The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 24, 1904, Page 8

‘ THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. BY ELIZA ORNE WHITE. by McClure, Phillips & Co.) val of the Monday even- all was the chief event of the week to the Miss Wyatts be- ght the New York etters. F the time that Mary Wyatt had becc Mrs. Amos For- th w st before her death, more than thirty years later, there had never been & break in the correspondence save when the sisters were together. At last there had come an anxious Mon- use it bro day evening when no letter reached them, and later a few hurried lines from Mary's so hn, with whom she had lived since his wife's death, telling of the illness of his mother; then a telegram sa &ll was over, and gap that can her letter and prise. bad news? 1. John is he family on to t e to m I am the ol tters of my own to 1 should think d have the sense to see not be convenient for us © grown people and two chil- a nurse and baby to spend the has,” and Miss Deborah read from the letter. me we are altogether now to inflict on you, s house Is not large she proposes our r Newhall's board- I told her my aunts ® deeply hurt if we didn't m. Of co e, iIf for any = not convenient, you will let 1 long to have you all s beginn to walk 3 yesterday she ving papa.” r perfect fool over that Miss Deborah observed. “Mary chil is 12 months old and ought to have eaid ‘papa’ weeks ago; Lucy sald papz’ and ‘mamma’ when she was nine months old, and John himself— and boys are not usually so forward es girls—began to talk when he was—" For heaven's sake, spare us those reminiscences,” said Miss Letitia. “What are going to write to John?” “Oh, 1 supese they will have to come; but what on earth can we do about Mr. Gray I don't see. Jack and Lilly will tease him outrageously, poor you creature, and he is used to such a placid life.” “I declare, Deborah, I believe you put the cat's comfort before that of your own family. I am used to a placid life, too,” Miss Letitia re- marked “You can protect vourself. baby were only a little younger I shouldn’'t mind so much, but as soon as a child is big enough to walk it is big enough to get into every kind of Dear. fascinating little g' 1 long to see her,.but I would ther her at the distance of Mrs. Newh boarding-house.” why don’t you have the cour- ir convictions and say so to If the or mischief. 1 see N irs age © Jot Letit cried reproachful- You wouldn't have the heart to m go to a boarding-house when four e rooms!” an manage the room well Miss Deborah. “We ¢ them the three south rooms ogether.” planning to have me room?” Miss Letitia 0 you are move ¢ of my hought could move and I would take the 1i would be much more com- them to have ‘connect- d an open fire.” d known her sister ty years, and her ent unselfishness of so great that she roposition of this you would never be happy in but her own,” said Lucy. knocked her head against s limitations too often not hem. “It's no matter if e conectihg rooms. The baby can be across the ze Sa a the ry sorry about poor, dear Mr. Gray,” said Miss Deborah, revert- ng to her pe “1 know that naughty sby will pull his tail and make him ey and as for Jack and de but, r fellow,” Miss Letitia like all men, he is selfish. It never occurs to him to look at things from any point of yiew but his own.” B DR They were coming, actually coming, at last. Miss Deborah had gone to the station to meet them, and Miss Letitia and Lucy were waiting in the parlor, which wes gay with a wealth of roses arranged in bowls and vases by Lucy’s skiliful fingers. It was not often that she was allowed to follow her own taste entirely, even in small things, but the others had been so busy with larger decisions that they had left the cutting and arranging of the flowers to her. “My dear, you have a real gentus for fixing flowers,” sald Miss Letitia. She always recognized perfection when she saw it, but her praise was given so rarely that her words brought a glow to Lucy’s heart. At last there was the sound of wheels on the gravel, then came a gay laugh and a shrill volce called out, “*Mr. Gray! What an awfully funny name for him. 1 thought he was a person when Aunt Lucy wrote about him first. Hi! Mr. you needn’t be so scared of me. Hullo, Aunt Lucy!” and Jack rushed into the roo: closely followed by his sister Lily. Next came John, carrying the baby with patriarchal pride: then sther, rosy and happy. with a light In her eyes th made the whole world “You little monkey," said her aunt. seem a brighter place, and finally the