“Dearest Jane: Aunt Belle has changed her plans. She has rented a cottage just beyond the hotel grounds and is going to take her own cook and I want you to come as our guest, because, darling girl, I owe you a visit, since you gave me such a wonderful time in the country with you last year, and, what is more, we are going Friday, so pack up your trunk today, and be at the Central Station tomorrow at 4:00. Lovingly, your intimate friend – Marion Starr.
“P. S. – Who, more than ever, is living up to her nickname, Merry. – M. S.”
During the reading of the “night letter” Mr. Abbott had quickly made up his mind just what his attitude would be. “That’s splendid, Jane, isn’t it?” he said, and not even his watchful mother noted a trace of disappointment in his voice. “If I were you I would pack at once. You would better go over to the city in the morning and that will give you time to buy a new summer dress, for I am sure that you must need one.”
Jane started to reply, but something in her throat seemed to make it hard for her to speak, and so she left the room hurriedly without having more than touched her plate. Julie followed, as she adored packing. When they were gone, the man sighed deeply. “Mother,” he said, “I have decided to send Julie with Dan. She can cook the simple things he will need and some one must go with the boy. I would go myself, but I would be of little use. In a few days, as soon as I can pull myself together, I am going back to the city to start in some occupation far from Wall Street.”
The old lady reached out a comforting hand and placed it on that of her son nearest her. “Dan,” she said in a low voice, “Jane doesn’t know a thing about your long illness, does she? Nobody’s told her, has there?”
The man shook his head. “Jane has been so interested in her own problems, and in finding a way to do as she wished, that she has not even wondered why I am working about in the garden instead of going to the city daily, as I always have done. But don’t tell her, mother. She does not seem to care, and, moreover, I am now much stronger. My only real worry is Dan, and I do feel confident that if he can be well cared for, the mountain air will restore his health.”
Rising, he stooped to kiss his mother’s forehead, then left the room, going through the kitchen to the garden. As he worked he glanced often at the open windows of the room above the tree tops. He saw the two girls hurrying about, for Jane had gladly accepted Julie’s offer of service, and the trunk packing was evidently progressing merrily. This assurance was brought to him when he heard Jane singing a snatch of a school song.
It sounded like a requiem to the man in the garden below. He leaned on his hoe as he thought, self-rebukingly, “It is all my fault. I have spoiled Jane. My love has been misdirected. It is I who have made her selfish. I wanted to give her everything, for she had lost so much when she lost her mother. I have done as much for the other three children, but somehow they didn’t spoil.”
The comfort of that realization was so great that the father soon returned to his self-imposed task, and, an hour later, when Dan appeared, he told the boy Jane’s decision, saying: “Son of mine, it would be no comfort to you to have her companionship if her heart were elsewhere.” The shadow of keen disappointment in the lad’s eyes was quickly dispelled. Placing a hand on his father’s shoulder he said cheerfully, “It’s all right, Dad. Julie is a great little pal.”
But even yet the matter was not decided.
That Thursday night, after the younger members of the household were asleep, Mr. Abbott and his mother talked together in his den.
“Julie was the happiest child in this world when I told her she was to go with Dan.” The old lady smiled as she recalled the hoppings and squealings with which the small girl had expressed her joy. “Luckily I’d washed and ironed her summer clothes on Monday and Tuesday, and this being only Thursday, she hadn’t soiled any of them.”
Then her tone changed to one of tenderness. “Dan,” she said, “Julie and Jane aren’t much alike, are they? That little girl didn’t hop and squeal long before she thought of something that sobered her. Then she told me, ‘I don’t like to go, Grandma, and leave Gerald at home. He’s been wishing and wishing and wishing he could go, but he wouldn’t tell Dad ’cause he wants to stay home and earn money to help.’”
To the little old lady’s surprise, her companion sprang up as he exclaimed: “Mother, I won’t be gone long. Wait up for me!” Seizing his hat from the hall “tree,” he left the house. “Well, now, that’s certainly a curious caper,” the old lady thought. “He couldn’t have been listening to a word I was saying. He must have thought of something he’d forgotten, probably it’s something for Jane. Well, there’s nothing for me to do but wait.” She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Even then it was late. She was usually asleep at ten. There had been time for many a little cat-nap before she heard her son returning. His expression assured the old lady that he was satisfied with the result of his errand.
“Why, Dan Abbott,” she exclaimed, “whatever started you off in that way? ’Twasn’t anything I said, was it?”
The man sank down in his chair again and took from his pocket a telegram. “That’s what I went after, mother,” he told her. “I wired Bethel for one more pass, as I had a small son who also wished to go West, and this is his answer:
“‘Glad indeed to accommodate you, Dan, and I’m sending one more, just for good measure. Happened to recall that you have four children. Let me do something else for you, old man, if I can.’”
The grandmother looked up with shining eyes as she commented: “Bert Bethel’s a true friend, if there ever was one. Won’t Gerry be wild with joy?
“But, goodness me, Danny, that means more packing to do. There’s room enough in Julie’s trunk for the things Gerald will need, and I do believe I’ll go right up and put them in while the boy’s asleep.” Then she paused and looked at her son inquiringly. “Will it be quite fair to Mr. Peterson to have Gerry leave his store without giving notice?”
“I’ve attended to that, mother,” the man replied. “While I was waiting for an answer from Bert, I walked over to the grocery and told Jock Peterson all that had happened, and he was as pleased as he could be. He wants Gerald to come over there first thing in the morning to get a present to take with him.
“He didn’t say what it would be. I don’t even suppose that he had decided when he spoke. I was indeed happy to have him praise Gerald as he did. He said that he would trust our boy with any amount of money. He has watched Gerald, as he always does every lad who works in the store. He said that nearly all of them had helped themselves to a piece of candy from the showcase when they had wished, but that Gerald had never once touched a thing that did not belong to him. Mr. Peterson was so pleased that he asked Gerald about it one day, saying: ‘Don’t you like candy, lad?’ And our boy replied: ‘Indeed I do, Mr. Peterson! I don’t buy it because I want to save all my money to help Dad.’
“Gerald hadn’t even thought of helping himself as he worked around the store.”
“Of course, Gerry wouldn’t,” the old lady replied emphatically, “for isn’t he your son, Daniel?”
“And your grandson, mother?” the man smilingly returned. “But we must get some sleep,” he added, as the chimes on the mantle clock told them that it was eleven. “Tomorrow is to be a busy day.”
It was also to be a day of surprises, although this, these two did not guess.
CHAPTER VII
GERRY’S SURPRISE
Grandmother Abbott had indeed been right when she prophecied that Gerald’s joy, upon hearing that he could accompany Dan and his sister Julie, would be unbounded. She told him before breakfast while they were waiting for the others to come down. They had planned telling him later, but when his father saw how hard the small boy was trying to be brave; how the tune he was endeavoring to whistle