Part 21 (1/2)

Despite discipline, despite pleadings, despite cajolery, Bonita stood firm. Eat she would not, and when, on her way to cla.s.s one morning the sc.r.a.p of humanity with the set lips and the purple shadows round her eyes fainted quietly, Belinda felt that a masterly inactivity had ceased to be a virtue.

James, the house man, carried the girl upstairs, and the Youngest Teacher put her to bed, where she opened her eyes to look unseeingly at Belinda and then closed them wearily and lay quite still, a limp little creature whose pale face looked pitifully thin and lifeless against the white pillow. The Queer Little Thing's wish had been fulfilled and illness had come without long delay.

For a moment Belinda looked down at the girl. Then she turned and went swiftly to Miss Ryder's study, her eyes blazing, her mouth so stern that Amelia Bowers, who met her on the stairs, hurried to spread the news that Miss Carewe ”was perfectly hopping mad about something.”

Once in the presence of the August One the little teacher lost no time in parley.

”Miss Ryder,” she said crisply--and at the tone her employer looked up in amazement--”I've told you about Bonita Allen. I've been to you again and again about her. You knew that she was fretting her heart out and half sick, and then you knew that for several days she hasn't been eating a thing. I tried to make you understand that the matter was serious and that something radical needed to be done, but you insisted that the child would come around all right and that we mustn't give in to her. I begged you to send for her father and you said it wasn't necessary. I'm here to take your orders, Miss Ryder, but I can't stand this sort of thing. I know the girl better than any of the rest of you do, and I know it isn't badness that makes her act so. Now she is ill--really ill. I've just put her to bed, and honestly, Miss Ryder, if we don't send for her father we'll have a tragedy on our hands. It sounds foolish, but it is true. If n.o.body else telegraphs to Mr. Allen I am going to do it.”

When the doctor came there were bright red spots on the Queer Little Thing's cheeks, and she was babbling incoherently about prairie flowers and horses and d.i.c.k and Daddy.

Meanwhile a telegram had gone to Daddy and the messenger who delivered it heard a volume of picturesque comment that was startling even on a Texas ranch.

”Am coming,” ran the answering dispatch received by Miss Ryder that night; but it was not until morning that Bonita was able to understand the news.

”He's scared, but I know he's glad,” she said and she swallowed without a murmur the broth against which even in her delirium she had fought.

One evening, three days later, a hansom dashed up to the school and out jumped a tall, square-shouldered man in a wide-brimmed hat, and clothes that bore only a family resemblance to the clothing of the New York millionaires, though they were good clothes in their own free-and-easy way.

A loud, hearty voice inquiring for ”My baby” made itself heard even in the sickroom, and a sudden light flashed into the little patient's eyes--a light that was an illumination and a revelation.

”Daddy,” she said wearily, and the word was a heart-throb.

Mr. Allen wasted no time in a polite interview with Miss Ryder.

Hypnotized by his masterfulness, the servant led him directly up to the sick-room and opened the door.

The man filled the room; a high breeze seemed to come with him, and vitality flowed from him in tangible waves. Belinda smiled, but there were tears in her eyes, for the big man's heart was in his face.

”Baby!”

”Daddy!”

Belinda remembered an errand downstairs.

When she returned the big Texan was sitting on the side of the bed with both the lean little hands in one of his big brawny ones, while his other hand awkwardly smoothed the straight black hair.

”When will you take me home, Daddy?” said the child with the s.h.i.+ning eyes.

”As soon as you're strong enough, Honey. The boys wanted me to let them charge New York in a bunch and get you. It's been mighty lonesome on that ranch. I wish to heaven I'd never been fool enough to let you come away.”

He turned to Belinda with a quizzical smile sitting oddly on his anxious face.

”I reckon she might as well go, miss. I sent her to a finis.h.i.+ng school, and by thunder, she's just about finished.”

There was a certain hint of pride in his voice as he added reflectively:

”I might have known if she said she'd have to come home she meant it.