ANNA GRAETZ

[2] [3]

CHAPTER I

Myra's Dreadful Children

Miss Hetty Maise, having spent the night in fitful spells of slumber, at last awakened by the beams of sunlight, sat up in bed with a start, quite unrefreshed and possessed of an uncomfortable feeling that something unpleasant was about to happen. A venturesome sunbeam, casting its light upon a picture on the heavy walnut dresser, seemed to recall the cause of her sleepless night and present uneasy state of mind. Drawing her lips tightly together she frowned severely at the inquisitive intruder.

"Those children," she thought, "Myra's dreadful children! If the minister himself hadn't insisted that it was my plain duty to take them I shouldn't have done it. It seems almost a sin to take in two children who have been circus performers."

Miss Hetty was up by this time, for she hated to be idle. In fact the minister's son had once remarked that she was accustomed to stir her cake batter while she was reading her Bible; but then the minister's son was inclined to be irreverent at times.

But even he would have felt sorry for Miss Hetty this morning. To adopt two children when you know nothing whatever about their care was by no means a pleasant prospect. Besides, these children were the son and daughter of the outcast of the family, an only sister half-forgotten though only two months deceased.[6] The thing itself was pathetic, yet it seemed an imposition: above all to adopt two children who had traveled all their young lives with a circus was at least to Miss Hetty's mind almost scandalous.

Often during the morning she absently folded her hand and in unaccustomed idleness gazed, as if dazed, down the quiet village street as if expecting help from that source. Once, having aroused herself, she had gone to an old trunk, her deceased mother's, and drew out two faded pictures tied with an old ribbon and folded over a lock of yellow hair. The first picture, the face of a girl that smiled up at her so sweetly and trustingly, caused unbidden tears to well up in her eyes, just as it had always affected her mother. The second picture was regarded with more interest though with less affection. Here was the same loved face, but beside it the merry, dark face of the actor husband for whom she had left her home, and in her arms their first baby branded—as Miss Hetty thought—with the heathenish name of Periwinkle. A letter had accompanied this photograph, but it had never been answered. Several years later another letter had been received, telling of the death of her husband and of the illness of Periwinkle's two year old sister, Pearl.

Though Myra had died but two months before and if perhaps then her younger sister had felt any pang of pity for the orphaned children, it did not enter her thoughts this morning. She plumped up the pillows on the prim horsehair sofa, painfully recalling the pillow fight she had once seen between her cousin's children. Children were a nuisance, and these two[7]—Myra's dreadful boy and girl—were bound to be more than that.

Her sense of indignation reaching a higher pitch every minute, she spitefully slammed the front door and left the house just as the clock struck eleven. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk sharply in full sympathy with her state of mind as she walked down the street of the village. And then, as she might have expected, she met the one person whom she least of all desired to meet. An icy stare on her part, a stiff formal bow from the man passing—that was all, but she knew that in that brief interval he had had ample opportunity to observe that she was worried and cross and looked every day of her twenty-nine lonely years; and of course it could not but give him much satisfaction. This disturbing thought crowded out the remembrance of the unloved, unwelcome niece and nephew until a sharp curve in the road brought into view the smoke begrimed depot and, drawn up before it, the train which had just come to a puffing, throbbing standstill like a wild horse unwilling to pause in its mad race.

Several of Miss Hetty's acquaintances, gathered on the station platform, were not accorded the usual recognition, for her eyes were fixed intently on the childish pair alighting from the train. The one, a tall, slender lad of about thirteen, with curls of golden yellow hair clustering over a broad forehead, a mouth whose sensitive delicately modeled lips together with the shadowy depths of deep grey eyes indicated even in one so young the temperament of a dreamer, first engaged her attention. But little Pearl! Hair black as night when only one star is shining and eyes like[8] the double image of that star; a figure as tiny as the dream of a fairy: that was Pearl.

It was not her childish charm however that made Miss Hetty gasp. It was the enormous bow, half covering her head, and the butterfly comb that caught back her curls. The ribbon seemed larger than the silk frock buoyant with many skirts and quite abbreviated, while the little high-heeled shoes seemed designed for anything rather than wear.

