CHAPTER XI.
HOMEWARD BOUND
On that long, homeward journey it was well for Hero that he wore the RedCross on his collar. The little symbol was the open sesame to many aprivilege that ordinary dogs are not allowed on shipboard. Instead ofbeing confined to the hold, he was given the liberty of the ship, and whenhis story was known he received as much flattering attention as if he hadbeen some titled nobleman.
The captain shook the big white paw, gravely put into his hand at theLittle Colonel's bidding, and then stooped to stroke the dog's head. As helooked into the wistful, intelligent eyes his own grew tender.
"I have a son in the service," he said, "sent back from South Africa,covered with scars. I know what that Red Cross meant to him for a goodmany long weeks. Go where you like, old fellow! The ship is yours, so longas you make no trouble."
"Oh, thank you!" cried the Little Colonel, looking up at the big Britishcaptain with a beaming face. "I'd rathah be tied up myself than to haveHero kept down there in the hold. I'm suah he'll not bothah anybody."
Nor did he. No one from stoker to deck steward could make the slightestcomplaint against him, so dignified and well behaved was he. Lloyd wasproud of him and his devotion. Wherever she went he followed her, lying ather feet when she sat in her steamer-chair, walking close beside her whenshe and Betty promenaded the deck.
Everybody stopped to speak to him, and to question Lloyd and Betty abouthim, so that it was not many days before the little girls and the greatSt. Bernard had made friends of all the passengers who were able to be ondeck.
The hours are long at sea, and people gladly welcome anything thatprovides entertainment, so Lloyd and Betty were often called aside as theywalked, and invited to join some group, and tell to a knot of interestedlisteners all they knew of Hero and the Major, and the training of theFrench ambulance dogs.
In return Lloyd's stories nearly always called forth some anecdote fromher listeners about the Red Cross work in America, and to her greatsurprise she found five persons among them who had met Clara Barton insome great national calamity of fire, flood, or pestilence.
One was a portly man with a gruff voice, who had passed through theexperiences of the forest fires that swept through Michigan, over twentyyears ago. As he told his story, he made the scenes so real that thechildren forgot where they were. They could almost smell the thick,stifling smoke of the burning forest, hear the terrible crackling of theflames, feel the scorching heat in their faces, and see the frightenedcattle driven into the lakes and streams by the pursuing fire.
They listened with startled eyes as he described the wall of flame,hemming in the peaceful home where his little son played around thedoor-step. They held their breath while he told of their mad flight fromit, when, lashing his horses into a gallop, he looked back to see itlicking up everything in the world he held dear except the frightenedlittle family huddled at his feet. He had worked hard to build thecottage. It was furnished with family heirlooms brought West with themfrom the old homestead in Vermont. It was hard to see those great redtongues devouring it in a mouthful.
In the morning, although they had reached a place of safety, they were outin a charred, blackened wilderness, without a roof to shelter them, achair to sit on, or a crust to eat. "The hardest thing to bear," he said,"was to hear my little three-year-old Bertie begging for his breakfast,and to know that there was nothing within miles of us to satisfy hishunger, and that the next day it would be the same, and the next, and thenext.
"We were powerless to help ourselves. But while we sat there in utterdespair, a neighbour rode by and hailed us. He told us that Red Crosscommittees had started out from Milwaukee and Chicago at first tidings ofthe fire, with car-loads of supplies, and that if we could go to the placewhere they were distributing we could get whatever we needed.
"I wish you could have seen what they were handing out when we got there:tools and lumber to put up cabins, food and beds and clothes and coal-oil.They'd thought of everything and provided everything, and they went aboutthe distributing in a systematic, businesslike way that somehow put heartand cheer into us all.
"They didn't make us feel as if they were handing out alms to paupers, butas if they were helping some of their own family on to their feet again,and putting them in shape to help themselves. Even my little Bertie feltit. Young as he was, he never forgot that awful night when we fled fromthe fire, nor the hungry day that followed, nor the fact that the arm thatcarried him food, when he got it at last, wore a brassard marked likethat." He touched the Red Cross on Hero's collar.
"And when the chance came to show the same brotherly spirit to some oneelse in trouble and pass the help along, he was as ready as the rest of usto do his share.
"Three years afterward I read in the papers of the floods that had sweptthrough the Ohio and Mississippi valleys, and of the thousands that werehomeless. Bertie,--he was six then,--he listened to the account of thechildren walking the streets, crying because they hadn't a roof over themor anything to eat. He didn't say a word, but he climbed up to the manteland took down his little red savings-bank.
