Part 24 (1/2)
Turning back, she looked thoughtfully at the cabin, then said, ”Dan, will you help me bar the door that no wild creature can get in? The windows were long ago boarded up. The old Ute shall have it for his tomb.”
When this was done, a solemn group of young people rode away. Meg said little, and Dan, riding at her side, understood her thoughtfulness. When the Abbott cabin was reached, Meg said goodbye to the friends who were to remain there, but Dan insisted upon accompanying her to her home.
When they were quite alone the lad rode close to her, and placed a hand on hers as he said, ”Meg, dear, how much, how very much this means to you.”
Such a wonderful light there was in the dusky eyes that were lifted to his. ”O, Dan, _now_ I can feel that I have a right to accept your friends.h.i.+p; yours and Jane's.” But with sincere feeling the lad replied: ”It is for your sake only that I am glad. Your parentage mattered not at all to me, nor, of late, has it to Jane.” Then, although Dan had not planned on speaking so soon, he heard himself saying: ”Meg, you are all to me that my most idealistic dreams could picture for the girl I would wish to marry. Do you think that some day you might care for me if I regain my health and am able to make a home for you?”
There was infinite tenderness in the dark eyes, but the girl shook her head. ”Your companions.h.i.+p means very much to me, Dan, but I must teach. I want to care for the two old people who took me in out of the storm and who have given me all that I have had.”
”You shall, dearest girl. That is, _we_ shall, if you will let me help you.”
Then before Meg could refuse, Dan implored, ”Don't answer me yet. I can wait if you will _try_ to love me.” They had reached the cabin and saw Ma Heger, wiping sudsy hands on her ap.r.o.n, hurrying out to greet them. Dan detained the girl. ”Promise me that you will try to care,” he pleaded. ”I won't have to try,” she said, then turned to greet the angular woman who had been the only mother she had ever known.
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
HUNTING FOR THE BOX
Jean Sawyer, troubled indeed, because Jane Abbott continued to avoid him, changed his plan and decided not to remain at the cabin until late afternoon; and so, bidding them goodbye, he went down the road toward Redfords, leading the string of horses. The other young people climbed the stone stairway.
”Oh, Jane, what a perfectly adorable place,” Merry exclaimed when the door had been unlocked and the young people had entered the long rustic living-room. ”I like it so much better than those elaborately furnished cottages at Newport. They are too much like our own homes, but this cabin savors of camping out. It's a wonderful spot for a real vacation.”
”It surely is different,” Jane agreed as she led her friend into the comfortable front bedroom which they were to share. Then she confessed: ”I do like it much more than I had supposed that I would when I first came. Honestly, Merry, I feel differently inside. When I believed that those poor little children had been driven out of their home by my temper, and might never be found, something inside of me snapped; something that had been holding me tense, I can't explain it, and I felt as though I had been set free from--well, free from myself. Self, that is it,” she continued bitterly, ”planning for oneself, living for oneself, living for one's selfish pleasure and comfort, slowly but surely deadens sympathy and love and understanding.” Then taking from the table near the wide window a delicate miniature, Jane handed it to her companion. ”That is my mother's portrait.”
”How beautiful she must have been.” Merry glanced from the sweet pictured face to that of the girl at her side. ”You are so alike. It is only the expression that is different. I am sure that anyone in sorrow would have gone to your mother for comfort.”
Jane nodded. ”I am not like that--yet; but Dan thinks that if we choose a model and keep it ever in thought, we will grow to be like that person or ideal, and I have chosen my mother.”
Silently Merry kissed her friend and then replaced the miniature on the table. Jane had indeed changed that she could talk, even with her best friend, of these things of the soul.
A moment later there came a jolly rapping on their closed door, and Bob called: ”Come and see where I am going to hang out, or hang up rather.”
Merry and Jane went out on the front porch with the lad, who was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with enthusiasm. ”Oh, aren't you afraid a bear will devour you in the night?” his sister inquired, when she saw a hammock hung between two pines.
”Hope one will,” Bob replied jubilantly. ”What a yarn that would be to tell when I get back to college.”
Practical Julie was wide-eyed. ”Why, Bob Starr,” she exclaimed, ”how could you tell about it after you were all eaten up?”
”Which reminds me,” Bob said irrelevantly, ”of a story about the South Sea Islanders. A missionary was teaching them that they must take great care of their bodies, as they were to rise on the last day, and one native asked what would become of his poor brother who had been eaten by a tiger.”
”Bob, dear,” Merry rebuked, ”you ought not to joke about such things. It does not matter what we believe ourselves, or how outlandish we consider the beliefs of others, we ought to treat them with respect.”
”Yes'm,” Bob pretended to be quite contrite. ”I'm willing to change the subject if the next subject is something to eat.”
”I'll get the lunch.” Julie, leaning on the staff Dan had cut for her, limped toward the kitchen, but her sister caught her and put her on the porch cot and piled pillows under her head. ”Indeed not, little lady.”
Jane kissed her affectionately. ”It's your turn now to pretend you are a princess and I will be your maid of waiting.”
Impulsively Julie threw her arms about her sister's neck and clung to her as she whispered: ”Oh, Janey, I love you so!” And Jane, when she arose, felt in her heart a greater happiness than had ever been there when she had received the adulation of the admiring girls at Highacres.
”And I will be your aide!” Merry, who had gone to the top of the stone stairway to look down at the road, skipped back to say, and, then, arm in arm, these two friends went, and from their merry laughter it was quite evident that Jane's efforts as head cook were being mirthfully regarded by both of them. However, when the others were called to the back porch, where the table was set, they found as appetizing a lunch as could be desired. But underneath all her apparent pleasure Jane was sorrowing. She never again could be Jean Sawyer's friend. He would not want her friends.h.i.+p if he knew how she had felt about her father's sacrifice, but he must never, never know.