Part 13 (1/2)
That ended Sidney's interest in the programme, but the negro boy was still curious, so that he took the jug into the middle of the big road to pour out its contents, and he was much gratified, with the cruelty of his age and s.e.x, to find something like a quart of boiled b.u.mblebees.
Sidney, free now from pressing domestic affairs, bustled into the room where Doris sat undisturbed, singing softly over her sewing.
”I must go by Tom Watson's the first thing,” Sidney said, putting on her bonnet, settling her ball of yarn under her left arm, and beginning to knit. ”Anne seems to be at the end of her row, poor soul. I don't believe that Tom notices anybody's coming or going. I'm sure he doesn't mine. He just sits there with his awful eyes wandering up and down the big road. But if it comforts Anne the least bit to have me go, I'm perfectly willing to keep on trying. Anyway, I'll look in there a moment before starting out on my regular round.”
”I hope you can get home early,” said Doris, shyly. ”Mr. Gordon spoke of coming again to-day, in the cool of the evening, to look at the moonflowers.”
Sidney stopped suddenly in the middle of the floor, just as she had done earlier in the morning, and looked at Doris without making an immediate reply. She took off her bonnet and shook her hair down, twisting it up again with extreme tightness.
”Well! I reckon he, or anybody else, can look at the moonflowers just the same whether I'm here or not,” she said, dryly, settling the huge horn comb with emphasis. Putting on her bonnet, she began to make her knitting-needles fly, as she moved toward the door.
”Please, ma'am,” pleaded Doris, bashfully. She was smiling, yet quite in earnest, in her request.
”I'll be here in plenty of time,” replied Sidney, diplomatically.
She went straight across to the doctor's house, and, calling its mistress to the gate, asked in a low voice if she would be so neighborly as to keep Billy and Kate until bedtime, or until she herself came by for them. Mrs. Alexander was surprised; she had never before known Sidney to ask, or even to accept, any help in the care of her children.
She had always been scrupulously careful to avoid troubling any one with them. For this reason the doctor's wife agreed readily enough to keep Kate and Billy all night, if so doing would oblige Sidney in the slightest. She would have said the same at any time, but she was especially glad to get such an early opportunity to make up the misunderstanding of an hour or two before. So far as she knew, Sidney never had actually fallen out with any one; but Mrs. Alexander had nevertheless no wish to risk such a calamity, knowing full well how dull life in Oldfield would be without a daily chat with Sidney. And then, above all, she really liked and admired and respected her. So that, altogether, she was quite warm and even cordial in her willingness to keep Kate and Billy. She told Sidney that the doctor was away on one of his long trips, and that it would be company to have the children; the obligation would be wholly on her side.
Sidney then went on down the big road well content, her knitting-needles flying faster and faster, as they always were under any unusual stress of thought. She nodded to Anne Watson, calling out as she hurried by, that she would come back to see Tom as soon as she could go to the store to speak to Uncle Watty. She found the old man sitting in his accustomed place on the goods-box at the shady side of the store door. She paused close beside him, fanning herself with her bonnet, after she had taken it off to let down and twist up her hair. For she knew very well that all the tact and art at her command would be needed to persuade Uncle Watty not to come home to supper, and to stay at the store--open and shut--till bedtime. Uncle Watty was never the one to give up his own wishes, if he could help it, or to sacrifice his supper without a struggle.
”But you can have a real good, comfortable supper right here,” urged Sidney, lowering her voice, so that Mr. Pettus and his one customer might not hear. ”You're mighty fond of cheese and crackers. I'll see that you have as much of both as you can eat.” She hesitated, and then, seeing that she was to be pushed to the limit of her resources, and knowing from long experience that Uncle Watty would exact the full pound of flesh, she added; ”And I'll tell Mr. Pettus to give you a gla.s.s of apple toddy, too, real strong and piping hot!”
”Till the court-house clock strikes nine, then, and not a minute later,”
growled Uncle Watty.
Sidney was quite satisfied. She was used to getting what she wanted under difficulties. It always made her happy to succeed at all, and it never made her bitter to fail, even after much trying--this real village philosopher. How invincible she was that June day! How her knitting-needles flashed in the sunlight, flying ever faster and faster!
And yet, full as her thoughts were of her own affairs, she did not forget or neglect Tom Watson. Indeed, not one of the day's regular engagements was forgotten or slighted or over-looked. She talked also as usual about almost everything under the s.h.i.+ning sun; but her thoughts were always of the moonflowers and of Doris and of old lady Gordon's grandson.
