Johnston Annie Fellows
Georgina of the Rainbows

CHAPTER XIX
TRACING THE LINIMENT WAGON

TO Wellfleet, to Orleans, to Chatham went the telephone call, to Harwichport and then back again to the little towns on the bay side of the Cape, for the wild-cat and its keepers did not follow a straight course in their meanderings. It was some time before Mr. Milford succeeded in locating them. At last he hung up the receiver announcing:

"They showed in Orleans last night all right, but it wasn't the road to Chatham they took out of there this morning. It was to Brewster. We can easily overtake them somewhere along in that direction and get back home before dark."

There was one ecstatic moment for Georgina when it was made clear to her that she was included in that "we"; that she was actually to have a share in an automobile chase like the ones that had thrilled her in the movies. But that moment was soon over.

"I hardly know what to do about leaving Mother," began Uncle Darcy in a troubled voice. "She's feeling uncommon poorly to-day – she's in bed and can't seem to remember anything longer than you're telling it. Mrs. Saggs came in to sit with her while I was out blueberrying, but she said she couldn't stay past ten o'clock. She has company coming."

"Couldn't you get some of the other neighbors to come in for the few hours you'd be away?" asked Mr. Milford. "It's important you should follow up this clue yourself."

"No, Mrs. Saggs is the only one who keeps Mother from fretting when I'm away from her. Her side window looks right into our front yard, and ordinarily it would be enough just for her to call across to her now and then, but it wouldn't do to-day, Mother not being as well as common. She'd forget where I was gone and I couldn't bear to have her lying there frightened and worried and not remembering why I had left her alone. She's like a child at times. You know how it is," he said, turning to Georgina. "Not flighty, but just needing to be soothed and talked to."

Georgina nodded. She knew, for on several occasions she had sat beside Aunt Elspeth when she was in such a mood, and had quieted and pleased her with little songs and simple rhymes. She knew she could do it again to-day as effectually as Mrs. Saggs, if it wasn't for giving up that exciting motor chase after the wild-cat woman. It seemed to her a greater sacrifice than flesh and blood should be called upon to make. She sat on the porch step, twirling her prism carelessly on its pink ribbon while she waited for the machine to be brought around. Then she climbed into the back seat with Uncle Darcy and the two pails of blueberries, while Richard settled himself and Captain Kidd in front with his Cousin James.

They whirled up to the Gray Inn to leave the blueberries, and then around down Bradford Street to Fishburn Court to attempt to explain to Aunt Elspeth. On the way they passed the Pilgrim monument. Georgina tried not to look at it, but she couldn't help glancing up at it from the corner of her eye.

"You must," it seemed to say to her.

"I won't," she as silently answered back.

"It's your duty," it reminded her, "and the idea of a descendant of one of the Pilgrim Fathers and one of the Minute-men shirking her duty. A pretty member of the Rainbow Club you are," it scoffed.

They whirled by the grim monster of a monument quickly, but Georgina felt impelled to turn and look back at it, her gaze following it up higher and higher, above the gargoyles, to the tipmost stones which seemed to touch the sky.

"I hate that word Duty," she said savagely to herself. "It's as big and ugly and as always-in-front-of-you as that old monument. They're exactly alike. You can't help seeing them no matter which way you look or how hard you try not to."

At the gate she tried to put the obnoxious word out of her mind by leaning luxuriously back in the car and looking up at the chimney tops while Uncle Darcy stepped out and went into the house. He came out again almost immediately, crossed the little front yard and put his head in at Mrs. Saggs' side window. After a short conversation with her he came out to the gate and stood irresolutely fingering the latch.

"I don't know what to do," he repeated, his voice even more troubled than before. "Mother's asleep now. Mrs. Saggs says she'll go over at twelve and take her her tea, but – I can't help feeling I ought not to leave her alone for so long. Couldn't you manage without me?"

And then, Georgina inwardly protesting, "I don't want to and I won't," found herself stepping out of the car, and heard her own voice saying sweetly:

"I'll stay with Aunt Elspeth, Uncle Darcy. I can keep her from fretting."

A smile of relief broke over the old man's face and he said heartily:

"Why, of course you can, honey. It never occurred to me to ask a little lass like you to stop and care for her, but you can do it better than anybody else, because Mother's so fond of you."