For a time the children stood quite alone on the platform. Their first appearance had held Miss Hetty spellbound at her position near the door. She felt rather than heard a suppressed chuckle run through the small crowd. Then suddenly her gaze met a pair of compelling brown eyes, not cold and scrutinizing as they had been when their owner had passed her a short time before, but sympathetic and friendly. She blushed furiously and, quickly walking toward the forlorn pair, extended to each a cold hand of welcome.

"Come Periwinkle, come Pearl," she said, not ungently. "I am your Aunty Hetty and have come to take you home." And holding her head high and her eyes straight ahead, she lead the strange pair past the tall gentlemen on the platform.

"Do you know, Aunt Hetty, I thought it was you," said the boy eagerly as they left the station. "You look a little like our mother did. She told us lots about you, and so did the Fat Woman."

"The fat woman," exclaimed Miss Hetty somewhat in surprise. "Who is she?"

"She looked after us," replied Pearl in a voice so sweet that in spite of her aversion to her duty Miss Hetty's heart began to warm to her unwelcome[9] charges. "Even while mother was living she cared for us, and she told us all we know. She got me all my clothes. She was so jolly and nice, and so was Mr. Barleydon, and I didn't want to leave the circus, I didn't, but Periwinkle did."

"Why did Periwinkle want to leave," asked Miss Hetty, now becoming much interested, although she did purse up her lips when she spoke the obnoxious name. Periwinkle answered for himself: "I didn't like the trapezes, nor the everlasting traveling. I wanted to be in a home like mother told us about and go to school. And besides that, I didn't want Pearl to be like the spangled circus ladies, even if some of them were lovely and the Fat Woman perfectly grand; so was one of the clowns. You can't imagine, Aunt Hetty, what a noble, charitable fellow Jerry was. I disliked to leave them. But how I hated the snake-charmer; you can't imagine, Auntie."

Aunt Hetty shivered at the mere mention of a snake-charmer. She could easily sympathize with Periwinkle in his aversion for her.

"You use pretty big words for a boy, Periwinkle," was, however, all that she said.

"Yes, the Fat Woman said she couldn't account for them, but she taught us, and she is a very brilliant woman. Little Pearl can read splendid. You can't imagine, Aunt Hetty."

"You said that the Fat Woman told you about me," hinted Miss Hetty, forgetting that she didn't wish to know anything about these worldly people.

"O yes," replied Pearl, also desirous of furnishing her aunt with some more information concerning her friend, the Fat Woman. "She said as you would[10] be different from the ladies we were used to, but you'd be our relation and mean all for our good, and we was to put up with you as you'd put up with us, and to respect you and love you like we did her. But you won't mind just at first, will you, if we can't love you quite so much as her, 'cause the Fat Woman was very dear to me and Periwinkle."

A sudden something gushed up in the heart of Miss Maise, the something that makes the Fat Woman and the clown and all of us kin, but it died down as quickly, and she only said:

"I shall expect you to be good children and obey me, that is all."

"Not love you?" asked her young nephew in surprise.

The hard look faded again from Aunt Hetty's face as she yielding to such an irresistible entreaty, hesitatingly replied:

"Yes—yes, a little if you can."[11]

CHAPTER II

Pigs, Cabbages, and—Mr. Robert Grey

The day following the arrival of Pearl and Periwinkle at their Aunt Hetty's home was Sunday. But the children were not permitted to attend the church service since the time had been too short to procure suitable clothing for Pearl. Miss Maise, feeling that she would be setting a poor example in remaining at home herself, determined at least to attempt the instruction of the children in their Sunday-school lesson. Immediately then after the breakfast dishes were washed she called them into the living room.

Miss Hetty did not know just how to begin. The children sat quietly, regarding her with wide-open eyes, and under their questioning gaze she felt rather uneasy. A cloth-covered catechism was lying on the table and this she finally took up. Glancing at the first page opened she abruptly asked her niece:

"Are you a Christian?"

Pearl gazed at her inquiringly, but gave no answer. Miss Hetty was prepared for the worst now.

"Do you believe in God?" she continued.

"Yes," answered the child in a surprised tone.

"Who is He?" was the next question asked.

Pearl pointed a little forefinger upward. "Up there," she said in that awed tone in which little children speak of God, no matter how limited their knowledge concerning Him. And all of Miss Hetty's[12] questions convinced her that Pearl's religion was limited to the knowledge that God lives "up there."

Periwinkle admitted that he knew little more except that their mother had told them that God always sees them.

