by Carolyn Wells, originally begun January 1899
ANXIOUS HEARTS
When Betty and Jack did n't come home in time for dinner, Mrs. Kinsey was not much surprised. She knew the uncertainties that attend a sailing-party, and she told Ellen to be prepared for the arrival of the hungry young people at any hour.
"For," she said, "they may come early or they may come late, but they will certainly be hungry."
So all the afternoon Ellen waited in readiness to minister to the wants of two ravenous young savages, whom she momentarily expected to come bounding in and demanding food.
But they did n't come; and as supper-time drew near, she transferred her attentions to the concocting of a hot supper that should include the favorite dishes of both.
About five o'clock Mrs. Van Court and Miss Margaret drove over to Denniston to see if Betty and Jack had come home yet. They frankly acknowledged they were worried about the sailing-party, for it was the first trip of the new boat, and she might prove un-seaworthy.
Mrs. Kinsey discussed the matter with her visitors, and, affected by their nervousness, she soon became frightened too.
Pete was sent for, and his opinion was asked.
"No, mum," he said; "they ain't capsized, mum; they 're beca'med, that 's fwhat they are. I 've been watchin' the wind all the afthernoon, and there ain't none. That there boat is mosht likely settin' shtill in the wather an' refusin' to budge."
"Oh, do you think so?" said Mrs. Van Court, much relieved. "Do you think so?"
"I do, indade, mum; an' if a breeze comes up whin the sun goes down, they 'll come shpinnin' up the river in great shape, fur the tide is comin' in."
Having cheered up the three ladies by his hopefulness, Pete departed; but an hour or so later he went in search of Ellen, and to her he confided his fears.
"Ellen," he said, "if I 'm not mishtook, there 's a howlin' shtorm comin' up, an' I 'm fearin' fer thim childher. But, fwhativer happens, wetnusht pertind we 're thinkin' they 're all safe, fur Mis' Kinsey is sheared shtiff now, an' if she gets woorse she 'll have high-strikes. She 'd kape cool enough if it was n't fur ould Mis' Van Coort, who 's a-weepin' an' wailin' an' wringin' her hands till Mis' Kinsey is all worrited up. Miss Margaret, now, she 's ca'm, but there 's no tellin' how soon she 'll get a-goin' too."
"Are they shtayin' here fur supper?" asked Ellen.
"Belikes they 'll have to, unless they go home purty quick; fur the clouds is a-getherin' an' the shtorm is comin' up mighty suddint. Look over ferninst."
Ellen looked, and sure enough masses of black clouds were rolling and tumbling over one another, each apparently in frantic haste to get to the zenith first.
Just then Norah came to the kitchen to say that the Van Court ladies would stay to supper.
"They 're takin' on awful," she said. "Mis' Kinsey an' Mis' Van Court is a-cryin' like anything; an' Miss Margaret she jist walks up an' down, an' her face is as white! An', Pete, they want to see you."
Pete went to the parlor prepared to invent wondrous tales for the good of all concerned.
"A shtorm, is it?" he said, in answer to Mrs. Van Court's query. "Well, yes, 'm—a capful of wind, jist. But thim folks is all right. Whin Mr. Van Coort sees the shtorm comin' he 'll put into port an' wait till it's over, an' they 'll go to some hotel an' have a foine supper. On the wather, ye know, mum, they can see the shtorm whin it's moiles away, an' they 'll have plinty av toime to reach shelter."
Pete's assured manner and general air of certainty carried conviction to the hearts of the three frightened ladies, and they sat down to supper feeling quite sure that the absentees were comfortably sheltered in some one of the convenient hotels which they did n't know existed only in Pete's imagination.
The voluble Irishman returned to Ellen to unburden himself of his true fears.
"It 's a turble shtorm comin', Ellen, an' that little tay-cup av a boat c'u'd niver live through a shquall on the Sound. An' on the Sound they musht be, fur if they 'd niver left the river they 'd be home be now, fur they c'u'd have poled thimselves up be the banks."
"The saints protect them!" muttered Ellen, as she took a pan of golden-brown biscuits from the oven; "an' I can't consaive why folks wants to go maunderin' around in a tipsy-topsy boat whin there 's dhry ground to shtay on."
Notwithstanding Pete's comforting assurances, the three ladies could n't help feeling that perhaps their loved ones were in danger, and they did but scant justice to Ellen's carefully prepared supper.