"We were pretty near on our feet again by that time, although we werestill living in a cabin. The crops had been good, and we had been able tosave a little. He poured out all the pennies and nickels in hisbank,--ninety-three cents they came to,--and then he got his only storetoy, a box of tin soldiers that had been sent to him Christmas, and putthat on the table beside the money. We didn't appear to notice what he wasdoing. Presently he brought the mittens his grandmother up in Vermont hadknit for him. Then he waited a bit, and seemed to be weighing something inhis mind. By and by he slipped away to the chest where his Sunday clotheswere kept and took them out, new suit, shoes, cap and all, and laid themon the table with the money and the tin soldiers.
"'There, daddy,' he said, 'tell the Red Cross people to send them to somelittle boy like me, that's been washed out of his home and hasn't anythingof toys left, or his clothes.'
"I tell you it made a lump come up in my throat to see that the littlefellow had taken his very best to pay his debt of gratitude. Nothing wastoo great for him to sacrifice. Even his tin soldiers went when heremembered what the Red Cross had done for him."
"My experience with the Red Cross was in the Mississippi floods of '82,"said a gentleman who had joined the party. "One winter day we wereattracted by screams out in the river, and found that they came from somepeople who were floating down on a house that had been washed away. Therethey were, that freezing weather, out in the middle of the river, theirclothes frozen on them, ill from fright and exposure. I went out in one ofthe boats that was sent to their rescue, and helped bring them to shore.I was so impressed by the tales of suffering they told that I went up theriver to investigate.
"At every town, and nearly every steamboat landing, I found men from therelief committees already at work, distributing supplies. They didn't stopwhen they had provided food and clothing. They furnished seed by thecar-load to the farmers, just as in the Galveston disaster, a few yearsago, they furnished thousands of strawberry plants to the people who werewholly dependent on their crops for their next year's food."
"Where did they get all those stores?" asked Lloyd. "And the seeds and thestrawberry plants?"
"Most of it was donated," answered the gentleman. "Many contributions comepouring in after such a disaster, just as little Bertie's did. But thesociety is busy all the time, collecting and storing away the things thatmay be needed at a moment's notice. People would contribute, of course,even if there were no society to take charge of their donations, butwithout its wise hands to distribute, much would be lost.
"A number of years ago a physician in Bedford, Indiana, gave a tract ofland to the American National Red Cross; more than a square mile, Ibelieve, a beautiful farm with buildings and fruit-trees, a place wherematerial can be accumulated and stored. By the terms of the treaty ofGeneva, forty nations are pledged to hold it sacred for ever against allinvading armies, to the use of the Red Cro
ss. It is the only spot on earthpledged to perpetual peace."
It was from a sad-faced lady in black, who had had two sons drowned in theJohnstown flood, that Lloyd and Betty heard the description of ClaraBarton's five months' labour there. A doctor's wife who had been in theMt. Vernon cyclone, and a newspaper man who had visited the South Carolinaislands after the tidal wave, and Charleston after the earthquake, piledup their accounts of those scenes of suffering, some of them even greaterthan the horrors of war, so that Lloyd could not sleep that night, forthinking of them.
"Betty," she whispered, across the stateroom, turning over in her berth."Betty, are you awake?"
"Yes. Do you want anything?"
"I can't sleep. That's all. Every time I shut my eyes I see all thoseawful things they told about: cities in ruins, and dead people lyingaround in piles, and the yellow fevah camps, and floods and fiah. It is adreadful world, Betty. No one knows what awful thing is goin' to happennext."
"Don't think about the dreadful part," urged Betty. "Think of the funnythings Mrs. Brown told, of the time the levee broke at Shawneetown. Thetable all set for supper, and the water pouring in until the table floatedup to the ceiling, and went bobbing around like a fish."
"That doesn't help any," said Lloyd, after a moment. "I see the watahcrawlin' highah and highah up the walls, above the piano and pictuahs,till I feel as if it is crawlin' aftah me, and will be all ovah the bed ina minute. Did you evah think how solemn it is, Betty Lewis, to be away outin the middle of the ocean, with nothing but a few planks between us anddrownin'? Seems to me the ship pitches around moah than usual, to-night,and the engine makes a mighty strange, creakin' noise."
"Do you remember the night I put you to sleep at the Cuckoo's Nest?" askedBetty. "The night after you fell down the barn stairs, playingbarley-bright? Shut your eyes and let me try it again."
