Evening Star Newspaper, December 29, 1929, Page 81

DN, D. C, DECEMBER 29, 1929, 0. Henry Memorial ard Stories. She reached out a delicate, crumply hand and stroked the child’s smooth blond head. “My name’s Ruth,” volunteered the younger girl. “Mine’s Caroline,” said the other. “And mine’s Betty and this is Janey.. T in- vited her to come down with me. I hope your ma ain't had to keep the dinner waitin’ very long. Have you got your breath yet, Janey? Because, if you have, we'd better bs goin’ in.” They struggled to their feet again, and, es~ corted by the children, started up the path to the house. The older girl ran ahead and in at the kitchen door, and directly Mrs. Mason, a plump, brown-haired, youngish woman, with kind brown eyes and cheeks flushed from work- ing about the kitchen fire, appeared, dusting floury fingers on her apron. She was not a little surprised at sight of the square-rigged Janey in her cutaway coat and man’s cap, white bob fluttering beneath, and the slender Betty, with her full, flaring velvet basque and black-lace mitts, her mourn- ing veil draped lightly over her narrow bent shoulders; both radiantly smiling, Janey her toothless caved-in, moonlike smile, and Betty over her genteel upper and lower set. Both smiles were slightly vague, slightly apolo- getic, and plainly tired. “We've got here at last,” said Betty, tremu- lous, not quite sure of her ground. “Janey, she’s most tuckered out, but I'm all right. I hope we ain’t kep’ your dinner waitin’.” Mrs. Mason gasped, caught her breath, and then smiled back, putting out her hand. “Come right in,” she said. “You look tired out, both of you.” Together they managed the wide, low door- step, and then Betty preceded Janey through the doorway into the kitchen, which was not as small as might have been supposed from the outside. “You're just in time,” said Mrs. Mason cheer- fully. “Caroline, you show ’em where to take off their things and wash up a bit, and by the time they’re ready your father will be here and we’ll have supper. Ruth, dear, set two more places and pull up two more chairs.” The reason Janey wore a man’s cap—a soft one—was apparent when she took it off. The top of her squarish head was as smooth and shiny as one of those pale-yellow squashes that grow over, bowl-shaped, and fluted around the lower edge. Her fringe of white curls fluffed out distractingly and reminded one who knew squashes of those neat fluted edges. Betty's gray locks were quite abundant and had a natural wave in them. Parted and drawn down cunningly over the tops of her ears, they gave a demure, Priscilla look to her face, in spite of the snug little wad at the back. They both looked very neat and clean. 6] T is chicken and biscuits,” Betty whispered. “Ain’t you glad now you come?” Janey nodded happily, convinced beyond a doubt that Betty was & person of family con- nections. 3 “Git out your clean apron,” she reminded. The children stood helpfully near, watching - with d-lighted curiosily ané eommenting po- Mtely. e AN 13 e s BY “Did an Indian scalp you?” Caroline ven- tured. Janey shook her head and her smile curved upward toward her eyes, which, oddly enough, seemed to curve down a little at the outer corners. Mr. Mason came in and washed at the kitchen sink and brushed his hair at the kitchen glass, in the corner of the door. He was in- formed that there was company, and peeped in curiously. “What kind of birds are they?” he asked his wife. “The great auk and the—-" She put her hand over his mouth. “Hush!” she whispered. “Can’t you guess where they came from? The Poor Farm. It's three miles at least, and from what I can find out the poor things have been walking all day. The old dears! They're so funny and so—so pa- thetic. They're going to have their supper. ©Oh, Bill, do you s'pose you and I will ever get to be like that?” “Of course, not,” Bill assured her, and he kissed the back of her neck, as she stooped to take a tin of biscuits out of the oven. “Oh, you kid!” she exclaimed. “You almost made me drop them.” Bill smiled. “But, Dear Heart, if we should, we’ll find a chimney corner with one of our children.” “It's well we can't see too far into the fu- ture,” replied Dear Heart, with a gentle sigh. “Anyhow, I'm glad we're having chicken and biscuits for supper tonight. It's going to be a wonderful treat for them, and if sometime; oh, in years and years——" Betty was tying her white apron about her trim waist, her bundle lying open on a chair, and Janey was similarly occupied before an- other chair, when Bill entered. Taking the cue from his wife, he greeted them like old friends. The simple ceremony being over, they tugped back to their chairs. “This is brother Joe's picture,” Betty said, taking a small package from among a few other little things. “I didn't like to leave it, where there’s s0 many to pick and nose about.” “It would have been very unwise,” Bill agreed. Carefully she unwound the faded ribbon that wrapped it and brought to light a small daguerreotype picture, in a case, of a boy of 20, in the blue uniform of the Civil War, standing with his rifle in his hand, the butt resting on the ground and the fixed bayonet extending above his head. Round-cheeked and pretty he was, with a softness about the eyes that indi- cated blue. “He was killed,” said Betty quietly. “He didn’t never come home.” Her eyes followed the picture, as it went from hand to hand, until she got it back. “Now show ’em your cross, Janey,” she said, and as