by Carolyn Wells, originally begun January 1899
FRIENDLY SHELTER
Eat away, eat away," said old Mr. Ross, heartily; "it doos me good to see ye eat. Nothin' sence mornin'! My! Wife, ain't ye got some cake to set out?"
"Yes, I hev," said Mrs. Ross, coming in at that moment with a large loaf of plum-cake; "an' some canned peaches, too, thet ain't be'n sealed up more 'n a week."
Betty clapped her hands in glee, for she was still hungry, and she loved plum-cake.
"Eat away, little gal," said the old man, " though you seem to hev growed up to be a lady all of a suddint, with yer curls piled up into a waterfall. Mother—I say, mother, don't she look like Lallowet now ?"
"No, Jim, she don't. It's jest the dress an' that comb as makes it seem so. Lallowet had ripply gold hair an' blue eyes."
"So she did, mother, so she did; but all the same, little miss reminds me of her. I s'pose it's the dress— hey, Purty?"
The old man sat at the head of his table, and on the arm of his chair sat a huge white cat, whom he stroked and petted continually, and to whom he referred any puzzling questions.
The wise-looking animal responded by a prolonged purr.
"That's a fine cat you have," remarked Miss Grace, pleasantly.
"Purty? Yes, ma'am; she's a great cat. We could n't keep house 'thout Purty. She 's allers lively an' pleasant, an' it makes it cheery fur us two lone old critters to have her round."
"Do you live all alone, you and Mrs. Ross?"
"Wai, yes, 'm, we do now. But we 're goin' out to Chicago soon, to live with my son's folks. He says we 're too lonely here in the winter-time, an' I guess we be. We useter have neighbors, but they all moved away or burnt down, an' now we 're alone here, 'ceptin' the cat. But you 're as good as folks, ain't you, Purty?"
The cat purred, and the old man went on:
"We useter take summer boarders, an' they was a heap of comp'ny. What with gettin' ready fur 'em an' clearin' up after 'em, they lasted e'en a'most the hull year round. Purty liked them boarders—hey, Purty?"
"But she does n't like dogs?" asked Betty.
"No, miss; she was skeered by a dorg onct when she was a little kitten, an' she ain't never got over it. An' so I try to keep dorgs away from her. It's the least I can do fur her—an' she so fond of me—ain't you, Purty?"
The cat rubbed lovingly against her old master, and seemed to understand the whole conversation.
"Knowin'est cat ever was," said Mrs. Ross. "Lallowet useter say she was a real human bein'—a princess, like as not—laid under a spell an' bewitched into a cat."
"And who is this wonderful Lallowet?" inquired Mr. Van Court.
"Oh, she was one of our summer boarders," replied Mr. Ross. "We never had but three, an' they came every summer for six years. But they did n't come last year, nor this, an' I don't know what's gone with 'em. Lallowet she was a beautiful lady, an' it's her clo'es you two ladies is now appearin' in. That trunkful of white clo'es is all hern; she left 'em here, savin' she 'd send fur 'em, but she never did."
"Did n't she have any other name but Lallowet?" said Betty, quite interested in the owner of such beautiful dresses.
"Yes, miss, I s'pose she did, but I don't know what it was. Her father an' mother was always with her, but they called her jest 'Lallowet.' Their names was Irving,—Mr. an' Mrs. Irving,—an' they was the nicest people ever trod shoe-leather. Fur six years, reg'lar, they come down here an' stayed all summer. Liked the quiet, they said, an' land sakes! it was quiet enough. They liked Purty too, an' she liked them. Useter tag round after 'em all the time. Thet trunk ain't never be'n opened sence she left it—'cept now an' then wife 's looked over the clo'es, fearin' of moth or mildew."
"Did Lallowet always wear white dresses?" asked Betty.
"In the house she did," said Mrs. Ross, "but when she 'd be comin' or goin' home she wore a black or black-an'white dress. Had n't no taste for colors at all. An' maybe she was in mournin'—I don't know. I never asked her, fur she was a quiet little lady, not given to talkin'. But she could sing. My! how she could sing. Sometimes she 'd snatch off her collar, as if it kep' the songs back, an' then she 'd jest fairly yell."
"Very interesting person," remarked Mr. Van Court. "Remember, Popinjay, when you learn to sing you must take your collar off."
"You 'd better sing now, then," said Betty, roguishly, "for you have n't any collar on."