As they rose from the table, a low roll of thunder was heard; it was followed by a flash of lightning, and then suddenly the storm burst in all its fury. The wind blew a gale, and the rain came down in torrents. As crash after crash boomed over their heads, Mrs. Van Court and Miss Margaret became more and more frightened until finally they lost their self-control and cried like children.
Mrs. Kinsey was calmer, partly because she was of a more reserved nature, and partly because, although she was very fond of Betty and Jack, they were not of her own kindred, and naturally she would not feel the same poignant grief as Mrs. Van Court and her daughter did.
So she cheered up her guests all she could, and as the rain continued to fall, she invited them to remain at Denniston overnight.
They accepted the invitation; but it was nearly midnight before the three ladies persuaded one another to retire, each feeling sure that she could not sleep a wink.
"Yez may rist in peace," said Pete, who had been called to the parlor for a final consultation. "I 'm convincin' sure that thim childher an' the other lady an' gintlemin is shlapin' this minit on fither-bids, an' all as is dishturbin' av their moinds is bec'us' they can't tellygraft yez from the hotel be rayson av the wires bein' bruk be the shtorm."
All this seemed reasonable, and Pete's audience were greatly impressed with his apparent wisdom and common sense, and they went to bed feeling sure that morning would bring good news of some kind from the absent ones.
Having done what he considered his duty to the hysterical ladies, Pete returned to the kitchen.
"Ellen, me jool," he said, "I 've been oratin' fairy-tales to the ladies ferninst, but me heart is talkin' another way. I 'm sick wid the fear that they 're all dhrowned, an' I can't shtay contint in the house. So I 'm puttin' on me rubber coat, an' I 'm goin' down to the dock where the Pixie—bad cess to it!—sailed from. An' I 'll take Sydney with me, an' we 'll shtay there till marnin'. An' do you shtay here an' kape the fire blazin', an' hot wather an' things all ready, fur they may be brought in anyway an' anyhow."
Ellen began to cry at this awful suggestion, and even sturdy Pete drew his sleeve across his eyes once or twice.
Then he put on his great boots and storm-cap and -coat, and, whistling for Sydney, he went out into the dark, wet night. He had no fixed plan, and scarcely a hope of learning anything about the Pixie's fate, but he felt there were more opportunities out of doors than in. If he could but have seen the Pixie, tied to a skeleton dock, and bumping against it until her paint was sadly scratched and marred, he would have felt that, after all, there was some foundation for his fairy-stories, and that the party had really found shelter in one of those fine hotels which he had so vividly imagined.
But it was anything but a fine hotel in which the sailing-party found the light that Jack had first noticed glimmering through the darkness.
After a long walk across the wet and marshy meadows they reached an old and somewhat dismal-looking house. From one window came the flickering lamplight which had seemed like a will-o'-the-wisp during their long walk toward it.
"There must be somebody living there," exclaimed Mr. Van Court, "and we 'll make them take us in."
He knocked loudly at the door, and a gruff voice inside the house responded: "Who 's there?"
"Some shipwrecked people," replied Mr. Dick; "please open your door."
"Got any dorgs?"
"No; but we 're very wet and cold, and the ladies are suffering. Please let us in."
"All right, I will, ef ye ain't got no dorgs. But my cat, 'Purty,' she 's tar'ble 'fraid of dorgs, so I hev to make sure."
And then the door opened, and they saw an old man with a shock of grizzled gray hair and a skin like tanned leather. He peered at them through his great iron-bowed spectacles.
"Wal, wal, ye are in a plight, ain't ye? Come income right in. Oh, my! oh, my! Huldy—I say, Huldy! Here 's some visitors. We 'll hev to look arter 'em. Huldy!"
A pleasant-faced woman appeared from the next room.
"Well, ye be wet! I should say so. Es wet es drowned rats. Deary me! come right out to the kitchen. Ye 'll spile this carpet—ye drip so."
They followed her to the kitchen, and gladly felt the warmth from the cook-stove there.
"It 's lucky I kep' up that fire," said their hostess, bustling about. "Now, le' me see; what kin I give yon ladies fur clo'es? Mine would n't be no good to you. Say, father, shall we give 'em some out o' the trunk?"
"Yes," said the old man; "let the ladies go right up in the kitchen bedroom, and I 'll fetch the trunk there, and they can help themselves."