Neither had it occurred to him or to either of the others that it was a sacrifice for her to give up this ride. There was not a word from anyone about its being a noble thing for her to do. Mr. Milford, in a hurry to be off, merely nodded his satisfaction at having the matter arranged so quickly. Uncle Darcy stepped back to the window for a parting word with Mrs. Saggs.

"She'll keep an ear out for you, Georgina," he said as he went back to the car. "Just call her if you want her for any reason. There's plenty cooked in the cupboard for your dinner, and Mrs. Saggs will tend to Mother's tea when the time comes. When she wakes up and asks for me best not tell her I'm out of town. Just say I'll be back bye and bye, and humor her along that way."

And then they were off with a whirr and a clang that sent the chickens in the road scattering in every direction. Georgina was left standing by the gate thinking, "What made me do it? What made me do it? I don't want to stay one bit."

The odor of gasoline cleared away and the usual Sabbath-like stillness settled down over all the court. She walked slowly across the shady little grass plot to the front door, hesitated there a moment, then went into the cottage and took off her hat.

A glance into the dim bedroom beyond showed her Aunt Elspeth's white head lying motionless on her pillow. The sight of the quiet sleeper made her feel appallingly lonesome. It was like being all by herself in the house to be there with one who made no sound or movement. She would have to find something to do. It was only eleven o'clock. She tiptoed out into the kitchen.

The almanac had been left lying on the table. She looked slowly through it, and was rewarded by finding something of interest. On the last page was a column of riddles, and one of them was so good she started to memorize it so that she could propound it to Richard. She was sure he never could guess it. Finding it harder to remember than it seemed at first glance, she decided to copy it. She did not know where to look for a sheet of paper, but remembered several paper bags on the pantry shelves, so she went in search of one. Finding one with only a cupful of sugar left in it, she tore off the top and wrote the riddle on that with a stub of a pencil which she found on the table.

While searching for the bag she took an inventory of the supplies in the pantry from which she was to choose her dinner. When she had finished copying the riddle she went back to them. There were baked beans and blueberry pie, cold biscuit and a dish of honey.

"I'll get my dinner now," she decided, "then I'll be ready to sit with Aunt Elspeth when her tea comes."

As Georgina went back and forth from table to shelf it was in unconscious imitation of Mrs. Triplett's brisk manner. Pattering after that capable housekeeper on her busy rounds as persistently as Georgina had done all her life, had taught her to move in the same way. Presently she discovered that there was a fire laid in the little wood stove ready to light. The stove was so small in comparison to the big kitchen range at home, that it appealed to Georgina as a toy stove might have done. She stood looking at it thinking what fun it would be to cook something on it all by herself with no Tippy standing by to say do this or don't do the other.

"I think I ought to be allowed to have some fun to make up for my disappointment," she said to herself as the temptation grew stronger and stronger.

"I could cook me an egg. Tippy lets me beat them but she never lets me break them and I've always wanted to break one and let it go plunk into the pan."

She did not resist the temptation long. There was the sputter of a match, the puff of a flame, and the little stove was roaring away so effectively that one of old Jeremy's sayings rose to her lips. Jeremy had a proverb for everything.

"Little pot, soon hot," she said out loud, gleefully, and reached into the cupboard for the crock of bran in which the eggs were kept. Then Georgina's skill as an actor showed itself again, although she was not conscious of imitating anyone. In Tippy's best manner she wiped out the frying-pan, settled it in a hot place on the stove, dropped in a bit of butter.

With the assured air of one who has had long practice, she picked up an egg and gave it a sharp crack on the edge of the pan, expecting it to part evenly into halves and its contents to glide properly into the butter. It looked so alluringly simple and easy that she had always resented Tippy's saying she would make a mess of it if she tried to do it. But mess was the only name which could be given to what poured out on the top of the stove as her fingers went crashing through the shell and into the slimy feeling contents. The broken yolk dripped from her hands, and in the one instant she stood holding them out from her in disgust, all the rest of the egg which had gone sliding over the stove, cooked, scorched and turned to a cinder.

The smell and smoke of the burning egg rose to the ceiling and filled the room. Georgina sprang to close the door so that the odor would not rouse Aunt Elspeth, and then with carving knife and stove-lid lifter, she scraped the charred remains into the fire.