"That only shows how adaptable to circumstances I am," said Mr. Dick, calmly. "I had quite forgotten that my costume lacked a few finishing touches. But you 'll be ill if you adapt yourself to any more of Mrs. Ross's plum-cake. Take it away, Mrs. Ross; she 's only a little girl, if she is wearing a trailing dress and a high-heeled comb."
" Bless the lamb, let her have all she wants," replied the kind-hearted hostess; "but I think she looks clean tuckered out, an' she ought to be abed and asleep this minute."
"No, I 'm not sleepy," said Betty, "but I 'm wondering what Grandma Jean will think has become of us."
"That's worrying me, too," said Miss Grace.
"There 's no use worrying about it," said Richard Van Court, "for there 's no possible way to send them word to-night. Of course they 're anxious—I suppose mother and Margaret are just about wild. But I hope they 'll think we 've landed somewhere to wait until the storm is over."
"How far is it to Greenborough?" asked Jack, and Mr. Ross replied:
"It's about six miles by the wagon-road, an' to walk it across the medders it's about four. But land sakes! of course you can't do nothin' to-night. To-morrow mornin' I would hitch up my horse to the old carryall, an' jog along up; but he 's gone lame, an' I don't see how I can. I could n't tote you all at onct, anyhow. But you can go back in your boat, can't you?"
"I don't want to go in the boat," said Miss Van Court, with a little shudder. "I 've had enough of the Pixie for one while."
"The Pixie's all right," said her brother. "She behaved beautifully, and carried us safely through the storm."
"Yes, I know it," said Grace, "but I don't want to go home in her; I 'd rather ride on land."
"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brewster.
Then Mrs. Ross brought candles, and escorted Grace and Betty up to the kitchen bedroom again.
"I 'm sorry to put you ladies in here to sleep," she said; "it is n't the nicest place in the world, but it 's warm an' dry, an' the best bedrooms ain't be'n opened, to speak of, in two years, an' I 'm afraid they 'd give you fever 'n' ager."
Miss Grace declared the room was cozy and pleasant, and quite large enough, and she was sure she and Betty were so tired they could sleep anywhere.
And soon the whole of the shipwrecked party had forgotten their day of discomfort in a night of pleasant dreams.
Very early in the morning, Jack, who had slept on the sofa in the living-room, opened his eyes.
At first he could n't think where he was. Then suddenly he remembered, and then he lay there thinking. As a result of his thoughts he rose very softly and dressed himself in the old fisherman's suit that Mr. Ross had lent him.
The sun was just about to rise, and by its dawning light Jack hunted around for a pencil. Then, finding a bit of paper, he wrote rather hastily the following note:
Dear Betty:
I am going to walk home so grandma and Mr. Dick's folks won't worry. I would have told you last night, only I knew you would think it too long a walk for me; but it is n't. I 'll send the carriage back for the rest of you. Wait for it.
Yours truly, Jack.
Then he carefully and noiselessly opened a window and climbed out, and was soon trudging over the salt meadows toward Greenborough. And that's how it happened that just as Grandma Jean threw open her shutters she saw Jack slowly making his way toward the house.
"They 're drowned!" she cried out. "Oh, I knew they would be!" And then she went down-stairs as fast as she could and opened the front door.
Jack came up the steps, and fell into the hammock.
"They 're all right, grandma," he said, "and I 'm all right; every one 's safe, and so is the Pixie; only it was a long walk."
"Poor boy!" said grandma; and then, being a sensible lady, she asked no more questions until Jack had rested a few minutes. She went and told Ellen, who was rejoiced at the good news, and delighted to have her ministrations of use at last.
They quickly prepared a hot bath and a hot breakfast for the shipwrecked mariner, and when Grandma Jean went back to him he was telling Pete all about it, and directing him to send the carriage after Betty. Almost before Jack had finished speaking, Pete had whistled for Barney, who harnessed the horses in short order, and then Pete himself jumped to the box and took the reins.
Although tired from his long night watch, he would allow no one else to go for his beloved Miss Betty.
"Tell the Van Coort leddies as how I 'll bring back the whole party," he said, as he drove away.
Meantime Betty and Grace had awakened, and were wondering if their storm-drenched garments had yet become wearable, when there was a gentle rap at their door, and Mrs. Ross entered the room.