Janey began to fumble among her things—“It's made out of a piece of the Moni- tor or the Merrimac, Janey can’t remember which. Her brother made it when he was in & hospital down South, and he made that pin, too, that she’s got on her neck, with her name on.it. He made it out of & bone, and the name’s cut into the bone, and the place is filled with red sealin' wax. - Pretty, ain't.it2” “The biscuits are done,” announced Mrs, Ma~ . son. “I'm going to pour the gravy over them in the turecn right now, and we’ll look at the rest of your blauiiful keepsakes after supper.” ND so, very presently, Betty and Janey found themselves occupying chairs at the table, with Bill at the head and the three chil- dren opposite, Buddy in his high chair at the end nearest his mother. “Sometimes we begin at the bottom, but this time we’re going to b2gin at the top,” Bill said. “Now, which of you two young ladies is the old- est?” Betty looked at Janey. “I be; I'm 87,” said Janey promptly, and it seemed almost proudly. “I was 42 my last birthday,” said Betty, sit- ting serené and Priscilla-like in the high-backed chair. Janey smiled her engaging, caved-in smile, and cast a knowing look around the table. “Janey gets in first on this, it's very evident, laughed Bill, “but Betty is a sure second, be- cause I'm only 40 and Dear Heart is some- where between 38 and 18. I never can remem- ber exactly where.” They all -laughed at this,.and Buddy said “Haw! haw! haw!” in a funny way, and then, scared at his own temerity, laid his round cheek on his mother’s arm and grinned across the table at Janey. ' ’ “He thinks he’s funny when he does that,” his mother explained. They had mashed potato and red jelly and very tender green peas fixed with cream and served in saucers, and red raspberry pie and coffee, and pink-and-white peppermints, and it was all on the table, so you could know just what was coming. “What part of the chicken do you prefer, Janey?” Bill wanted to know, as he began to serve. “Oh, any part that's agreeable to you,” Janey. stammered a-little over the big word and the honor of being served first. “I see—some dark and some light meat—all right?” “Yes,” smiled Janey. “And you, Betty?” “The same as Janey, please, only—if you see & bit of the liver—don't bother, but if it's right where you can find it.” “Sure, it’s right here—Dear Heart, this chicken had a liver, didn't 1t?” “It certainly did, a big one.” Dear Heart's big brown eyes scanned the heaped-up platter. “I see it!” cried Caroline, excitedly, pointing —*"“over there by the edge.” Bill pounced on the liver and transferred it to Betty’s plate. “I don’t know when I've had a taste of chicken iiver,” she said, gently apologetic. “Whose turn is it to get the wishbone?” Bill questioned, hastily. Ruth claimed it and Caroline got the heart. Dear Heart dished up the peas and passed the Jelly and pickles, and the dinner proceeded with delightful spirit. “Do you take cream and sugar in your cof- fee?” she asked her guests, and when they sald they did—*“Two lumps or three?” g “Only to think of it!"” Janey looked that into Betty’s eyes without speaking. “Didn’'t I tell you real cream?” Betty whis- pered in Janey's ear—“and butter in plenty.” They soon lost track of how many times the butter was passed to them, or they were urged to have another helping of something, or their coffee cups filled again. How sad that, no mat- ter how one tries, one can never eat but one meal ahead! “This is the best cooked chicken I ever tast- ed,” Betty averred, “and the biscuits, too.” Janey nodded, her mouth full. Having no teeth, she found it advisable to attend pretty strictly to the business in hand, in order to keep her plate down even with the rest. She did exceedingly well, considering her limitations. Even Betty, with plenty of teeth, had some difficulty when her plate was constantly being heaped with good things. “I don’t think I eat more'n other folks, but I eat slower,” she said. “We've got all the time in the world,” Bill assured them. “I ain’t half through.” “Nor I” sald his wife. “It's better to eat slow and long. I try to teach the children not to swallow their food whole.” “Mother is always very particular about that, too,” said Betty, a far-off look coming into her eyes. She had a listening look, too. THE little boxed-in stairway opened down into the small dining-room, and from where she sat she could see up its carpeted length by turning her head a little. She did this several times, and finally she leaned toward it and called: “Mother! Mother!” in an eager, enticing voice. A sudden hush fell on the little group around the table. Bill took a drink of water and choked, and his wife's eyes filled with tears, so that she dared not wink. To them it was un- utterably sad to see this aged creature calling up the stairway for her mother. But little Caroline, whose soul was still o flower-bed of imaginings, understood better. “She’s making believe her mother is up there,” she whispered. “I guess she thinks this is her mother’s house and she’s glad about it.” Janey did not permit herself to be diverted from the business of eating. She kept right on. In a moment or two Betty turned back with the remark: “I guess she’ll come down pretty soon. She knows it's supper time.” She glanced at Janey, hesitated a moment, and added: “When mother comes down Janey can move along and we can fix a place for her right next to me.” “Certainly. Of course we can,” Bill assented, and - Betty's old face