"And don't you know any Scripture passages, nor Bible stories, nor your Catechism? and don't you know that God punishes children who do not love His Word?" asked their aunt in much surprise.

"But we never heard him speak a word," cried Pearl in reply.

Miss Hetty gazed at the child in eloquent silence. Then she arose, unlocked the bookcase and selected two books.

"Learn the first two pages by the time I come back," she said. "I'll leave you for half an hour. I know no other way of helping you."

There was silence for five minutes after their aunt with an indignant swish of skirts had left the room. Pearl was the first to break the silence.

"Do you think this is much fun, Peri?" she inquired, looking up with a puzzled frown.

"No, I don't. I don't understand it. The Fat Woman never gave us a lesson unless she explained it first."

"Let's not study any more then. It's dreadfully hot in here and the air smells awful nice comin' through the window. Just like tulips and roses and several brands of perfume jumbled together. Say, Periwinkle, if you opened that window ever so little I could just fly right out to that yellow butterfly that's wiping his feet on Aunt Hetty's flowers."[13]

Pearl's wish was always law to her adoring brother. He set her free, and as soon as he saw her "flying away," he daringly raised the window still higher and jumped out quietly himself.

Hand in hand they skipped down the street as noiselessly as snowbirds in the snowdrift and as gracefully as two windblown leaves. Many people were walking along the street, all dressed in their best clothes and all going in one direction. Suddenly Periwinkle clutched his sister's hand.

"Look, Pearl," he exclaimed excitedly, "there's that tall man with the nice brown eyes, and the tan shoes who looked at Aunt Hetty so funny at the station yesterday. Should we speak to him?"

"It would be nice of us," Pearl replied, and always accustomed to act on the impulse, she called, "Howdy do, Mister! Why is everybody going this way this morning?"

The man, thus addressed, stopped and, looking down on them with one of those smiles of comradeship that won their hearts at once, replied:

"Why, hello! It's Sunday, you know, and we are all going to church. Don't you want to come along?"

"Oh, Aunt Hetty wouldn't—she don't like my clothes, you know."

"I think they're real pretty," replied their new-found friend, smiling a little because of their answer. "Silk aren't they?"

"Yes, trimmed with satin and snow-flake chiffon. I guess we'll go with you, Mister."

"Good!" There was a ring in his voice that the children could not understand. To walk to church hand in hand with the niece and nephew of Hetty[14] Maise would be a novel experience not unattended with some humor—that appealed to him: to win their love would be the victory he most desired.

"Won't you tell me your names, please," he whispered as they entered the church.

"Periwinkle and Pearl Toddles, relatives of Miss Hetty Maise," was the whispered reply.

Having introduced himself as Robert Grey, their new acquaintance led them down the broad aisle of the church. As soon as the organ began to sound its sonorous tones Pearl forgot her strange surroundings entirely and sat between her brother and Mr. Grey as if in a trance. Not until the sermon was well under way did she move, and then only to lean against Periwinkle and whisper, "Isn't this fun, Peri?" "Not fun exactly," he whispered in reply, "but awfully nice. Hush, Pearl, and if you get tired just practice on your multiplication table."

It was not until after the doxology had been sung and they had come out into the open air that the children spoke again.

"Wasn't it wonderful?" asked Periwinkle dreamily. "Do you know what I thought of, Mr. Grey, when the man was speaking? He said we should do good to all people. How I wish I'd have heard him say that before I hit that boy that sneaked around the tent at Higginsport. That man makes you feel like you want to be good, doesn't he?"

"Will you bring us again?" asked Pearl, with a wistful look on her anxious face. "I like music even better than riding around the ring."

"Your aunt, Miss Maise—will bring you next Sun[15]day," was the only promise that Mr. Grey could hold out for them.

"We wish you could go with us too. Thank you for taking us," they called as they left him.

The hands of the clock on the school-house were pointing to twelve when Pearl and Periwinkle crawled quietly into the parlor through the still open window. Their books were on the floor where they had dropped them, but before they could have picked them up, had they so desired, Miss Hetty came in. "Came in" is expressing it very mildly. Even Periwinkle with his extensive vocabulary could not think of an adequate word to describe the manner of her entrance.

