Part 25 (2/2)

”Ah, I see Berglund has arrived,” said Williamson. ”You are going to do a lot to build the church, Miss Norah.”

Berglund was rather a short man; his hair was gray; he limped from the old wound received at s.h.i.+loh. Something clutched at Norah's heart as she looked at him. Williamson made some trivial joke; she did not hear it; she was hearing over again the words of the German woman to Mrs.

O'Brien that afternoon. Impulsively she sprang to her feet. ”Will you excuse me, Mr. Williamson?” she exclaimed. ”I have to go to the voting-booth one moment.” She went so swiftly that Williamson had much ado to keep pace with her, besides overpaying the waitress in his hurry. Father Kelly swallowed a groan of dismay at the fresh strain on his faith when he perceived her beckoning a ring-laden hand at the custodian of votes; and the Vicar-General involuntarily frowned. They both with one accord pushed up to the table--to the visible relief of the young man behind it. ”I don't know what to do,” he confided to Father Kelly, before the latter could ask the question quivering on his tongue--”I don't know what to do. Miss Murray wants me not to take in any more money 'til I hear from her again. She'll be back. And here's old Berglund wants three hundred and fifty dollars' worth for Miss Freda, and here's Barnes with a big bunch for Miss Murray, trying to scare off the old man. What'll I do, Father?”

”I guess you better not do anything,” said Father Kelly, with a twinkle in his eye. ”Norah Murray is apt to have a good reason for her asking. Shut the booth down, and _I'll_ take charge while you go off for a cup of coffee.”

The Vicar-General nodded approval.

”Well, just's you say, Father,” said the young man; ”it's kind of unprecedented.”

”What do you suppose it means?” puzzled the Vicar-General, in an undertone, as the vote-taker disappeared; and the crowd fell back a little on Father Kelly's bland announcement that Mr. Duffy had been called off for a few minutes, and there would be a recess in voting.

”'Tis beyond _me_,” said Father Kelly, ”but watch the girl; she's gone straight to Freda Berglund. There, they're talking; they're going off together with Mrs. Orendorf. I can't give a guess, but she's a good girl. I'm hopeful.”

Norah had indeed gone straight to Freda Berglund. She addressed her in so low a voice that only Freda and Mrs. Orendorf, bending across Freda's shoulders at that instant, the better to cheapen a darning-bag for stockings, could hear her words. ”I want to see you, Freda,” she said. ”Won't you and Mrs. Orendorf come away somewhere so we can talk?

I have got something important to say.”

”I--don't--know,” faltered Freda.

”I want Mrs. O'Brien, too,” said Norah, firmly. ”It's all right; you'll think it all right, Mrs. Orendorf. Come, come; don't you see those men who have been drinking? Don't you hear them? Don't you see Mrs. Finn, who used to think there was n.o.body like Mrs. Conner, looking the other way so's not to see her? Can't you hear the quarrelling all round? They've stopped voting, but they haven't stopped quarrelling. Come!”

Although she had dropped her voice, the listeners were so close that they caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of the sentences, and craned their necks forward and hushed their own talk to listen. Mrs. Orendorf was not of a nimble habit of thought; but she felt the electric impetus of the Irish girl; besides, was _she_ not bidden? Could she not protect Freda from the machinations of the enemy?

”Dot's so, Freda,” she concluded, stolidly. ”Koom den, der only blace vere we can talk py uns is dot coal-closet wo is der eggstry ice-cream freezer. Koom. I see Meezis...o...b..een.”

Amid a startling pause, every eye questioning them, the three picked up Mrs. O'Brien and sought the coal-closet. Then Norah turned. In the dim light her face shone whitely. Her full melodious voice shook the least in the world with haste and excitement. ”We've got to stop this,” said she, ”and I know how. Freda, I am going to withdraw my name. I wish to Heaven I never had let them put it on. You may have the watch.”

Freda's tall figure was only an outline in the shadow; they could not see her face; but the outline wavered backward. Her voice was stiff and cold.

”I don't think that's fair. You have more votes than I have.”

Mrs. O'Brien opened her lips and shut them tightly. It was so dark no one saw her, or Mrs. Orendorf, as she sat on the freezer gulping down inaudible opinions regarding Norah's sanity.

”I sha'n't have,” retorted Norah, impatiently, ”when your father spends all his money that he mortgaged his farm--”

_”What!”_ cried Freda.

”She not know; ve keep it von her,” muttered Mrs. Orendorf. ”Fritz make me promise not to tell.”

”Well, he didn't make _me_,” said Norah. ”_I'll_ tell. He raised the money, and he was trying to buy the votes, and I saw him. I haven't any father. I can't remember anything of my father except his leading me about when I was a little thing by the finger, and how kind his voice was; but I miss him--I miss him all the time; I know he was a good man, and loved me; and he'd have done anything for me, just as your father is doing; and I couldn't have borne it to have him, and I was sure you couldn't, either. Freda, it's all wrong, this spending more money than they can afford on us; I've felt it all along. Now let's stop it. The church has got enough.”

”Is it true about papa?” said Freda, in German.

”_Ach Himmel_! Yes, my child. Dost thou not know thy father yet?

For all he seems still and stern, thou art more than all the world to him.” Mrs. Orendorf spoke in the same tongue; her other listeners could not understand it, but they marvelled over the soft change in her voice.

”It's true enough, Miss Freda,” said Mrs. O'Brien, gently. ”And maybe you're in the right of it, Norah darling, though 'tis a bit hard to give in; but, yes, I'm sure you're right.”

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