It was no nursery legend or border ballad that Betty crooned this time,but some peaceful lines of the old Quaker poet, and the quiet comfort ofthem stole into Lloyd's throbbing brain and soothed her excited fancy.Long after Betty was asleep she went on repeating to herself the lastlines:
"I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air, I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care."
She did dream of fires and floods that night, but the horror of the sceneswas less, because a baby voice called cheerfully through them, "Here,daddy, give these to the poor little boys that are cold and homesick?" anda great St. Bernard, with a Red Cross on his back, ran around distributingmittens and tin soldiers.
"Now that we are half-way across the ocean," said Mrs. Sherman, nextmorning, "I may give you Allison Walton's letter. She enclosed it in oneher mother wrote, and asked me not to give it to you until we were inmid-ocean. I suppose her experience in coming over from Manila taught herthat letters are more appreciated then than at the beginning of thevoyage."
The Little Colonel unfolded it, exclaiming in surprise, "It is dated '_TheBeeches_.' I thought that they were in Lloydsboro Valley all summah, inthe cottage next to the churchyard. That one you used to like," she added,turning to Betty. "The one with the high green roof and deah littlediamond-shaped window-panes."
"So they are in the Valley," answered her mother. "But their new house isfinished now, and they have moved into that. As they have left all thebeautiful beech grove standing around it, they have decided to call theplace The Beeches, as ours is called Locust, on account of the trees infront of it."
Beckoning to Betty to come and listen, Lloyd sat down to read the letter,and Mrs. Sherman turned to an acquaintance next her. "It is GeneralWalton's family of whom we were speaking," she explained. "Since his deathin Manila they have been living in Louisville, until recently. We are sodelighted to think that they have now come to the Valley to live. It wasMrs. Walton's home in her girlhood, and her mother's place, Edgewood, isjust across the avenue from The Beeches. Lloyd and the little girls arethe best of friends, and we are all interested in Ranald, the only son. Hewas the youngest captain in the army, you know. He received hisappointment and was under fire before he was twelve years old."
"Oh, mothah," spoke up Lloyd, so eagerly that she did not notice that shehad interrupted the conversation. "Listen to this, please. You know Iwrote to Allison about Hero, and this lettah is neahly all about him. Shesaid her fathah knew Clara Barton, and that in Cuba and Manila the gamesand books that the Red Cross sent to the hospitals were appreciated by thesoldiahs almost as much as the delicacies. And she says her mothah thinksit would be fine for us all to start a fund for the Red Cross. They wantedto get up a play because they're always havin' tableaux and such things.
"They've been readin' 'Little Women' again, and Jo's Christmas play madethem want to do something like that. They can have all the shields andknights' costumes that the MacIntyre boys had when they gave Jonesy'sbenefit. They were going to have an entahtainment last week, but couldn'tagree. Allison wanted to play 'Cinda'ella,' because there are such prettycostumes in that, but Kitty wanted to make up one all about witches andspooks and robbah-dens, and call it 'The One-Eyed Ghost of Cocklin Tower.'
"She wanted to be the ghost. They've decided to wait till we get homebefo' they do anything."
"There's your opportunity, Betty," said Mrs. Sherman, turning to hergoddaughter with a smile. "Why can't you distinguish yourself by writing aplay that will make us all proud of you, and at the same time swell thefunds of the Red Cross?"
"Oh, do you really think I could, godmother? Are you in earnest?" criedBetty, her face shining with pleasure.
"Entirely so," answered Mrs. Sherman, running her hand caressingly overBetty's brown hair. "This little curly head is full of all sorts of talesof goblins and ogres and witches and fairy folk. String them together,dear, in some sort of shape, and I'll help with the costumes."
The suggestion was made playfully, but Betty looked dreamily out to sea,her face radiant. The longing to do something to please her godmother andmake her proud of her was the first impulse that thrilled her, but as shebegan to search her brain for a plot, the joy of the work itself made herforget everything else, even the passing of time. She was amazed whenLloyd called to her that they were going down to lunch. She had sat theentire morning wrapped in her steamer-rug, looking out across the waterwith far-seeing eyes. As the blue waves rose and fell, her thoughts hadrisen and swayed to their rhythmic motion, and begun to shape themselvesinto rhyme. Line after line was taking form, and she wished impatientlythat Lloyd had not called her. How could one be hungry when some inwardpower, past understanding, was making music in one's soul?