beamed. “The boys ought to be here,” she went on, “but they have such a long ways to drive. - I haven't seen ’em in & good .while—Hiram and- . John and- Andrew and Joseph. I hepe theyll ELEANOR E. HARRIS “We'll feed ’em if they drive in,” declared Bill heartily, and took another drink of water. Again Betly seemed satisfled. “Is your white hens layin’ good now?” she asked. “Oh, yes; I brought in six eggs today,” Dear Heart told her. “Betty likes white hens,” Janey informed them. “They look pretty walking; ginerally they're ' good layers,” Betty explained her liking for white hens, While Ruth was crumbing the table and her mother was cutting the pie, Betty got up, say- ing: “Will you excuse me just a minute. I want to go upstairs and see if my little children are up there. They ought to come down to supper.” She trotted to the stairway and went nime bly up, Bill calling after her that she’d better finish her own supper first, hadn’t she? “I won't be gone a minute,” she called “Oh,. does she really think her children up there,” Dear Heart murmured, “and her mother? Does she think this is her house?” Janey smiled. “She’ll come back after shes called ’em. Betty dreams sometimes. I don't guess they're up there now, do you?” - Dear Heart got up hastily and followed to the stairway. There were three bedrooms above, opening on the hall, and Betty went to ' each door and looked in and called: “Betty— little Betty—Mamie—Charlie——" Three times, just the same. She called softly and listened after each call—a breathless, intent listening. “I wish they’d come, so we could play with ‘em,” Ruth whispered in Caroline’s ear. “They can’t really come. They're only 'magie nations,” Caroline explained, whispering in ree turn. “I wish 'maginations came true,” Ruth ree plied. . Janey was busy tying red-and-white candles in the corner of her handkerchief, and Dear Heart ran out to the kitchen and hid her face in the roller towel for as many as ten seconds, “The dear old thing doesn't see us hardly at all,” she thought. “She just sees her mother and her children. I wonder—oh, I wonden where those children are. Where are the chile dren of all the old grandmothers and grand- fathers that live at the Poor Farm?” “Dear Heart, will you bring in some more bis« cuits?” Bill called, Betly came back downstairs. They're h&*"’;‘ from me,” she explained with a little em 5 rassed laugh. “They won't answer, but they’ll soon get tired if I leave 'em alone, and they'll come down to their supper.” ; “Tum to suppa!” shouted Buddy, pounding on the table with his spoon, and they all laughed again, just as one does at a picture show when the scene changes suddenly from tragic to comic. 1 1 BY the time they were all through eating 1% was beginning to grow dark. “My husband usually drives over to take me home, when I've been anywheres,” Betty said; th an anxious glance out at the dimming road. “Mebby we'd better start along, Janey; and he can pick us up part way.” “Don’t be in a hurry; stay and visit a while,” Dear Heart urged, and they were persuaded. With the guileless pleasure of children they showed the rest of their little keepsakes. “All they've got left, but memories,” Dear Heart whispered to Bill, Betty had a tea-caddy that was doubtless very old, as her great-grandfather, who was a sea captain, had brought it from China, and Janey had a small picture of herself, treasured from her girlhood. Her smile was there, curv= ing mischievously, but it didn’t cave in on the upper lip, and the top of her head gave no evidence of baldness. “You was some flapper,” Bill complimented. “If I'd been around in them days, and Dear Heart hadn't—" ’ Janey blushed and smiled at Buddy, w found her fascinating, and was leaning against her knees, looking up at her in a solemn enjoy- ment that amounted almost to rapture. “Did God forget your teeth?” he questioned, and Janey giggled, showing her toothless gums the plainer. Presently Bill went out and brought his Lig- zie round to the front, while Dear Heart bute toned the slender Betty into her brocaded vele vet basque and the square Janey into her cute away coat, and gave each a package of cook= les and some lumps of sugar to tie up with her bundle, “The carriage is at the door,” Bill announced, and in a minute they were off, Dear Heart watehing the departure with a tear in her eyes and a smile on her lip, and the children shout~ ing cheerful good-bys, “I never rode in an easler carriage,” Betty sald as the Lizzie bumped cheerfully along over the fairly smooth road. “My husband always would keep good horses.” “They do go nice,” Janey agreed, “and the seat’s easy, too.” They drew up to the door of the Poor Farm at about 9 o'clock, and Bill gallantly helped them out and up the steps. Holding hands again, they sidled in, like two children who were not quite sure whether an escapade would be condoned or punished. But the matron smiled—“Well, you've made a day of it"—and their old faces brightened. = “Yes,” said Betty, with a happy sigh. “We' been home to moth 's and seen all the and l’md an awful good visit. She keeps ‘white “And we had chicken and biscuits,” Janey added, smiling her caved-in, moon-like smile ::le;- her shoulder, as the two trudged down the “We’ll have a good time tomorrow tellin® the rest about it, won't we, Janey?” Betty chuckled softly, when they had closed the door onflmulvel.lntlnm&hmtheyoec\lm together. % Janey pulled off her ca and nodded her bald head sleepily. - \ (Copyrighit, 1929.) -