nurse. “How good it is to be here again!” said John after he had greeted his aunts. “Let me take Mary,” Lucy begged. Having a baby in the house for two long months was a most delightful prospect. Mary looked at her steadily for a mo- ment with blue eyes that had some- thing of the mystery and unfathomable quality of the sea. Then she put out her hands to go to her aunt Lucy. “Dear little girl,” sald Lucy, taking her on her lap and giving her a Kkiss. “Luey, you mustn’t kiss the baby; it isn't good for her,” Deborah said warn- ingly. “And you hold her as if you thought she was going to break.” “My baby isn't brittle,” Esther re- turned gayly Lucy looked at the mother’'s bright face. “There is such a thing as happi- ness in the world,” she thought. After the Forsyths had gone to their rooms to get ready for tea Miss Letitia &aid: * Jack has grown a great deal. He is much more of a boy than he was. 1 foresee we shall have trouble with him.” To which Miss Deborah replied, “Yes, 1 am sorry he is 8o rough. 1 don't know what we shall do with Mr. Gray.” “It is even worse than I expected,” confessed Miss Letitia. “Lily is less quiet, too. I don’t know how I am go- ing to stand the noise. I don’t know what Esther's nerves are made of. I am thankful I never married.” “I am glad I never did. I thank heaven every day of my life that I haven't a husband,” declared Miss Deb- orah. Lucy said nothing. Was Letitia, who had been the beauty and belle of Eppingham in her youth, really satis- fied with her unstimulating life of in- dolence of body, joined to gentle activ- ity of mind? Was this what it meant to have ceased to be young? Should she herself, in the years to come, learn to be contented with her life of trifles? Would there ever be a time when she would not lool with envious eyes at the women who, like Esther, had the fuller life, with its greater cares but higher happiness? Deborah seemed satisfied, too, but hers was the con- tent of the active woman who fills every hour with loving, if sometimes mistaken, service. They both seemed happy with what they had and to crave nothing more. Was it because they had chosen their own lives, while she had been refused the choice? How strange that this noisy inroad of life from the larger world, that filled her with such a keen sensation of joy, should be merely tolerated by them? o7 it Rey “Lucy, have you seen the cat?” Miss Deborah asked two evenings later. “No. ‘Didn’t _you bring him in?” “Of course I dld. I took him out for a little exercise, as usual, and then I chained him up in the yard. I do wish the Simondses would keep their chickens in the cellar, it would make life so much simpler for us,” she said, with the gleam of humor in her eyes that always accompanied an especlal- ly prepostérous remark. “Then I brought him in and put him in the kitchen, as I always do. And now 1 can’t find him. Children,” as Jack and Lily came rushing into the room, “have you seen Mr. Gray?” “I let him out,” said Jack. “You let him out! You naughty boy! He will stay out all night and probably be chewed up by a bigger cat. Oh, my dear, dear Mr. Gray! Jack, didn’t you know you were very naughty ?”” “He seemed to want to get out aw- fully, Aunt Deborah. He was mew- ing like fury. I didn’t know it was naughty, truly I didn’t. He is awfully brave; Aunt Deborah, I guess he'll do most of the chewing up.” “I suppose he’ll eat about a dozen of the Simondses’ chickens,” she sald grimly. “If you had only waited un- til I had given him his supper! But he is as hungry as a hawk. Well, the only thing we can do now is to go out and see if we can find him.” They made an imposing procession as they set forth, Miss Deborah a... Lucy in the rear, while Lily and Jack dashed madly forward. “What is the matter?” called Miss Letitia from the window, and when she was told she, too, descended into the arena. Bridget joined them with a saucer of milk in her hand, while John and Esther, who were just returning from a walk, increased the number of the search party. Alas! Nothing was to be seen of Mr. Gray in the Wyatts’ premises, so they procceded to their next-door neighbor’s house. Frances Simonds was sittin~ on the back piazza sewing, when they ap- proached. “Eow delightful this is!"” she ex- claimed, thinking they had come for an afternc-1 call. Bridget was in the background and Frances had not (a_llz:ht sight of her and the saucer of i ilk. “We are looking for Mr. Gray," Miss Deborah explained, By an accident’— this was generous of her—'he got out of the kitchen—" “I let him out,” said