"And it looked so easy," she mourned. "Maybe I didn't whack it quickly enough. I'm going to try again." She felt into the bran for another egg. This time she struck the shell so hard that its contents splashed out sideways with an unexpected squirt and slid to the floor. She was ready to cry as she wiped up the slippery stuff, but there came to her mind some verses which Tippy had taught her long ago. And so determined had Tippy been for her to learn them, that she offered the inducement of a string of blue beads. The name of the poem was "Perseverance," and it began:

 
"Here's a lesson all should heed —
Try, try again.
If at first you don't succeed,
Try, try again."
 

and it ended,

 
"That which other folks can do
Why with patience may not you?
Try, try again."
 

Tippy sowed that seed the same winter that she taught Georgina "The Landing of the Pilgrims"; but surely, no matter how long a time since then, Tippy should be held accountable for the after effects of that planting. If Georgina persevered it was no more than could be expected considering her rigorous up-bringing.

Georgina pushed the frying-pan to the back of the stove where it was cooler, and with her red lips pursed into a tight line, chose another egg, smote it sharply on the edge of the pan, thereby cracking it and breaking the shell into halves. Her thumbs punched through into the yolk of this one also, but by letting part of the shell drop with it, she managed to land it all in the pan. That was better. She fished out the fragment of shell and took another egg.

This time the feat was accomplished as deftly as an expert chef could have done it, and a pleased smile took the place of the grim determination on Georgina's face. Elated by her success she broke another egg, then another and another. It was as easy as breathing or winking. She broke another for the pure joy of putting her dexterity to the test once more. Then she stopped, appalled by the pile of empty shells confronting her accusingly. She counted them. She had broken eight – three-fourths of a setting. What would Uncle Darcy say to such a wicked waste? She could burn the shells, but what an awful lot of insides to dispose of. All mixed up as they were, they couldn't be saved for cake. There was nothing to do but to scramble them.

Scramble them she did, and the pan seemed to grow fuller and fuller as she tossed the fluffy mass about with a fork. It was fun doing that. She made the most of this short space of time, and it was over all too soon. She knew that Aunt Elspeth had grown tired of eggs early in the summer. There was no use saving any for her. Georgina herself was not especially fond of them, but she would have to eat all she could to keep them from being wasted.

Some time after she rose from the table and looked at the dish with a feeling of disgust that there could still be such a quantity left, after she had eaten so much that it was impossible to enjoy even a taste of the blueberry pie or the honey. Carrying the dish out through the back door she emptied it into the cats' pan, fervently wishing that John and Mary Darcy and old Yellownose could dispose of it all without being made ill.

Long ago she had learned to do her sums in the sand. Now she stooped down and with the handle of her spoon scratched some figures in the path. "If twelve eggs cost thirty cents, how much will eight eggs cost?" That was the sum she set for herself. Only that morning she had heard Tippy inquire the price of eggs from the butter-woman, and say they were unusually high and hard to get because they were so many summer people in town this season. She didn't know where they were going to get enough for all the cakes necessary for the Bazaar.

It took Georgina some time to solve the problem. Then going back to the kitchen she gathered up all the shells and dropped them into the fire. Her sacrifice was costing her far more than she had anticipated. Somehow, somewhere, she must get hold of twenty cents to pay for those eggs. Duty again. Always Duty. But for that one horrid word she would be racing down the road to Brewster in the wake of the wild-cat woman. She wondered if they had caught up with her yet.

CHAPTER XX
DANCE OF THE RAINBOW FAIRIES

GEORGINA, intent on washing the frying-pan and cleaning the last vestige of burnt egg from the top of the stove, did not hear Mrs. Saggs come in at the front door with Aunt Elspeth's dinner on a tray. Nor did she hear the murmur of voices that went on while it was being eaten. The bedroom was in the front of the house, and the rasping noise she was making as she scratched away with the edge of an iron spoon, kept her from hearing anything else. So when the door into the kitchen suddenly opened it gave her such a start that she dropped the dishcloth into the woodbox.

Mrs. Saggs sniffed suspiciously. There was something reproachful in the mere tilt of her nose which Georgina felt and resented.

"I thought I smelled something burning."

"I s'pect you did," Georgina answered calmly. "But it's all over now. I was getting my dinner early, so's I could sit with Aunt Elspeth afterward."

Mrs. Saggs had both hands full, as she was carrying her tray, so she could not open the stove to look in; but she walked over towards it and peered at it from a closer viewpoint, continuing to sniff. But there was nothing for her to discover, no clue to the smell. Everything which Georgina had used was washed and back in place now. The sharp eyes made a survey of the kitchen, watching Georgina narrowly as the child, having rinsed the dishcloth after its fall, leaned out of the back door to hang it on a bush in the sun, as Uncle Darcy always did.

