's small traps, easy-chairs in abundance, and every thing as pretty as it could be. The dining-room and kitchen were plain, but home-like, with an old-fashioned Boston rocker for Granny. But the three sleeping-rooms up stairs were perfect little gems, – Hal's in black-walnut, Granny's in quaint chestnut, and Dot's in pale green with a pretty green and white carpet to match.
"Why, I shall want them to come home right away!" exclaimed Hal. "O Flossy!"
"Dear, brave Hal! God has been good to us all. Only love me a little in return."
The last of August, Hal's household returned. He and Kit had provided for them a gorgeous supper, with the best china, and a bouquet at each plate. Granny could hardly believe her eyes or her senses. Dot and Charlie ran wild, and made themselves exclamation points in every doorway.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!"
"And the surprise!"
"And so beautiful!"
"That I should ever live to see it!" said Granny.
They explored every nook and corner and closet.
"I like it so much," said old-fashioned little Dot, "because it isn't too grand. For, after all, we are not rich. And it was so thoughtful of Florence to choose what was simply pretty instead of magnificent!"
"Look at the goblets," said Charlie with a solemn shake of the head. "Dot, if any nice old gentleman comes along, be sure to give him a drink out of them, and put this K round where he can see it."
"The whole eighteen, I suppose, one after another," returned Dot drolly.
"I shall paint you some pictures," Charlie began presently; "and, Dot, when I get to earning money in good earnest, I'll buy a piano. I used to think I did not care much about it, and I never could learn; but sometimes, when Florence sits and plays like an angel, I can't help crying softly to myself, though you wouldn't believe I was such a goose. And, if you learn to play, it will be a great comfort to Hal."
"Yes," said Dot, crying out of pure sympathy.
They commenced housekeeping at once. Charlie was to remain with them until the term commenced.
"Isn't it a delight to have such splendid things to work with?" exclaimed Dot. "Why, Granny, don't you believe we have been spirited away to some enchanted castle?"
Granny laughed, and surely thought they had.
Hal, meanwhile, was stocking his green-houses. Loads of sand and loam had to be brought; piles of compost and rubble standing convenient; and the two boys worked like Trojans. And then the journeys to florists, that seemed to Hal like traversing realms of poesy and fragrance. Great geraniums that one could cut into slips, roses, heliotrope, heaths, violets, carnations, fuchsias; indeed, an endless mass of them. Hal's heart was in his throat half the time with a suffocating sense of beauty.
It was such a pleasure to arrange them! He used to handle them as if they were the tenderest of babies. Watering and ventilation on so large a scale was quite new to him; and he went at his business with a little fear and trembling, and devoted every spare moment to study.
Mr. Darol had paid the bills as they had been presented. One day Hal asked to see them. The request was evaded for a while; but one evening, when he was dining with Mr. Darol, he insisted upon it.
"Very well," returned Mr. Darol smilingly. "Here they are: look them over and be satisfied. Very moderate, I think."
The hot-house had cost thirteen hundred dollars; soil, and various incidentals, one hundred more; flowers, three hundred.
"Seventeen hundred dollars," said Hal in a grave and rather tremulous tone. "And seven thousand on the house."
"The mortgage is to remain any number of years, you know. Joe has arranged to pay part of the interest. And the conditions of these" – gathering them up, and turning toward Hal, who was leaning against the mantle, rather stupefied at such overwhelming indebtedness.
"Well?" he said with a gasp that made his voice quiver.
"This," and Mr. Darol laughed genially. Hal saw a blaze in the grate, and stood speechless.
"It is my gift to you. Not a very large business capital, to be sure; but you can add to it from time to time."
"O Mr. Darol!"
"My dear Hal, if you knew the pleasure it has been to me! I don't know why I have taken such a fancy to you all, unless it is for the sake of the children I might have had; but that is an old dream, and the woman who might have been their mother is in her grave. You deserve all this, and more."
The tears stood in Hal's eyes, and he could not trust his voice. How dark every thing had looked only a little year ago! Could he ever be thankful enough? And that it should all come through such a ridiculous thing as Charlie's running away!
"I am confident that you will prosper. And I expect you all to like me hugely, in return. When I take Dot and Charlie to operas, I shall look to you to provide the flowers."
"A very small return," said Hal.
But he went home as if he had been a tuft of thistle-down on a summer-breeze. Ferry-boat and horse-car were absolutely glorified. And when he reached the little cottage with lights in every window, and the dear ones awaiting him, he could only clasp his arms around them, and kiss them. But they knew the next morning what had flushed his face, and made his eyes so lustrous.
"Ah, I told you he was a prince!" declared Charlie in triumph.
And then Hal's work commenced in earnest. Every morning he spent in his green-house, and began experiments of propagating, that were so interesting to him. Kit assisted, and Dot ran in every hour or two, to see how they prospered.
Kit had come across a German musician, hardly a square off, who was giving him lessons, and who used to wax very enthusiastic over him. There had been quite a discussion as to what should be done with him.
