Part 24 (1/2)

”For Heaven's sake, stop! When all my life I've been looking for a girl with brown hair that looks sort of red and freckles--about three thousand of them!”

”Peter!” Nancy sprang precipitously to her feet. ”Look--there is a storm coming!”

B'lindy's threatened storm was approaching swiftly. The black cloud that had been piling up behind them now overspread the whole western sky. ”What a shame--to have it spoil our day! This has been such fun.

I'll never forget it, after I've gone.” Then, hastily, ”Gather up the napkins and the baskets; I promised B'lindy I'd bring them home! Isn't there a short cut home? I'm really dreadfully afraid of lightning.”

But she had caught something in the expression of Peter Hyde's face that frightened her more than the threatened storm.

”Let's hurry,” she cried, running unceremoniously to the automobile.

CHAPTER XXI

DAVY'S GIFT

Real need recognizing no distinction of cla.s.s, it had been Liz Hopworth who had been summoned to the Hopkins home when Mrs. Hopkins ”dropped off” in the middle of the night, leaving ten children motherless.

Over Dan'l's late breakfast Liz, wan-eyed from loss of sleep, but dignified by a new importance, related all the sad circ.u.mstances of poor Sarah Hopkins' pa.s.sing. ”Who'd a' _thought_,” she exclaimed as she vigorously beat her pan-cake batter, ”yesterday when I see the poor woman out a hangin' her clothes that this blessed night I'd a' been called in to straighten her limbs and do for those poor young 'uns!”

To Nonie and Davy death was a strangely mysterious thing which they took for granted; dogs and cats and calves died; frequently there was a burial in the village cemetery. These had always had an element of excitement which even stirred the Hopworth home, detached though it was from the village life. They looked at Liz, now, with wide eager eyes.

To have ”straightened poor Sarah Hopkins' limbs” seemed to have transformed her--her tone was kinder, something almost tender gleamed in her tired eyes, and she was making pan-cakes for their breakfast!

”Just fetch that grease, Nonie. Step spry, too--there's a lot to be done before this day's over. Lordy, I thought to myself last night, that the Lord strikes hard--leavin' those ten children that haven't done no wrong without any mother to manage and Timothy Hopkins sittin'

there as helpless like he'd been hit over the head, he's that stunned.

And scarcely a bite in the house.”

Old Dan'l had long since gotten past the day of worrying over the ways of the Lord. Nor to him was there anything particularly startling in a lack of food. His had always been a philosophy that believed that from somewhere or other Providence would provide, and if it didn't--

”Scarcely a bite, and all steppin' on one another, there's so many of 'em, and then when I think o' Happy House and the plenty there's there, well, 's I say, the Lord's ways are beyond _me_! Eat up your breakfast, Nonie. You gotta do up the work here, for I told that poor man I'd come back quick as ever I could. There's no end of work to be done 'fore that place will look fit for folks to come and see her.”

”Can I go, too, Liz?” asked Davy. ”Mebbe I can help.”

Normally Liz would have made a sharp retort. Now she considered a moment.

”Mebbe you can. You can play with the baby so's Jennie can help me sweep and dust. Sarah Hopkins would turn over if she thought folks was goin' to see the muss and litter. Hurry along.”

All that Liz had said of the house of mourning had been true. Davy found the muss and litter; the poor smithy wandering helplessly around and the ”young 'uns” stepping on one another. He shut his eyes tight so that he would not have to catch the tiniest glimpse of poor Sarah Hopkins lying very still in the bedroom off the kitchen. He was glad when Liz, in a strangely brisk tone, bade Jennie, the oldest Hopkins girl, give the baby over to Davy.

”He's come 'long to mind the baby, so's you can help. Take him outside, Davy, and keep him out from under foot. Take up these dishes!

Sure's I'm livin' I see Mrs. Sniggs comin' up the road this blessed minit.”

Davy, gathering up his charge, retreated hastily. In fact, his pace did not slacken until he was well away from the Hopkins home. Then he put his burden down under a tree and stared at it.

The baby, blissfully unconscious of its loss, cooed ecstatically to express his joy at the unusual attention. He reached out tiny hands to Davy. ”Go----go!” he gurgled, coaxingly.

”You sit right there! I gotta think,” was Davy's scowling answer.

And Davy was thinking--hard. Liz' story, over the breakfast, had sunk deep into his soul. _He_ knew what it was to live in a household where there was no mother and not much food!