"You've been taught to be real neat, haven't you?" she said in an approving tone which made Georgina like her better. Then her glance fell on a work-basket which had been left sitting on top of the flour barrel. In it was a piece of half-finished mending. The sharp eyes softened.

"I declare!" she exclaimed. "It's downright pitiful the way that old man tries to do for himself and his poor old wife. It's surprising, though, how well he gets along with the housework and taking care of her and all."

She glanced again at the needle left sticking in the clumsy unfinished seam, and recognized the garment.

"Well, I wish you'd look at that! Even trying to patch her poor old nightgown for her! Can you beat that? Here, child, give it to me. My hands are full with this tray, so just stick it under my arm. I'll mend it this afternoon while I'm setting talking to the company."

She tightened her grip on the bundle which Georgina thrust under her arm, and looked down at it.

"Them pitiful old stiff fingers of his'n!" she exclaimed. "They sure make a botch of sewing, but they don't ever make a botch of being kind. Well, I'm off now. Guess you'd better run in and set with Mis' Darcy for a spell, for she's waked up real natural and knowing now, and seems to crave company."

Georgina went, but paused on the way, seeing the familiar rooms in a new light, since Mrs. Saggs' remarks had given her new and illuminating insight. Everywhere she looked there was something as eloquent as that bit of unfinished mending to bear witness that Uncle Darcy was far more than just a weather-beaten old man with a smile and word of cheer for everybody. Ringing the Towncrier's bell and fishing and blueberrying and telling yarns and helping everybody bear their trouble was the least part of his doings. That was only what the world saw. That was all she had seen herself until this moment.

Now she was suddenly aware of his bigness of soul which made him capable of an infinite tenderness and capacity to serve. His devotion to Aunt Elspeth spread an encircling care around her as a great oak throws the arms of its shade, till her comfort was his constant thought, her happiness his greatest desire.

"Them pitiful, old, stiff fingers of his'n!" How could Mrs. Saggs speak of them so? They were heroic, effectual fingers. Theirs was something far greater than the Midas touch – they transmuted the smallest service into Love's gold.

Georgina, with her long stretching up to books that were "over her head," understood this without being able to put it into words. Nor could she put into words the longing which seized her like a dull ache, for Barby to be loved and cared for like that, to be as constantly and supremely considered. She couldn't understand how Aunt Elspeth, old and wrinkled and childish, could be the object of such wonderful devotion, and Barby, her adorable, winsome Barby, call forth less.

"Not one letter in four long months," she thought bitterly.

"Dan'l," called Aunt Elspeth feebly from the next room, and Georgina went in to assure her that Uncle Darcy was not out in the boat and would not be brought home drowned. He was attending to some important business and would be back bye and bye. In the meantime, she was going to hang her prism in the window where the sun could touch it and let the rainbow fairies dance over the bed.

The gay flashes of color, darting like elfin wings here and there as Georgina twisted the ribbon, pleased Aunt Elspeth as if she were a child. She lifted a thin, shriveled hand to catch at them and gave a weak little laugh each time they eluded her grasp. It was such a thin hand, almost transparent, with thick, purplish veins standing out on it. Georgina glanced at her own and wondered if Aunt Elspeth's ever could have been dimpled and soft like hers. It did not seem possible that this frail old woman with the snowy-white hair and sunken cheeks could ever have been a rosy child like herself. As if in answer to her thought, Aunt Elspeth spoke, groping again with weak, ineffectual passes after the rainbows.

"I can't catch them. They bob around so. That's the way I used to be, always on the move. They called me 'Bouncing Bet!'"

"Tell me about that time," urged Georgina. Back among early memories Aunt Elspeth's mind walked with firm, unfailing tread. It was only among those of later years that she hesitated and groped her way as if lost in fog. By the time the clock had struck the hours twice more Georgina felt that she knew intimately a mischievous girl whom her family called Bouncing Bet for her wild ways, but who bore no trace of a resemblance to the feeble old creature who recounted her pranks.