At sundown she went to take supper with Miss Pettus, an agreement to that effect having been entered into upon the day of the truce. But she said as soon as she entered the house, that she must leave immediately after supper, as it was absolutely necessary for her to see Miss Judy before going to bed that night. Miss Pettus, whose curiosity was excessive, did not ask what she must see Miss Judy about. No one ever asked Sidney questions about her own private affairs, freely as everybody always questioned her about public matters. This may perhaps have been one of the secrets of her memorable success. Miss Pettus was merely a little miffed to see how absent-minded Sidney was. What was the use of having cream m.u.f.fins when Sidney hardly noticed what she was eating! Then when Sidney asked to be allowed to leave the basket--which had been well filled for the children and Uncle Watty--till she came for it the next morning, this was such an unheard-of request that Miss Pettus's curiosity could hardly be held in leash; yet Sidney went her way without saying a word in explanation.
Dusk was already falling, and the gathering clouds in the west hastened the gloaming. Sidney pa.s.sed her own house, taking care to walk on the other side of the big road, but she could make out Doris's slim white figure moving among the flowers, and she also recognized the tall, dark form near by, notwithstanding the dim light. The murmur of the gay young voices, too, musically melted into the scented stillness. Sidney did not know that she was smiling as she listened, and went on wondering what they were talking about. And she did not ask herself why she was glad that the honeysuckle smelt so sweet that night, and that so many of the great white moths were fluttering among the moonflowers.
She found Miss Judy sitting in the pa.s.sage with Miss Sophia, as they were always to be found at that time on a warm evening. They were talking to each other as usual; that is to say, Miss Judy was talking of Becky, and Miss Sophia was listening, with the never-flagging interest and complete content which they ever found in one another's conversation and society. Nevertheless, they were heartily pleased to greet Sidney, and Miss Judy was particularly gratified by her coming in just at that moment. The little lady had seen Lynn Gordon pa.s.sing up the big road early in the morning, and--quite in a quiver--had asked Miss Sophia if she thought he was on the way to call on Doris. Of course, she did not dream of asking Sidney anything about it, but she knew that she would tell her without being asked, in the event that he had gone to see Doris. And Sidney did tell her at once, since the telling was precisely what she had come for--that, and a consultation concerning such future steps as Miss Judy might think must needs be taken. Miss Judy hung upon every prosaic word, coloring it with her own romantic fancy, blus.h.i.+ng rosily in the sheltering dimness of the pa.s.sage, glowing with the new warmth which was fast gathering around her gentle heart. It was a bit of a disappointment that Sidney did not say what the young gentleman himself had said, or what he did or how he looked while with the dear, dear child. Miss Judy almost asked, she wanted so much to know everything there was to tell. It did not occur to her that Sidney had not been present. It did not occur to Sidney that she could have been--much less that she should have been. So utterly unlike were these two good, honest women, who were giving their whole minds to the happiness and welfare of the girl whom they both loved with their whole hearts. Most of all Miss Judy was longing to know whether Lynn had said anything of making another call. She could tell a good deal from that, she thought guiltily, feeling herself a very Machiavelli. Yet she hesitated to ask. It might possibly seem a little indelicate, a little inconsiderate of Doris, in case the young gentleman had not named another time.
”I don't think it will rain before morning,” she said, observing Sidney's glance at the clouds. ”Young Mr. Gordon does seem real friendly,” she went on tentatively. ”Perhaps he will come again--sometime.”
”He's there now--twice to-day!” said Sidney, triumphantly. With the training of her profession she had awaited the most impressive moment for this crowning announcement.
Miss Judy was stunned; there was a tremor of alarm in her voice when she spoke, after a momentary silence of frightened bewilderment. ”Do you mean to say, Sidney, that Mr. Gordon is at your house--with Doris now--to-night?”
Sidney nodded coolly, trying not to show the complacency which she could not help feeling. ”Yes. I saw him in the garden with Doris as I came down the big road--on the other side.”
Miss Judy tried to think for a s.p.a.ce. Then she said, delicately but uneasily, ”Are you quite sure that Uncle Watty and the children will--will know how to do the honors?”
”Well, they can't do any harm! I've taken care that they couldn't.
They're not there--not a blessed one of 'em! The children are over at the doctor's. Uncle Watty is down at the store, and he'll stay there, too, till bedtime--open or shut!”
As Sidney thus told what she had done, she tossed her yellow head, giving free rein to what she honestly felt to be just pride.
Miss Judy sprang up with a smothered scream. ”Sidney _Wendall_! _Do_ you mean to tell me that you have left Doris--that poor, poor child--to receive a perfect stranger entirely alone? Oh--oh--we must run to her.