She followed Lloyd down to the table like one in a trance, but the spellwas broken for awhile by Lloyd's persistent chatter.
"You know there's all sort of things you could have," she suggested, "ifyou wanted to use them in the piece. Tarbaby and the Filipino pony, and wecould even borrow the beah from Fairchance if you wanted anything likeBeauty and the Beast. We had that once though, at Jonesy's benefit, somaybe you wouldn't want to use it again."
"There's to be a knight in it," answered Betty, "and he'll be mounted inone scene. So we may need one of the ponies." Then she turned to hergodmother. "Do you suppose there is a spinning-wheel anywhere in theneighbourhood that we could borrow?"
"Yes, I have one of my great-grandmother's stored away in the trunk-room.You may have that."
The Little Colonel shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "Oh, I can't waitto know what you're goin' to do with a spinnin'-wheel in the play. Tell menow, Betty."
But the little playwright only shook her head "I'm not sure myself yet.But I keep thinking of the humming of the wheel, and a sort ofspinning-song keeps running through my head. I thought, too, it wouldhelp to make a pretty scene."
"You're goin' to put Hero in it, aren't you?" was the Little Colonel'squestion.
"Oh, Lloyd! I can't," cried Betty, in dismay. "A dog couldn't have a partwith princes and witches and fairies."
"I don't see why not," persisted Lloyd. "I sha'
n't take half the interestif he isn't in it. I think you might put him in, Betty," she urged. "I'ddo as much for you, if it was something you had set your heart on._Please_, Betty!" she begged.
"But he won't fit anywhere!" said Betty, in a distressed tone. "I'd puthim in, gladly, if he'd only go, but, don't you see, Lloyd, he isn'tappropriate. It would spoil the whole thing to drag him in."
"I don't see why," said Lloyd, a trifle sharply. "Isn't it going to be aRed Cross entahtainment, and isn't Hero a Red Cross dog? I think it's_very_ appropriate for him to have a part, even one of the principalones."
"I can't think of a single thing for him to do--" began Betty.
"You can if you try hard enough," insisted Lloyd.
Betty sighed hopelessly, and turned to her lunch in silence. She wanted toplease the Little Colonel, but it seemed impossible to her to give Hero apart without spoiling the entertainment.
"Maybe some of the books in the ship's library might help you," said Mr.Sherman, who had been an amused listener. "I'll look over some of them foryou."
Later in the day he came up to Betty where she stood leaning against thedeck railing. He laid a book upon it, open at a picture of seven whiteswans, "Do you remember this?" he asked. "The seven brothers who werechanged to swans, and the good sister who wove a coat for each one out offlax she spun from the churchyard nettles? The magic coats gave them backtheir human forms. Maybe you can use the same idea, and have your princechanged into a dog for awhile."
"Oh, thank you!" she cried. "I'd forgotten that story. I am sure it willhelp."
He walked away, leaving her poring over the picture, but presently, as hepaced the deck, he felt her light touch on his arm, and turned to see herglowing little face looking up into his.
"I've got it!" she cried. "The picture made me think of the very thing. Ihad been fumbling with a tangled skein, trying to find a place to beginunwinding. Now you have given me the starting thread, and it all begins tosmooth out beautifully. I'm going for pencil and paper now, to write itall down before I forget."
That pencil and note-book were her constant companions the rest of thevoyage. Sometimes Lloyd, coming upon her suddenly, would hear herwhispering a list of rhymes such as more, core, pour, store, shore,before, or creature, teacher, feature, at which they would both laugh andBetty exclaim, hopelessly, "I can't find a word to fit that place." Atother times Lloyd passed her in respectful silence, for she knew by therapt look on Betty's face that the mysterious business of verse-making wasproceeding satisfactorily, and she dared not interrupt.
The day they sighted land, Lloyd exclaimed: "Oh, I can hardly wait to gethome! I've had a perfectly lovely summah, and I've enjoyed every mile ofthe journey, but the closah I get to Locust the moah it seems to me thatthe very nicest thing my wondah-ball can unroll (except givin' me Hero, ofco'se) is the goin' back home."
"Your wonder-ball," repeated Betty, who knew the birthday story. "Thatgives me an idea. The princess shall have a wonder-ball in the play."
Lloyd laughed. "I believe that's all you think about nowadays, Betty. Putup yoah scribblin' for awhile and come and watch them swing the trunks upout of the hold. We're almost home, Betty Lewis, almost home!"
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