Part 56 (1/2)

”She hadn't adopted him,” William said.

”It's the same thing; she took him, and now she gets tired of him, and won't keep him. She begins a thing, but she doesn't go on with it.”

”I suppose it's better not to begin it?” William said. And there was an edge in his voice that caused Mrs. King to hold her tongue.

”Martha,” the doctor said, after a while and with evident effort, ”can you give me an early breakfast to-morrow morning? I've got to go back into the country, and I want to make an early start,”

Helena Richie, too, meant to make an early start the next morning; it was the day that she was to leave Old Chester. The plan of going to the western city had gradually shaped itself, and while Dr. Lavendar was writing to those friends of his, and Helena corresponding with a real-estate agent, the packing-up at the Stuffed Animal House had proceeded. Now it was all done; Maggie and Sarah had had their wages, and several presents besides; the pony had been s.h.i.+pped from Mercer; the rabbits boxed and sent down to the Rectory; all was done;--except the saying good-by to David. But Helena told herself that she would not say good-by to him. She could not, she said. She would see him, but he should not know it was good-by. And so she asked Dr. Lavendar to send the child up to her the day before she was to go away;--by himself. ”You'll trust him with me for an hour?” she said.

She meant to cuddle the child, and give him the ”forty kisses” which, at last, he was ready to accept, and let him chatter of all his mult.i.tudinous interests. Then she would send him away, and begin her empty life. The page which had held a promise of joy, would be turned over; a new, dreary chapter, with no promise in it, would begin....

David came in the afternoon. He was a little late, and explained his tardiness by saying that he had found a toad, and tying a string around its waist, had tried to play horse with it, up the hill. ”But he wouldn't drive,” David said disgustedly; ”maybe he was a lady toad; I don't know.”

”Perhaps the poor toad didn't like to be driven,” Helena suggested.

David looked thoughtful. ”David,” she said, ”I am going away. Will you write a little letter to me sometimes?”

”Maybe,” said David. And slapped his pocket, in a great flurry; ”Dr.

Lavendar ga' me a letter for you!”

She glanced at it to see if it needed an answer, but it was only to ask her to stop at the Rectory before she left town the next morning.

”Tell Dr. Lavendar I will, darling,” she said, and David nodded.

She was sitting before the parlor fire; the little boy was leaning against her knee braiding three blades of gra.s.s; he was deeply absorbed. Helena took his face between her hands, and looked at it; then, to hide the trembling of her lips, she hid them in his neck.

”You tickle!” said David, and wriggled out of her arms with chuckles of fun. ”I'm making you a ring,” he said.

She let him push the little gra.s.s circlet over her finger, and then closed her hand on it lest it should slip off. ”You won't forget me, David, will you?”

”No,” he said surprised; ”I never forget anything. I remember everything the magician did. An' I remember when I was born.”

”Oh, David!”

”I do. I remember my brother's candy horse. My brother--was--was, oh, seven or eight weeks older 'an me. Yes; I'll not forget you; not till I'm old. Not till I'm twenty, maybe. I guess I'll go now. We are going to have Jim Crow for dessert. Mary told me. You're prettier than Mary.

Or Dr. Lavendar.” This was a very long speech for David, and to make up for it he was silent for several minutes. He took her hand, and twisted the little gra.s.s ring round and round on her finger; and then, suddenly, his chin quivered. ”I don't like you. You're going away,” he said; he stamped his foot and threw himself against her knee in a paroxysm of tears. ”I hate you!”

It was so unexpected, and so entirely unlike David, that Helena forgot her own pain in soothing him. And, indeed, when she had said she would send him some candy--”and a false-face?” David blubbered;--”yes, dear precious!” she promised;--he quite cheered up, and dragging at her hand, he went skipping along beside her out to the green gate in the hedge.

”I'll stop at the Rectory in the morning,” she said, when she kissed him, bravely, in the twilight; ”so I'll see you again, dear.”

”'By!” said David. And he had gone.

She stood staring after him, fiercely brus.h.i.+ng the tears away, because they dimmed the little joyous figure, trotting into the November dusk.

The morning broke, gray and cloudy. William King had had his early breakfast; of course he had! Rather than fail in a housekeeper's duty, Martha would have sat up all night. When the doctor started for that call out into the country, Helena was just getting into the stage at the Stuffed Animal House. Once, as the coach went jolting down the hill, she lowered the misted window and looked back--then sank into her seat and put her hands over her eyes. Just for a while, there had been a little happiness in that house.