Jack, who liked the glory of the exploit. “He was mew- ing-awfully, and 1 thought he would be happier—" “Goodness!" said Frances, rising has- tily. “I hope he hasn't caught any of our chickens.” The chickens were safe, which seemed to prove that Mr. Gray's evening stroll had been taken in the opposite direc- tion, so the little company changed its c.urse. Most of the party returned discouraged to the. house, but Miss Deborah and the chil’ren faithfully hunted far and near, but although some. persons went so far as to say they had seen a gray cat, no one had any definite news to give and gray cats were plentiful in the neighbor- hood. “I declare,” said’ Miss Deborah that evening, “I feel as badly as if Mr. Gray were a person; worse, for people know when they are doing wrong. To think of that poor, dear creature, out all night. He has never been out a single night in his life, blez. his dear heart.” “It is beginning to rain. 1 had a pre- sentiment that there would be trouble if the Forsyths came on this summer,” said Miss Letitia ominously. Miss Letitia went to bed =z. . slept the sleep of the just, Lucy worried a great deal, and woke several times in the night, while Miss Debo:ah sat up until after 12 o'clock, hoping in vain for the prodigal's return. When she at last went to bed her sleep was bro- ken by ‘roubled dreams. At 5 o'clock in the morning she was wakened by heart-piercing mews. She rose hastily and joyfully let Mr. Gray in at the door that opened on the upper piazza. He looked humbled and ‘chastened. One. ear had received a wound, and his poor fur was draggled by the rain.. " “Dear boy,” she said, catching him up in her arms, “your old auntie has been ” breaking her heart over you. Life would be a dreary affair without my darling boy. You are worth a dozen baby Marys, do you hea Lucy can make a fool of herse!f c that child if she likes, but 1 am co: ant to my old'friends. Poor dear craature, to have his preclous ear torn. can never tell me about the fright and horror of this dreadful night. And I know you have been jealous of ths bal dear. What do I care about bubies?” Lucy had heard the nev She went qulckly downstairs and arrived in t 3 to hear the greatef.part of her sis speech. “If she wiil only keep on fe ing s she thought. *“Mr. Gray i perfect dear—for a cat—he is a great deal better than nothing, is worth a dozen Mr. Gra: To steal upstairs to' the nursery, to sit on the floor by the hour together with baby Mary, to hand her a spool of thread or a rattle, merely to have her drop it with laughing glee, in order that her devoted relative might pick it up—to repeat this performance over and over again, was the greatest hap- piness Lucy had known for years. “Lucy, vou must make a stand, or you will be imposed on,” Miss Deborah informed her a few days later. “Esther but the baby needed diversion. The sisters looked at each other for a moment in a silence too shocked for words. At last Miss Letitia sald, “Do you suppose she is going to leave that child crying like ‘that?” “It does not seem possi Miss Deborah. Presently Esther came gayly into the room. She had been playing tennis, and had come home just in time to give the baby her supper and put her to bed. Esther had on her bicycle skirt, and her pretty hair was curling in little rings around her face, while the exer- cise had given her a color even bright er than usual. - " sald “I'm awfully sorry to be late, Aunt Deborah,” she sald. “We were having & most exciting tennis match; John and I played against Frances and Ned Simends, and we beat them, although we did it by the skin of our teeth. I thought that was doing pretty well for a humdrum pair from New York City. 1 didn't have time to do my halr or change my dr I will after tea. Oh, do you mind?” she added, noticing the gathering cloud on the faces of her aunts. “1 am wondering how you ecan leave that poor child screaming upstairs,” Mies Deborah said. Esther laughed. “It is nothing but temper. She didn't want me to come down stairs; the doctor told me not to humor her,” she added, as she helped herself to tomato salad. “If I had stayed with her to-night she would howl llke that every evening when we leave her. Poor little soul, it seemed very hard’ hearted to come off, but she’ll get over it in a minute.” Lucy wondered how any mother could take those heart-breaking screams so calmly, Miss Deborah felt indignant, and Miss Letitla was driven y frantic by the nolse. “Dop’ ter go unstairs and stop her?” she asked. 