The on the March Part 2 (1/2)
”How can we help them otherwise, though!”
”Oh, we'll fix up a place where they can sleep to-night, for one thing. And we'll help them to start clearing away all the rubbish. They've got to have a new house, of course, and they can't even start work on that until all this wreckage is cleared away.”
”I wonder if they didn't save some of their animals--their cows and horses,” said Bessie. ”It seems to me they might have been able to do that.”
”I hope so, Bessie. But we'll find out when we have dinner. I didn't want to bother them with a lot of questions at first. Look, they seem to be a little brighter already.”
The children of the family were already much brighter. It was natural enough for them to respond more quickly than their elders to the stimulus of the presence of these kind and helpful strangers, and they were running around, talking to the girls who were preparing dinner, and trying to find some way in which they could help.
And their mother began to forget herself and her troubles, and to watch them with brightening eyes. When she saw that the girls seemed to be fond of her children and to be anxious to make them happy, the maternal instinct in her responded, and was grateful.
”Oh, we're going to be able to bring a lot of cheer and new happiness to these poor people,” said Eleanor, confidently. ”And it will be splendid, wont it, girls? Could anything be better fun than doing good this way? It's something we'll always be able to remember, and look back at happily. And the strange part of it is that, no matter how much we do for them, we'll be doing more for ourselves.”
”Isn't it fine that we've got those blankets?” said Dolly. ”If we camp out here to-night they'll be very useful.”
”They certainly will. And we shall camp here, though not in tents. Later on this afternoon, we'll have to fix up some sort of shelter. But that will be easy. I'll show you how to do it when the time comes. Now we want to hurry with the dinner--that's the main thing, because I think everyone is hungry.”
CHAPTER IV.
GETTING A START.
Often people who have been visited by great misfortunes become soured and suspect the motives of even those who are trying to help them. Eleanor understood this trait of human nature very well, thanks to the fact that as a volunteer she had helped out the charity workers in her own city more than once. And as a consequence she did not at all resent the dark looks that were cast at her by the poor woman whose every glance brought home to her more sharply the disaster that the fire had brought.
”We've got to be patient if we want to be really helpful,” she explained to Dolly Ransom, who was disposed to resent the woman's unfriendly aspect.
”But I don't see why she has to act as if we were trying to annoy her, Miss Eleanor!”
”She doesn't mean that at all, Dolly. You've never known what it is to face the sort of trouble and anxiety she has had for the last few days. She'll soon change her mind about us when she sees that we are really trying to help. And there's another thing. Don't you think she's a little softer already?”
”Oh, she is!” said Bessie, with s.h.i.+ning eyes. ”And I think I know why--”
”So will Dolly--if she will look at her now. See, Dolly, she's looking at her children. And when she sees how nice the girls are to them, she is going to be grateful--far more grateful than for anything we did for her. Because, after all, it's probably her fear for her children, and of what this will mean to them, that is her greatest trouble.”
Dinner was soon ready, and when it was prepared, Eleanor called the homeless family together and made them sit down.
”We haven't so very much,” she said. ”We intended to eat just this way, but we were going on a little way. Still, I think there's plenty of everything, and there's lots of milk for the children.”
”Why are you so good to us!” asked the woman, suddenly. It was her first admission that she appreciated what was being done, and Eleanor secretly hailed it as a prelude to real friendliness.
”Why, you don't think anyone could see you in so much trouble and not stop to try to help you, do you?” she said.
”Ain't noticed none of the neighbors comin' here to help,” said the woman, sullenly.
”I think they're simply forgetful,” said Eleanor. ”And you know this fire was pretty bad. They had a great fight to save Cranford from burning up.”
”Is that so?” said the woman, showing a little interest in the news. ”My land, I didn't think the fire would get that far!”
”They were fighting night and day for most of three days,” said Eleanor. ”And now they're pretty tired, and I have an idea they're making up for lost sleep and rest. But I'm sure you'll find some of them driving out this way pretty soon to see how you are getting on.”