And the blue-eyed romp who could sail a boat like a boy or swim like a mackerel grew up into a slender slip of a lass with a shy grace which made one think of a wild-flower. At least that is what the old daguerreotype showed Georgina when Aunt Elspeth sent her rummaging through a trunk to find it. It was taken in a white dress standing beside a young sailor in his uniform. No wonder Uncle Darcy looked proud in the picture. But Georgina never would have known it was Uncle Darcy if she hadn't been told. He had changed, too.

The picture made Georgina think of one of Barby's songs, and presently when Aunt Elspeth was tired of talking she sang it to her:

 
"Hand in hand when our life was May.
Hand in hand when our hair is gray.
Sorrow and sun for everyone
As the years roll on.
Hand in hand when the long night tide
Gently covers us side by side —
Ah, lad, though we know not when,
Love will be with us forever then.
Always the same, Darby my own,
Always the same to your old wife Joan!"
 

After that there were other songs which Aunt Elspeth asked for, "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast," and "Robin Adair." Then came a long tiresome pause when Georgina didn't know what to do next, and Aunt Elspeth turned her head restlessly on the pillow and seemed uneasy.

Georgina wished with all her heart she was out of the stuffy little bedroom. If she had gone with the others, she would be speeding along the smooth, white road now, coming home from Brewster, with the wind and sunshine of all the wide, free outdoors around her.

Aunt Elspeth drew a long, tired sigh.

"Maybe you'd like me to read to you," ventured Georgina. She hesitated over making such an offer, because there were so few books in the house. Nothing but the almanac looked interesting. Aunt Elspeth assented, and pointed out a worn little volume of devotions on top of the bureau, saying:

"That's what Dan'l reads me on Sundays."

Georgina opened it. Evidently it had been compiled for the use of sea-faring people, for it was full of the promises that sailor-folk best understand; none of the shepherd psalms or talk of green pastures and help-giving hills. It was all about mighty waters and paths through the deep. She settled herself comfortably in the low rocking-chair beside the bed, tossed back her curls and was about to begin, when one of the rainbow lights from the prism danced across the page. She waited, smiling, until it glimmered away. Then she read the verses on which it had shone.

"All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me, yet the Lord will command His loving kindness in the daytime, and in the night His song shall be with me."

The sweet little voice soothed the troubled spirit that listened like music.

"When thou passeth through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers: they shall not overflow thee… Thus saith the Lord which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters."

Aunt Elspeth reached out a groping hand for Georgina's and took the soft little fingers in hers. Georgina didn't want to have her hand held, especially in such a stiff, bony clasp. It made her uncomfortable to sit with her arm stretched up in such a position, but she was too polite to withdraw it, so she read on for several pages.

"He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. So He bringeth them into their desired haven."

Attracted by the sound of heavy breathing, she looked up. Aunt Elspeth was asleep. Georgina laid the book on the table, and slowly, very slowly began to raise herself out of the chair, afraid of arousing the sleeper who still held her hand. As she stood up, the board in the floor under her squeaked. She was afraid to take another step or to try to pull her hand away. She had come to the end of her resources for entertainment, and she was afraid Aunt Elspeth's next awakening might be to a crying, restless mood which she could not control. So she sat down again.

It was very still in the bedroom. A fly buzzed on the outside of the window screen, and away off on another street the "accommodation" was going by. She could hear the bells jingling on the horses. As she sat thus, not even rocking, but just jiggling the chair a trifle, the words she had read began to come back to her after a while like a refrain: "So He bringeth them into their desired haven. So He bringeth them into their desired haven." She whispered them over and over as she often whispered songs, hearing the music which had no tone except in her thought.

And presently, as the whispered song repeated itself, the words began to bring a wonderful sense of peace and security. She did not realize what it was that was speaking to her through them. It was the faith which had lived so long in these lowly little rooms. It was the faith which had upborne Uncle Darcy year after year, helping him to steer onward in the confidence that the Hand he trusted would fulfil all its promises. She felt the subtle influence that goes out from such lives, without knowing what it was that touched her. She was conscious of it only as she was conscious of the nearness of mignonette when its fragrance stole in from the flower-bed under the window. They were both unseen but the mignonette's fragrance was wonderfully sweet, and the feeling of confidence, breathing through the words of the old psalm was wonderfully strong. Some day she, too, would be brought, and Barby would be brought into "their desired haven."

Georgina was tired. It had been a full day, beginning with that digging in the dunes. Presently she began to nod. Then the rocking chair ceased to sway. When the clock struck again she did not hear it. She was sound asleep with her hand still clasped in Aunt Elspeth's.