Part 17 (1/2)

”It is there on the desk.”

Hannah brought the brown paper, and she and Frieda bent over it together.

”L-a-e,” spelled Hannah, but Frieda looked up, delighted.

”I know. _Laetus sorte mea!_ It means 'Happy in my lot!' It is in the book Tante Edith sent me for my birthday, about the little cripple.”

”O, yes, _The Story of a Short Life_. I've read that, too,” said Hannah, ”but I didn't recognize it just at first. I should think, if it is to be your motto, you'd have to change the gender and make it '_laeta_,' Aunt Clara.”

Miss Lyndesay laughed. ”I'm glad you both know the story. I expected Hannah to, but hardly Frieda. Did you read it all by yourself, dear?”

”Yes,” answered Frieda proudly. ”I have read seven English books, and I like that best. Mother and I made a list of Poor Things the way Leonard did.”

”O, how nice!” cried Hannah. ”Did you put Bertha's lame sister on it?”

”Yes, and Onkel Heinrich's brother who can not see and is always cheerful, and the little woman who sells string and roses in the shop under us, and Edna Helm who had to stop school and go to work because her father couldn't afford to take care of her.”

”Poor Edna!” said Hannah. ”I liked her best of all your friends. I'm going to start a Poor Things book myself, when I get home.”

”Have you ever heard of the Guild of Brave Poor Things in England?”

asked Miss Lyndesay, and as the girls showed their interest she went on to tell them of the organization which took its name and its motive from Mrs. Ewing's little story, and has grown into a large organization with industrial schools and shops.

”So all these people, boys and men and women and girls who cannot work in factories, because of some infirmity, are enabled to make beautiful things and to sell them. I bought some of their doll furniture when I was last in London. Let me see. Yes, it was in the box I unpacked yesterday.”

”Let me get it,” begged Frieda, and as soon as she had been told where to look she was off. She came quickly back again bringing a doll's white-wood bed, strong and well-made as the fine old furniture which had outlived Aunt Abigail and her parents.

”It is just right for Millicent's doll,” cried Frieda, as she brought it in. ”Couldn't we put her in it, Tante Clara, to make up for having torn the pretty dresses?”

”Indeed you may. I had no one in mind to give it to, but bought it because I had enjoyed visiting the school at Chailey.”

”Can all the cripples make pretty things like this?” asked Hannah, wondering, as Frieda placed the bed in her hands.

”O, no, only a very few. But the Guild of Brave Poor Things does many other things, besides establis.h.i.+ng the schools. All maimed persons may belong, and the guild makes investigations, finds out if they can be helped by surgery, and, if not, tries to make their lives happier in every possible way. Of course, those of them who can use their hands are happier doing so than they could be in any other way. Every Friday afternoon, from three to six, they meet in the settlement rooms and have music and games and reading, and hear talks on interesting subjects by ladies and gentlemen who are glad to tell them of their particular lines of work. Then they have a short service of prayer--”

”Do they sing the tug-of-war hymn?” asked Hannah eagerly. ”I remember about that better than anything else in the book.”

”Yes, they almost always sing that. I heard them, myself,” and Miss Lyndesay's eyes grew sweeter at the thought. ”I have never heard anything more affecting than that singing:

”'Who best can drink His cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears His cross below, He follows in His train.'”

Frieda and Hannah were still as she finished speaking, and all three sat looking at the fire for a few moments in silence. Presently Hannah said softly:

”And _they_ have _'Laetus sorte mea'_ for a motto? I can see how you could take it, Aunt Clara, for of course you have everything anybody could want. You are well and beautiful and good, and have money and talent and friends.”

Miss Lyndesay was silent and Hannah, who had been studying the flames reflectively, looked up presently to see why she made no reply. There was a grave expression on her face, and Hannah's grew startled.

Miss Lyndesay, seeing the look of alarm in the child's eyes, smiled and took her hand.

”Would you give up your father and mother for any or all of those things, Hannah dear?” she said.