"Why, he must go to school," declared brother Edmund. "He's a mere child yet; but he has a wonderful talent for music, it must be admitted."
"He might become an organist," said Florence. "That gives a man a position." Somehow she did not take cordially to the violin.
Kit consented to go to school.
"But to give up my dear, darling old fiddle! It's mean, when the rest of you have had just what you wanted, – been adopted, and gone to sea, and had green-houses, and all that!" said Kit, half-crying, and jumbling his sentences all together.
"You shall keep the fiddle," said Granny. "I like it."
Florence also proposed that Granny should have a servant. At this Granny was dismayed.
"A servant! Why, do you suppose I am going to set up for a queen, because Hal has his beautiful hot-house, – an old woman like me?"
"But Dot ought to go to school, and then it would be too much for you."
"I am going to study at home," returned Dot with much spirit. "I haven't any genius: so I shall keep house, and help Hal with his flowers. And the work isn't any thing. A woman comes in to do the washing and ironing."
"And Hal is handy as a girl. No: I'd rather stay as we are," Granny said, with more determination than she had shown in her whole life.
Florence had to leave them "as they were." The simple, homely duties of every-day life were not distasteful to them. If Granny could not have been useful, the charm would have gone out of life for her.
Joe was delighted with every thing, and told Granny that if he wasn't so tall he should surely stand on his head, out of pure joy. He was to make his head-quarters with them when he was at home.
Miss Charteris had been added to their circle of friends, and enjoyed the quaint household exceedingly. Hal was an especial favorite with her, and she took a warm interest in his flowers.
In October, Hal began to have a little business. Baskets and stands were sent in to be arranged for winter; and now and then some one strayed in, and bought a pot of something in bloom. He began to feel quite like a business-man. His five hundred dollars had served to defray incidental expenses, and put in coal and provisions for the winter, leaving a little margin. If he could get his sales up to regular expenses, he thought he should be content for the present.
He took a trip to Madison one day. The cottage was nothing but a heap of crumbling boards. Had they ever lived there, and been so happy?
"It'll never be the same place again," said Granny, listening to the summer's improvements. "I am glad we came away. I couldn't have seen the old house torn down. Maybe it's the flowers here, and the children, that makes it seem like home to me; but most of all I think it must be you, dear Hal. And so I'm satisfied, as the good Lord knows."
Her caps were a trifle more pretentious, and her gowns more in modern style; but she was Granny still, and not one of them would have had her changed. When she sat in her rocking-chair, with her hands crossed in her lap, Hal thought her the prettiest thing in the house.
"Hooray!" exclaimed Kit, rushing home one evening out of breath, and covered with snow. "What do you think? Granny, you could never guess!"
"I never was good at guessing," returned Granny meekly.
"Something wonderful! Oh, a new fiddle!" said Dot.
"No: and Hal won't try. Well" – with a long breath – "I'm going – to play – at a concert!"
"Oh!" the three exclaimed in a breath.
"And it's the oddest thing," began Kit, full of excitement. "You see, there's to be a concert given in New York, to help raise funds to give the newsboys, and other homeless children, a great Christmas dinner. Mr. Kriessman has it in hand; and, because it's for boys, he wants me to play – all alone."
"O Kit! you can't," said Hal. "When you faced the audience, it would seem so strange, and you would lose your courage."
"No I wouldn't, either! I'd say to myself, 'Here's a dinner for a hungry boy,' and then I wouldn't mind the people. Mr. Kriessman is sure I can do it; and I've been practising all the evening. A real concert! Think of it. Oh, if Joe can only be here!"
Dot put her arms round his neck, and kissed him. Hal winked his eyes hard, remembering the old dreams in the garret.
He went to see Mr. Kriessman the next day.
"The boy is a genius, I tell you, Mr. Kenneth," said the enthusiastic professor. "He will be a great man, – you see, you see! He has the soul, the eyes, the touch. He fail!" and an expression of lofty scorn crossed the fair, full face.
"But he has had so little practice" —
"It will all be right. You see, you see! Just leave him to me. And he is so little!"
Hal smiled. Kit did not bid fair to become the family giant, it was true.
Not a moment did the child lose. Dot declared that he could hardly eat. Charlie was in high delight when she heard of it; for Mr. Darol was going to take her and Miss Charteris. Hal hardly knew whether he dared venture, or not.
But Joe did come just in the nick of time, and insisted that everybody should go, ordering a carriage, and bundling Dot and Granny into it; poor Granny being so confused that she could hardly make beginning or end of it. And, when they were seated in the great hall that was as light as day, she glanced helplessly around to Joe.
"Never you mind, Granny! I'm not a bit afraid," he whispered. "He will fiddle with the best of them."
'The wonderful boy violinist,' it said on the programme. "If he should not be so wonderful," thought Hal quietly, with a great fear in his soul. He could not tell what should make him so nervous.
Mr. Darol came and spoke to them. "Isn't it odd?" he said with a laugh. "Why, I never dreamed of it until Charlie told me! I wouldn't have missed it for any thing."