Miss Grace and Betty, feeling that they were about to be made comfortable at last, followed the old woman up-stairs and into a small bedroom just over the kitchen, which was dry and warm.
In a few moments the old man came, dragging a fair-sized trunk, which he pulled into the room and then threw open the lid.
"Thar," he said; "look arter 'em, mother; do all ye kin fur 'em; and I 'll go below and try and fit out the men with dry toggery. Wish we had a trunkful o' duds fur them too. But we ain't. Make yerselves at home, ladies; yer welcome to anything we kin give yer. Ross is my name,—Jim Ross,—and I 'm jist a plain or'nary man; but Huldy, my wife thar, she 's an angel in disguise."
The disguise was effectual, for no one could look less like an angel than Mrs. Ross did. But her beaming smile of welcome and her truly kind and hospitable manner made her much more attractive to her guests than a be-winged and be-trumpeted angel would have been.
"Now," she said, after she had provided them with all the comforts at her command—"now jest pick out whatever clo'es ye like from that 'ere trunk, and when yer fixed come on down-stairs, and I 'll hev somethin' fur ye to eat."
She shuffled away, and they soon heard her clattering around in the kitchen below.
"Why, Miss Grace," said Betty, presently, "just look at the clothes in this trunk. What lovely dresses! How do you suppose these old people would be having such pretty things?"
Sure enough, the trunk was filled with dainty and costly clothing of all kinds.
"They are lovely," said Miss Grace, examining them; "and see, Betty, all of the dresses are white. How very odd! Here is a white cashmere; I think I 'll put this on."
"Do, Miss Grace, dear; it 'll become you most beautiful. I guess I 'll wear this white China silk; but it's too long for me."
"Never mind, Betty; don't try to shorten it. Wear it as it is, and I 'll do up your hair, and you can masquerade as a young lady, for one night only."
Betty thought this great fun, and sat quite still while Miss Grace bunched the black curls into a graceful knot on top of her head and fastened them there with a high tortoise-shell comb which they found in the wonderful trunk.
And then, when Betty had put on the white silk dress, which fitted pretty well and was very becoming, she looked like a charming young lady all ready for her first ball. Miss Grace looked like another snow-drift in the white cashmere, which she somehow arranged to fit her; and then, though they found plenty of fine white stockings in the trunk, there were no shoes of any kind. Their own wet boots were out of the question, so there was nothing to do but go down-stairs in their white-stockinged feet, which they trusted the long dresses would hide from view. A shout of admiration greeted them as they entered the room, and Jack exclaimed:
"My eye, Betty! you 're a stunner in grown-up clothes."
Mr. Van Court, too, looked at Betty as if he had never seen her before, and begged Grace for an introduction to her new friend.
But if the ladies looked well, the same could not be said of the men. Mr. Ross had done his best for them, but his wardrobe was scantily furnished.
He had given Mr. Brewster his best Sunday suit, and very odd that fine gentleman looked in the country-cut clothes. An old fisherman's suit did very well for Jack; but this exhausted Mr. Ross's stock entirely, save for a pair of overalls and a brilliantly flowered dressing-gown. However, Mr. Dick avowed himself well satisfied with these, and wore them with a jaunty air that greatly pleased his host, who declared that he "did n't know that old gown did set so well."
The room in which they were assembled was the one they had first entered, and seemed to be dining-room, parlor, and general living-room all in one.
Mrs. Ross came bustling in from the kitchen with a huge dish of poached eggs and a platter of hot biscuit.
"There," she said; "I 'lowed them was the best things I could cook quick fur you; an' now do all set down an' eat, fur you must be holler. To think of nothin' to eat sence breakfast! Land, who 's that?" She looked at Betty in blank amazement. "My, what a start you give me 1 I thought you was Lallowet."
"Lallowet!" shouted Mr. Ross. "That 's it. I 've be'n tryin' to think who it was the little gal looked like, all fixed up in them clo'es. It's Lallowet fur sure."
Betty felt a mild curiosity to know who or what Lallowet might be; but hunger was a far stronger sensation just then, and as she sat down at the table her only wonderment was whether there were any more eggs in the kitchen or not.
So they are saved! But why do these plain people have a trunk of pretty dresses in their home? Have they lost a daughter? And who is "Lallowet"? And what can Mr. Morris tell Betty about her family? Come back after the new year to find out!
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