"You have been disobedient. Don't tell me you haven't. You've been playing on the street. Don't tell me—"

The children, however, did not attempt to interrupt her or defend themselves until she had finished her scolding. Then her nephew let his thunderbolt fall.

"We've been to church with Mr. Robert Grey."

"To church—with—Mr. Grey!" gasped Miss Maise, sinking into the nearest chair and staring at the two young culprits as if she thought that the heat had affected their minds. "To church—with—Robert Grey!"

"Yes, Aunty Hetty. Mr. Robert Grey with the brown eyes. I should think if anybody was named Grey their eyes ought to be grey,—"

"Periwinkle Toddles! Did Mr. Grey have the nerve to come to my house and steal you away to be made a laughing stock of in church?"

The boy flushed but tried to be courteous in his answer.[16]

"I didn't see anybody laugh at us, Aunt Hetty. And Mr. Grey didn't steal us away. We got tired of sitting here and so we ran out in the street and he saw us and took us with him. Some children sang, and a man talked and we had a dandy time. I'm sorry that I disobeyed you, but I'm glad I went and I don't know whether I'm gladder or sorrier. So I don't much care what you do to me."

"You will be punished severely," replied their aunt, "for running away and going to church with that man."

"Why, what is wrong with him?" queried the niece, remembering Mr. Grey's wonderful smile and how nicely he had treated them.

Miss Hetty was silent for a moment. She was uncertain just which was the best way to answer this question. Finally she said, "Pearl, Periwinkle! There is something I must tell you; something that you must find out before you begin school the week after next. It may be hard for you to understand this but you must know it so that you will not make any mistakes again. You know there are only two families in this village, two families that have any influence, I mean. They are the Maises and the Greys and their relatives. They used to be good friends; in fact, such good friends that two of them promised to become even more to one another. Three years ago a quarrel began. My father had a very fine pig, a Poland China, very fat—I remember. One night it strayed into neighbor Grey's cabbage patch, and being a pig, did much damage. Mr. Grey came to father who promised to keep Glenny—the pig—at home. That same night it got out again and Mr. Grey who was rather hot tem[17]pered sicked his dog on it. The big fellow killed our finest pig. Father went to law about

it, but died before it came to court, and the lawsuit was dropped. But the quarrel kept on just the same. The Greys clung together and so did the Maises. Every one else in the village sided with one or the other. I thought I'd better tell you this before you started to school. The Maises and Greys pass each other without speaking now."

"Why, I think that's silly," said Peri energetically "and Mr. Grey don't look like a fellow to get sore over a pig."

"He did his best to avoid getting mixed up in the trouble," admitted Miss Maise, "but it was his father's dog that killed the pig, and he just couldn't help himself perhaps. Everyone got mixed up in it somehow, and I don't believe any power under the sun can make the Maises and the Greys friends again. But if you think I've forgotten how disobedient you've been, you are much mistaken!"

"It's a shame, Periwinkle, to tie a big boy like you to a chair, but I see I can't trust you." With these words she drew a ball of twine from her pocket and to his great shame began securing him. Then she fastened little Pearl in a like manner.

"I'll bring you bread and milk for your dinner," she said, "and perhaps you won't be so anxious to run away the next time."

"But just the same," said Pearl when her aunt had left, as if she at least had found much consolation in the thought, "we went to a good place."[18]

Her brother however did not reply; he was thinking of a Poland China pig in a cabbage patch and comparing its loss with that of Mr. Grey's priceless friendship.[19]

CHAPTER III

At the Shrine of Joe Smith

The occasion of the first meeting with the minister was a memorable one for Pearl and Periwinkle. "As good as Clown Jerry," was Pearl's rather startling statement, while Periwinkle assured Aunt Hetty that the preacher was even more brilliant than the Fat Woman.

It so happened that this meeting took place that very Sunday afternoon when the two children were doing penance for their morning's escapade. The minister had called for the special purpose of meeting Miss Hetty's new charges, very much to that good lady's dismay. She afterward declared it to be one of the tricks of fate that the minister should have called at that particular time, especially since her niece still wore that horrid blue dress of which she so much disapproved. But the minister did not seem to notice neither the dress nor the fastenings which confined the children. He seemed rather to be impressed by Pearl's wonderfully expressive face and the startling sweetness of her voice, while Periwinkle's precociousness and quaint, grown-up ways attracted him very much.