CHAPTER VIII. AN ADVENTURE FILLED DAY
It was late afternoon when Jenny returned from Miss Dearborn's home highin the foothills. As she drove up the long lane leading to the farmhouse,she saw three young ladies from Granger Place Seminary on horsebackcantering along the highway toward the mansion-like home of Mrs.Poindexter-Jones. She was too far away, however, to be sure that amongthem was the girl whom she believed to be the daughter of the rich womanwho owned the farm.
Going to the barn, Jenny unhitched Dobbin, patting him lovingly andchatting in a most intimate friendly manner as though she were sure thathe understood.
"We've had a red letter day, haven't we, Dob? First, early this morningwe drove that poor Etta Heldt to the station and loaned her money to helpher buy a ticket to Belgium." Then, in silent meditation, the girlthought: "How I wish I had a magic carpet like that of The Little LamePrince. I would love to be over on that quaint Belgian farm when the oldpeople first see their granddaughter arriving."
Then as she led the faithful horse out to the watering trough under ablossoming peach tree, another thought presented itself. "Dobbin." sheagain addressed her companion, "now that we have loaned part of the honeyand egg money, wouldn't it be dreadful if Mrs. Poindexter-Jones shoulddecide to sell this farm?" She sighed. "Though I suppose that hundreddollars wouldn't go very far toward buying it." For a contemplativemoment the girl gazed across the meadow where a pale green of early grainwas beginning to show, and then at the picturesque old adobe partlyhidden by the blossoming orchard. It was all the home she had ever knownand it was hard to even think of moving to another. "Don't climb over astile till you get to it," Grandpa Si had often told her. Rememberingthis, she turned her attention to her companion, who had lifted hisdripping head. "My, but you were thirsty, weren't you, Dob? Come on nowinto your nice cool stall. I'm eager to tell Grandma about that dreadfulexamination I am to take."
Later, as she walked along the path which led past the rows of beehiveswhere there was ever a cheerful humming, through the orchard and to theside porch, her thoughts were varied. "How I wish I could tell GrandmaSue about Miss Dearborn's romance, but _that_ was meant just for me.Maybe it's wrong, but I can't help wishing that something will happen_some day_ which will make it possible for that romance to end happily,as stories always should, whether they are real or in books."
At the corner of the porch she stopped to breathe in the fragrance of theheliotrope blossoms that grew on a riotous bush which seemed to betrying, vine-fashion, to reach the roof.
"Home again, after a day crowded full of unusual happenings," herthoughts hummed along. "I don't suppose that anything more _can_ happenin it."
But Jenny Warner was mistaken, for something of vital importance to her(though she little guessed it) was yet to happen on that day.
Skipping into the kitchen, the girl beheld her grandmother busy at theironing board. Self rebukingly she cried: "Oh, Grandma Sue, why did youiron today? You promised me faithfully, since I had to go over to theseminary, and then to my teacher's, that you wouldn't iron until nextweek, when I could help. Now you look all hot and tired, and as thirstyas Dobbin was. Please stop and rest while I make us some lemonade."
The flushed face of the old woman was smiling contentedly as sheprotested: "I like to iron, dearie. I'm not doing much, just pressin' outour church-goin' things. Grandpa Si needed a fresh shirt and I reckonedas how, mabbe, you'd like to wear that white muslin o' yourn with thepink flowers on the bands, so I fetched it out an' washed it an' ironedit, an' there 'tis, lookin' as purty again this year as it did when itwas furst made. Shouldn't you think so. Jenny?" This a littleanxiously--"or do you reckon we'd better buy you a new Sunday dress forthis comin' summer?"
Jenny whirled toward the clothes-horse where hung the pink spriggedmuslin which had been "church goin'" dress for the past three summers.The hem had twice been let down, but, except that the pink had somewhatfaded, it was as pretty as it ever had been. "Oh, it's a love of adress." The girl was sincere. "I hope I never will have to give it up.I've been so happy in it, and then it matches that sweet parasol MissDearborn gave me and the wreath on my white leghorn hat. I'm glad I maybegin wearing it tomorrow, Grandma Sue, and it was mighty nice of you toiron it for me, but now, as soon as we've had our drink, I'm going toiron your Sunday go-to-meeting lavender dress. Please say that I may.I'll do the ruffles just beautifully. You will be so vain!"
"Tut! Tut! dearie." Susan Warner sank down in Grandpa's armed chair towipe her warm face and rest while her beloved Jenny made lemonade. "Itwouldn't do to wear that dress to meetin' if it's goin' to make me vain."