"It does seem," she said, "as if them dresses of yourn would n't never get dry. The cloth is so thick an' the gethers is so full that they 're all damp through yet, an' it would be flyin' in the face of Providence fur you to put 'em on."
Betty laughed with glee.
"I 'm glad of it," she said. "I 'll wear the pretty white silk dress home. There 's a lovely embroidered collar in the trunk that will make it high-necked."
"Yes, do, my lamb," said Mrs. Ross, smiling back into Betty's bright eyes; "an' you can have that frock to keep, seein' 's you like it so much. I don't suppose poor Lallowet 'll ever claim it, an' if she should, I 'll make it all right with her. I know she 'd be glad to give it to you—she 's that kind-hearted."
Betty was delighted, and jumped out of bed to array herself in the pretty grown-up gown.
Then she danced down-stairs to find Jack, and presently found his note instead.
"That dear old Jack!" she exclaimed. "He 's walked all the way to Denniston so that I can have a comfortable ride home."
"Bless the boy!" cried Mrs. Ross; "an' he had n't no breakfast, neither."
"Oh, he'll get along," said Mr. Dick. "He tucked away supper enough for two, and when he gets to Denniston they 'll kill a whole drove of fatted calves for him. But it was jolly good of him to go. Now, Grace, you won't have to go home in the boat."
"No," said Miss Grace, with a contented smile; "and I 'm very glad. I suppose. the carriage will be here soon."
"Then come to breakfast right away," sang out Mr. Ross. "My! I wish we had a big family like this all the time. It's right-down gay—hey, Purty?"
The cat purred assentingly, and jumped up on the arm of the chair in which Mr. Ross had seated himself.
Soon after they had finished the homely, hearty meal, the Denniston carriage drove up to the house. Betty flew to the door and opened it.
"Hello, Pete!" she called out. "Did you come for us? Here we are."
"The saints be praised, Miss Betty, darlint! An' are ye all alive an' well this blissid marnin'? I 'm thot glad, I can't tell ye. Shure ye look like a white angel. An' will yez be af ther goin' home now?"
"Yes, Pete; we 'll be ready in a few minutes. Was grandma worried? What did Polly say? This is Mr. Ross, the gentleman who so kindly took us in for the night."
The old farmer hobnobbed with Pete in a friendly manner while his guests prepared for their ride home.
Grandma Jean had sent a warm cloak for Betty, and she bundled herself into it, and so protected the pretty white dress from possible harm. Soon they were ready; and after expressing their heartfelt thanks to the old farmer and his wife, which Mr. Dick supplemented by a more substantial recognition, they drove back to Denniston.
Then there was great rejoicing. The Van Conrt people all stayed to dinner, and everybody told the story of the storm, and everybody else listened and sympathized. And although Betty's thankful little heart was as glad as the others that they were all safe home again, yet she felt a certain sadness which she could n't have explained if she had been asked to. It was a vague feeling of disappointment—the old longing for some one who belonged to her without being " bought."
This sensation was only a fleeting one, for Betty was a merry little girl, and had a happy faculty for making the best of everything.
But that night, in her room, she talked longer than usual to her blue pillow.
You know, when we feel bad, either mentally or physically, there is nothing so comforting as a pillow; and Betty's favorite was one of her couch pillows—a particularly big, fluffy, downy one, covered with blue-and-white silk. She would often fling herself on the couch and bury her head in this pillow, and talk to it as to a confidential friend.
"Oh, Pillow," she said, as she put her arms round it and laid her cheek against its softness, "are you glad I did n't get drowned? I 'm awful glad to get back to you, anyway. Suppose I had to always sleep in that kitchen bedroom of Mrs. Ross's! I 'm glad to be again in my own dear room so full of things of beauty and joys forever. Oh, I 've everything to be thankful for, and yet—I seem to miss something. Do you hear, Pillow? Wake up, you stupid old thing, and listen to me. There's just a little something—don't know what—that keeps my beautiful home from being a perfect success. But, as everything else is all right, the fault must be in me, and I 'm going to overcome it. So there, now!"
She gave poor Pillow a vigorous thump, and then patted it gently to make up. "Only, Pillow, I 'll whisper to you just one thing: if Mr. Morris writes me anything about my really truly family, I 'm going to hunt them up, if it takes all my money!"
Then she went to bed, and dreamed that Mr. Morris wrote her that she had a dozen sisters and a dozen brothers all coming to live with her at Denniston.
...to be concluded
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