1 have had a bad headache all day, and although I dare say the dis- of leaving her alone may be ¢ her, it is just a little hard on cipline good *Oh, vou poor dear,” id Esther, looking regretfully at her salad. “T iever thought of that. I'll go right up yself,” and she rose hastily. “Let me gc Lucy entreated. have finished my supper.” Lucy, vou haven't eaten enough to keep a bird alive,” said Miss Deborah repreachfully. “Let Esther manage her own bab: Lucy gently pushed Esther back into her seat. "1 would like to go to her,” she said. She, ran swiftly upstairs. Mary was already crying less violently. Her rage had given away to grief. If she had the Forsyth temper, she had also in- herited the Norris disposition to make the best of things. She was sitting up in her crib, and ker two dimpled hands were put helplessly up to her rosy face, L | is a dear child, but it isn’t in human-while the tears stood in her reproach- nature not to taks advantage of a bridge over a stream when you want to 80 across, even if the bridge®s made by the prostrate body of a devoted relative. Esther had much better stay at home and look after her own baby. There is no occasion for her seeing so much of her girl friends, and she and John have surely been married long enough not to need so many tete-a-tete drives.” . “But T love to take care of the baby, and Esther knows she is giving me the greatest possible happiness in letting me do it. Nora takes all the responsi- bility. I am delighted to give Esther a little rest. And as for the drives, just think how many times John and Esther have taken two of us with them. 1 am sure they are most considerate.” “‘Oh, 1 suppose they are as consider- ate as you can’expect two such heed- less young things to be. The modern parent is a profound mystery to me. In my day people took all the care of their babies, or else the bigger chil- dren looked after the iittle ones. ny a time T haye trundled you about in your baby carriage When I was longing to play ‘hi-spy’ with Letitia and the other girls.” # “It was a shame. I wish mother coulc “ave afforded a vurser:;” maid.” »That evening-as the Wyatts were sit- ting arcund their cheerful tea table they heard shrieks issuing from the baby’'s room, as Esther cam: out and shut the door. John was taking tea with his classmate, Ned Simonds, and it was Nora's evening out. Her evenings out, by tle wvay, were of frequent occur- rence, for she was a young thing and ful eyes. “You darling,” Lucy cried, catching her up and kissing her with passionate tenderness. *‘You little dear. Come to Aunt Lucy, come, dear, dear baby, and we'll ‘Ride a cock horse to Ban- bury Cress."” The baby, was much pleased with this invitation, and subsequent events proved that she was not too youns to learn the lesson of cause and effect. When she was in New York she cried in vain; nobody invaded her solitude, but here it required only a few screams’ to bring a kind, yellow-haired lady with a gently rustling gown, who took her out of her wretched crib and danced her on her knees, and this friendly Aunt Lucy would stay until she was fairly asleep and it was much more sociable. Then there was one never- to-be-forgotten evening, when the yei- low-haired aunt was very tired and the short, stout aunt came upstairs in her place. “Lucy.,” Miss Deborah had said, “you are getting perfectly worn out with the vagaries of that imp of a child. John and Esther ought not to have gone out to tea when Nora was out too. No, you shall not get off that sofa; I forbid it. T'll go up to Mary. I can make her be- have herself in two minutes.” Lucy looked at the clock and became more and more jealous as the time passed and her sister did not come down. Ten minutes went by, quarter of an hour, twenty minutes; it was a shame. Baby Mary would get to love Deborah best. People, as well as cats, always did sooner or tater; and no wonder, Lucy was obliged to own with There never was a spontaneous, whole- ter Deborah had a remorseful sigh. more unselfish, souled woman than her s Miss Deborah, meanwhile, proached the b asperation. Of course Lucy had spo the child. Lucy always did spoil body. If no one had gome up t that first evening no have gone. Esther had been ri knew the characteris of her'ehild better than they did, but the had been done, and now it wa Deborah Wyatt, to discipline th pieqe of humanity, as she had discip lined the babj grandmother and great aunt Lucy. “Well, Mary Forsyth,” st she entered the nurse pretty piece of bu: 2 quiet maiden ladies in a stew this every evening. Either you howl until your aunt Letitia is ready for the Ner- e ap- y with feelings of ex ed mischist for her, small vine,’ or else your poor aunt Laay, dear, delicate child, bas to spend her evening with you I am positively ashamed of you. You are a diagrace te the family. Do you hear?” Baby Mary heard. How much she understood it were difficult to say, but she stopped crying and fastened her blue eyes on the rosy face of her aunt with a fascinating gaze. The next moment she electrified her by saying, “Debba."” “Oh, the darling child,” ecried Miss Deborah. “She is trying to say my name, and she hasn't once tried to say “Lucy’ or ‘Letitia.’ The dear precious, amusing little monkey! Dear baby, you must go to sleep, but I don’t get Up to the nursery very oftem, so first I'll say ‘Robert Barmes, fellow fine,’ to you, once, only once, remember,” and she lifted her out of the crib. Miss Deborah sat down in the low chalr, and, turning up one tiny, pink foot, she patted it vigorously as she re- peated the childish classic. When it came to— Here & nail and thers a prod; Now, good sir, your horse is shod. she pinched the little foot with a will and tossed it vigorously in the air. Mary was delighted. She laughed up- roariously and put out the other little foot invitingly. “Well, just once more,” Deborah At the end of the second performance the baby put out her right foot again. “You little monkey,” said her aunt. “No more, positively no more.” Mary looked thoughtful, then she put out her left foot, and, In accents sald Miss that would have melted a heart of stone, she said “Debba.” When Miss Deborah at last went downstairs her face wore the 1- committal look of a person who does not wish to be questioned. “Have you seen the evening pape she asked Lucy. “Letitia had it a moment ago. has just gone upstairs to get her broldery. What kept you so long Lucy inquired after a moment's lence. “Was I long?” Miss Deborah de- manded with candid innocence. “Mary was a little restless. It took longer to quiet her than I expected.” It was in valn for Miss Deborah to try to keep her new relations with the baby a secret, for that young persom gave the situation away the very next morning. When she was brought downstairs and her aunt Lucy was go- ing to take her, as usual, she shook her head, and, looking past her to the sprightly aunt who was knitting the red stripe of an afghan, she sald, “Debba.” “Se you taught her to say your name last night?” Lucy asked, with that stab at the heart with which she was only too familiar. ‘I didn't. Honestly 1 didn’t. The witch suddenly sald ‘Debba’ out of the whole cloth. I couldn’t have been more startled if the gilt clock on the Browns’ stable were to begin to crow. The monkey looks so small and as If her mind were just a vacant sheet of She em- si= paper. Say ‘Lucy,” dear. That is & much prettier name. ‘Luecy, Lucy.'”™ Debba.™ “Debba.” Mary laughed. The Wyatt sense of humor had evidently been transmitted to her. “You are wretch. Aunt is a slave to you “Debba,” and foq “Oh, you want me to say, ‘Robert Barnes, fellow fine,” do you? I know a great many nicer things than that. If T am to be manager of a theater I will at least have a variety In the plays,” and taking the baby in her lap Miss Deborah began, “This little pig went to market, this little pig stayed home,” and so on down to the line of Mary’'s small fingers. . . - . . . an uc ungrateful little is the person whe she put out her “I am so glad we came on this s mer,” Esther cunfided to her h a fortnight later. “I was afraid the baby would be too much for your aunts. They were used to the other children, and knew what to expe the baby was ah unknown quan didn’'t think Aunt Deborah would be so devoted to her.” “That was only because you didn't know Aunt Deborah.” “Well, I know her now. T used to be afraid of her before I was married, but she is the dearest old thing in the world. 1 declare she grows younger every day. Before long she— “You see, I was right in vetoing your proposition to S0 to a boarding- house,” John broke in. “It seemed a pity that three ladies with such a wealth of affection should lavish it all on a cat.” Mr. Gray, who was lying on the hearth rug, looked as if he had his own views on this subject. “Poor old fellow,” said Esther, tak- ing the cat up in her arms, “don’t mind what John savs. He is nothing but a clumsy man. You are nicer than he is in ever so many ways. You never in- terrupt., and you always let me have the last word.” “And in this case the last word is that the baby—" John began. “Is even nicer than Mr. Gray,” she finished.