Sisters

by Grace May North

  CHAPTER III. FORLORN ETTA

  Dobbin never could be induced to go faster than a gentle trot and thispace was especially pleasing to his driver on a day when the world, allthe world that she knew, was at its loveliest. Having left the coasthighway, she turned up the Live-Oak Canon road and slowly began theascent toward the foothills.

  There was no one in sight for, indeed, one seldom met pedestrians alongthe winding lanes in the aristocratic suburb of Santa Barbara. Now andthen a handsome limousine would pass and Dobbin, drawing to the far sideof the road, would put up his ears and stare at the usurper. He seemed toconsider all vehicles not horse-drawn with something of disdain. Then,when it had passed, he again took the middle of the road, which he deemedhis rightful place.

  "Dobbin," the girl sang out to him, "what would you think, some day, ifyou saw me riding in one of those fine cars?" Then, as memory recalled acertain stormy day two years previous, Jenny continued, "I never toldyou, Dobbin, but I did ride in one once. It was a little low gray car andthe boy who drove it called it a 'speeder.'"

  Then, as Dobbin seemed to consider this conversation not worth listeningto, the girl fell to musing.

  "I wonder what became of that boy. Harold P-J, he called himself, and hesaid I mustn't forget the hyphen. He laughed when he said it. There musthave been something amusing about it. He was a nice boy with suchbrotherly gray eyes. He hasn't been back since, I am sure, for he toldgranddad he would come to the farm the very next time his motherpermitted him to visit Santa Barbara." Then Jenny recalled the one andonly time that she had seen Harold's mother. It was when she had beenten. She had been out in the garden gathering Shasta daisies to give toMiss Dearborn, her teacher. She had on a yellow dress that day, sherecalled; yellow had always been her favorite color and she had beenstanding knee deep among the flowers with her arms almost full when thegrand coach turned into the lane. Jenny had often heard Granny Sue tellabout the coach, on the door of which was emblazoned the Poindexter-Arms,and the small girl, filled with a natural curiosity, had glanced up asthe equipage was about to pass. But it had not passed, for the onlyoccupant, a haughty-mannered, handsomely-gowned woman had pulled on asilken cord which evidently communicated with the driver's seat, for,almost at once, the coach had stopped and the woman had beckoned to thechild.

  "Are you Jeanette Warner?" she had asked abruptly. The child, making acurtsy, as Miss Dearborn had said all well-mannered little girls should,had replied that her name was Jenny. Never would the girl forget theexpression on the handsome face as the eyebrows were lifted. The granddame's next remark, which was quite unintelligible to the child, had beenuttered in a cold voice as though the speaker were much vexed aboutsomething. "I am indeed sorry to find that you are so alike."

  The haughty woman had then jerked on the silken cord in a most imperiousmanner and the coach had moved toward the farmhouse.

  Jenny had never told anyone of this meeting, but her sensitive nature hadbeen deeply hurt by the cold, disdainful expression in the woman's eyes.She had sincerely hoped she never again would encounter the owner ofRocky Point, nor had she done so. Time, even, had erased from her memoryjust what Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said, since, at the time, the wordshad conveyed no real meaning to the child. All that was left in her heartwas a dread of the woman, and she had been glad, glad that she lived faraway to the north instead of next door.

  Suddenly the impulsive girl drew rein. "Dobbin," she exclaimed joyfully,"stand still a moment. I want you to look at that wonderful stone wallaround the Bixby estate. Isn't it the most beautiful thing that you eversaw with the pink and white cherokee roses, star-like, all over it?" Thenshe waved her hand toward an acacia tree beyond the wall that was goldenwith bloom, and called out to an invisible mocking bird that wasimitating one lilting song after another, "I don't wonder that you shouthosannas of praise. It's such a wonderful world to live in. Trot along,Dobbin! We must get the eggs to the seminary before five."

  The tree-shaded, lane-like road they were following had many a bend in itas it ascended higher and higher into the foothills, and, as they turnedat one of them, Jenny again addressed her four-footed companion.

  "Dobbin, do hurry! There's that poor forlorn Etta Somebody who parespotatoes at the seminary. I see her all crouched down over a pan ofvegetables every time I go into that kitchen to deliver eggs and honey,but not once has she looked up at me. I know she's terribly unhappy aboutsomething. I don't believe she even knows that she's living in awonderful world where everything is so beautiful that a person just hasto sing. Please do hurry, Dobbin. I may never get another chance to speakto her and I want to ask her if she wouldn't like to ride."

  Jenny slapped the reins on the back of the old dusty-white horse, and,although he at first cast a glance of indignation over his rightshoulder, he decided to humor his young mistress, and did increase hisspeed sufficiently to overtake the tall angular girl who shuffled as shewalked and drooped her shoulders as though the burden upon them was morethan she could bear. She wore an almost threadbare brown woolen dress,though the day was warm, and a queer little hat which suggested to Jennypictures she had seen of children in foreign lands. She had one day heardthe cook address the girl as Etta in a voice that had expressedimpatience, and so, pulling on the rein, Jenny called cheerily, "Etta,are you going up to the seminary? Won't you ride with me? I'm taking theeggs a day early."

  The girl, whose plain, colorless face was dully expressionless, climbedup on the seat at Jenny's side. "You look awfully fagged and dusty. Haveyou been walking far?" the young driver ventured.

  The strange girl's tone was complaining--"Far? Well, I should say I have.All the way to Santa Barbara railway station and back. Folks enoughpassed me goin' and comin', but you're the first that offered me a lift."

  "Eight miles is a long walk," the young driver put in, "on a day as warmas this" Etta's china blue eyes stared dully ahead. She made no responseand so Jenny again started Dobbin on the upward way.

  From time to time she glanced furtively at her companion, wondering whyshe was so evidently miserable.

  At last she said, "I suppose everyone was in a hurry. I mean the folkswho passed you."

  But her companion, with a bitter hatred in her voice, replied, "Don't youbelieve it. Most of 'em don't have nothin' to do that has to be done.Rich folks ridin' around in their swell cars, but do you s'pose they'dgive me a lift. Not them! They'd think as how I'd poison the air theybreathed if I sat too close. I hate 'em! I hate 'em all!"

  Hate was a new word to Jenny and she did not like it. "I suppose somerich folks are that way, but I don't believe they all are." Then shelaughed, her happy rippling laugh which always expressed real mirth."Hear me talking as though I knew them, when I don't. I never spoke tobut one rich person in all my life, and just a minute ago I was wishingthat I never would have to speak to her again." Jenny wondered why Ettahad walked to the railway station. As they turned the last bend beforetheir destination was to be reached, she impulsively put her free hand onthe arm of her companion and said, "Etta, would it help any if you toldme why you are so dreadfully unhappy? I don't suppose I could doanything, but sometimes just talking things over with someone who wishesshe could help, makes it easier."

  The china blue eyes of the rebellious girl at her side were slowly turnedtoward the speaker and in them was mingled amazement and doubt. Then sheremarked cynically, "There ain't nobody cares what's making memiserable." But when Jenny succeeded in convincing the forlorn girl thatshe, at least, really did care, the story of her unhappiness wasrevealed.