”Well, they won't see much!” said the woman, with a despairing laugh. ”We came back here, 'cause we thought some of the buildings might be saved. But there ain't a thing left exceptin' that one barn a little way over there. You can't see it from here. It's over the hill. We did save our cattle and a good many chickens and ducks. But all our crops is ruined--and how we are ever goin' to get through the winter I declare I can't tell!”
”Have you a husband? And, by the way, hadn't you better tell me your name!” said Eleanor.
”My husband's dead--been dead nearly two years,” said the woman. ”I'm Sarah Pratt. This here's my husband's sister, Ann.”
”Well, Mrs. Pratt, we'll have to see if we can't think of some way of making up for all this loss,” said Eleanor, after she had told the woman her own name, and introduced the girls of the Camp Fire. ”Why--just a minute, now! You have cows, haven't you! Plenty of them? Do they give good milk!”
”Best there is,” said the woman. ”My husband, he was a crank for buyin' fine cattle. I used to tell him he was wastin' his money, but he would do it. Same way with the chickens.”
”Then you sold the milk, I suppose?”
”Yes, ma'am, and we didn't get no more for it from the creamery than the farmers who had just the ornery cows.”
”Well, I've got an idea already. I'm going back to Cranford as soon as we've had dinner to see if it will work out. I suppose that's your son?”
She looked with a smile at the awkward, embarra.s.sed boy who had so little to say for himself.
”Well, while the girls fix you up some shelters where you can sleep to-night, if you stay here, I'm going to ask you to let him drive me into Cranford. I want to do some telephoning--and I think I'll have good news for you when I come back.”
Strangely enough, Mrs. Pratt made no objection to this plan. Once she had begun to yield to the charm of Eleanor's manner, and to believe that the Camp Fire Girls meant really to help and were not merely stopping out of idle curiosity, she recovered her natural manner, which turned out to be sweet and cheerful enough, and she also began to look on things with brighter eyes.
”Makes no difference whether you have good news or not, my dear,” she said to Eleanor. ”You've done us a sight of good already. Waked me up an' made me see that it's wrong to sit down and cry when it's a time to be up an' doin'.”
”Oh, you wouldn't have stayed in the dumps very long,” said Eleanor, cheerfully. ”Perhaps we got you started a little bit sooner, but I can see that you're not the sort to stay discouraged very long.”
Then, while a few of the girls, with the aid of the Pratt children, washed dishes and cleared up after the meal, Eleanor took aside Margery and some of the stronger girls, like Bessie and Dolly, to show them what she wanted done while she was away.
”There's plenty of wood around here,” she said. ”A whole lot of the boards are only a little bit scorched, and some of them really aren't burned at all. Now, if you take those and lay them against the side of that steep bank there, near where the big barn stood, you'll have one side of a shelter. Then take saplings, and put them up about seven feet away from your boards.”
She held a sapling in place, to show what she meant.
”Cut a fork in the top of each sapling, and dig holes so that they will stand up. Then lay strips of wood from the saplings to the tops of your boards, and cover the s.p.a.ce you've got that way with branches. If you go about half a mile beyond here, you'll be able to get all the branches you want from spots where the fire hasn't burned at all.”
”Why, they'll be like the Indian lean-tos I've read about, won't they?” exclaimed Margery.
”They're on that principle,” said Eleanor. ”Probably we could get along very well without laying any boards at all against that bank, but it might be damp, and there's no use in taking chances. And--”
”Oh, Miss Eleanor,” Dolly interrupted, ”excuse me, but if it rained or there were water above, wouldn't it leak right down and run through from the top of the bank?”
”That's a good idea, Dolly. I'll tell you how to avoid that. Dig a trench at the top of the bank, just as long as the shelter you have underneath, and the water will all be caught in that. And if you give the trench a little slope, one way or the other, or both ways from the centre, not much, just an inch in ten feet--the water will all be carried off.”
”Oh, yes!” said Dolly. ”That would fix that up all right.”
”Get plenty of branches of evergreens for the floor, and we'll cover those with our rubber blankets,” Eleanor went on. ”Then we'll be snug and dry for to-night, anyhow, and for as long as the weather holds fine.”