The concert began. There was an orchestral overture, then a fine quartet, a cornet solo, and so they went on. Hal followed the programme down. Then he drew a long breath, and looked neither to the right nor the left. That little chap perched up on the stage, Kit? making his bow, and adjusting his violin, and – hark!
It was not the story of the child lost in the storm, but something equally pathetic. Mr. Kriessman had made a fortunate selection. Curiosity died out in the faces of the audience, and eagerness took its place. Ah, what soft, delicious strains! Was it the violin, or the soul of the player? Not a faltering note, not a sign of fear; and Hal laughed softly to himself. On and on, now like the voice of a bird, then the rustle of leaves, the tinkle of waters, fainter, fainter, a mere echo, – a bow, and he was gone.
There was a rapturous round of applause. It nearly subsided once, then began so vehemently that it brought Kit out again. But this time he was the gayest little fiddler that ever played at an Irish fair. People nodded and smiled to each other, and felt as if they must dance a jig in another moment.
Joe bent over to Granny.
"Isn't that gay?" he asked. "Kit has beaten the lot of us. Granny, if you are not proud of him, I'll take you straight home, and keep you on bread and water for a month."
Proud of him! Why, Granny sat there crying her old eyes out from pure joy. Her darling little Kit!
"Dot," exclaimed Mr. Darol as they were going out, "we shall hear of you as an actress next. I never knew of such wonderful people in my life."
"Oh, it was magnificent!" said Charlie. "And the applause!"
"That I should have lived to see the day!"
"Why, Granny, it would have been very unkind of you if you had not," declared Joe solemnly.
How they all reached home, they never exactly knew. They laughed and cried, and it was almost morning before they thought of going to bed.
But the notices next day were as good as a feast. There could be no doubt now. Hal understood that from henceforth Kit and his fiddle would be inseparable. It was "born in him," as Joe said. As for Kit, he hardly knew whether he were in the body, or out of the body.
Hal and Dot set about making up accounts the day before Christmas. The three-months' proceeds had been two hundred and sixty dollars; pretty fair for a beginning, and a whole green-house full of flowers coming into bloom. He was on the high road to prosperity. So he fastened his glasses, put on his coal, and arranged his heat cut-offs for the night, and came into the house. There were Dot and Kit and Charlie, and the supper waiting.
"And there is the six-months' interest," said Hal. "Next year we can let up a little on dear, generous Joe. And to-night is Christmas Eve."
Joe rushed in.
"What do you think, Granny? I've just come from Flossy's. They have a beautiful little boy named Hal Kenneth, – a real Christmas gift, and no mistake. Here's to your namesake, Hal; though, try his best, he can never be half as good as you."
I do believe poor, foolish Hal had his eyes full of tears, thinking of Flossy's great joy. But Charlie and Kit cheered in a tremendous fashion.
After the supper was cleared away, they sat in a little circle, and talked. There always was so much to say, and Joe liked nothing half so well as to hear of every event that had transpired in his absence. They all kept such a warm interest in each other!
Somehow they strayed back to the last Christmas, and the "songs in the night."
"Sing again," besought Granny.
Dot's birdlike voice was first to raise its clear notes. One hymn was dearer than all the rest. The music quivered a little when they came to this verse, as if tears and heart-throbs were not far off: —
"Wonderful night!
Sweet be thy rest to the weary!
Making the dull heart and dreary
Laugh with a dream of delight.
Wonderful, wonderful night!"
And then a tender silence fell over them. They clasped each other's hands softly, and the breaths had a strangled sound. Granny alive, Joe raised from the dead, Kit some day to be a famous musician!
Joe crept up to Granny, and kissed her wrinkled face. Somehow it seemed as if the furrows began to fill out.
"Oh," he said huskily, "there's nothing in the world so wonderful, nor so sweet, nor so precious as 'The Old Woman who lived in a Shoe!' When I think of her love, her patient toil, her many cares, and the untiring devotion with which she has labored for us all, I feel that we can never, never repay her. O Granny!"
"I've been glad to have you all, God knows. There wasn't one too many."
Not one of the loving arms that encircled her could have been spared. There she sat enthroned, a prouder woman to-night, poor old Granny Kenneth, than many a duchess in a blaze of diamonds. Fair Florence; laughing Joe, with his great, warm heart; sweet, tender Hal; racketing Charlie; Kit, with his scalp-lock waving in the breeze; and dear little Dot, – jewels enough for any woman, surely!
Ah, children! love her with the best there is in your fresh young souls. Make the paths smooth for her weary feet, remembering the years she has trudged on the thorny highway of life for your sakes. When the eyes grow dim, bring the brightest in your lives to glorify her way. Cling to her, kiss warmth into the pale lips; for when she has gone to heaven it will seem all too little at the best. True, she will reap her reward there; but it is sweet to have a foretaste of it in your smiles, as well. Dear Granny, who has made toil heroic, and old age lovely, and out of whose simple, every-day existence have blossomed the roses that still render this old world bright and glorious, – Love, Labor, Faith!