How the girl laughed as she squeezed the juicy lemons that grew on thebig tree close to the back porch. Nearly all the year round that tree wasladen with blossoms, green and ripe fruit at the same time. "The mostobliging kind of tree," Jenny had often said. "It provides a perfume,delicious lemon pies and a refreshing drink whenever its owners wish."
"There now, Granny Sue, if only we had ice to clink in it as MissDearborn has we'd think that we were rich folks, but it's real nice as itis." The girl drank her share with a relish.
"That was mighty good tastin'," Susan Warner commented. "I wish yourGrandpa could have a drink of it. He's cultivatin' close to the highhedge. That's a hot place when the sun is beatin' down the way it hasbeen all day. Couldn't you carry a little pailful over to him, dearie?"
"Of course I can and will, Mrs. Susan Warner, if you will promise me onething." The girl gazed down into the smiling face of the old woman. "Ihave my suspicions that you're trying to get rid of me so that you mayiron the lavender dress. Is that the truth?"
"Maybe 'tis," was the smilingly given confession, "but if you'll let meiron that one while you're gone, you can do Grandpa's best shirt when youcome back."
Filling a quart pail with the lemonade, Jenny snatched her garden hatfrom its nail by the door and skipped away, although she had to walk morecarefully when the ploughed ground was reached. "It makes me think ofRobert Burns, and how, in far-away Scotland, his plough turned over thehome nest of a poor little old field mouse," she thought. "Oh, how glad,glad I am that Miss Dearborn is teaching me to love poetry. I can justsee that tender-hearted young poet leaning over, ever so sorry because hehad destroyed the little creature's home and telling it not to befrightened.
"'Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou needna start awa' sae hasty Wi' bick'ring brattle. I wad be laith to rin and chase thee Wi' murd'ring prattle.'"
"Jenny gal, what air yo' sayin', talkin' to yourself that a-way?" Thegirl suddenly looked up, realizing that she had neared the high hedgethat separated the farm from the mansion-like home and its grounds.Laughing happily, she replied: "What you'd call up to my old tricks,Granddad, reciting poetry that Miss Dearborn has had me learn. See, hereis a pail brimming full of cool lemonade, if it hasn't warmed while Icrossed the field. I'm sure you must be as thirsty as Grandma and Dobbinand I were." For answer the old man pushed his wide brimmed straw hat tothe back of his head, lifted the pail to his lips and drank it allwithout stopping. Then said gratefully: "I reckon I kin keep on now fer aspell longer. I was most petered out an' I do want to finish this fieldafore I quit."
The girl left at once, as she wished to hurry home to help with theironing. She followed the hedge, as the walking was easier, but suddenlyshe paused and her hand went to her heart. She had heard the voices ofgirls talking on the other side of the evergreens and what one of themwas saying greatly startled the listener.
"Oh, yes, indeed," a proud voice was saying, "we own about one hundredacres, Ma Mere, brother Harold and I. Our property extends along theseacoast to the highwater mark, then back across the highway up intoLaurel Canon, and includes the farm just beyond the hedge."
Another voice commented, "If your mother should die, you and your brotherwould be very rich."
"Oh, yes, fairly," this with a fine show of indifference. "But if I hadmy
way, all of our country property would be turned into money, then wecould live abroad ever after. Mother promised that when she comes in Julyshe will consider selling the farm and the canon property at least. Shewould have sold the farm two years ago had it not been for my brotherHarold. For some reason, which Ma Mere and I cannot in the leastunderstand, he pleaded to have the farm kept. He even offered to take itas part of his share, that and the canon acreage, and let me have thehome and estate."
"What did your mother say to that?" a third voice inquired.
"Too utterly ridiculous to consider, and that, since she wishes to turnsomething into cash, if we are to live abroad, she will sell one or theother, and, of course, there will be a more ready market for the farm.It's a most picturesque old place. That is, from a distance. I have neverreally been there. You see, we have practically lived away from ourcountry home ever since I was born. I have always supposed that, becauseof our father's long lingering illness here, Ma Mere has dreadedreturning to stay, so imagine my surprise when she wrote that we were allthree to spend this summer at the old place."
Jenny, who had stood transfixed, listening, though against her will, forshe scorned eavesdropping, started to run across the ploughed field,stumbling and almost falling in her haste. Oh, what should she do? Shouldshe tell Grandma and Grandpa the terrible possibility that, after all,Rocky Point Farm might be sold, and that very summer? No! No! Shecouldn't do that. Oh, if only she had not loaned Etta Heldt part of thehoney and egg money, and yet, with a crushing sense of depression, Jennyrealized that it did not in the least matter about that paltry sum. IfMrs. Poindexter-Jones wished to sell part of her land, all that hergrandfather had saved or could procure would be no inducement to her.
When the orchard was reached, she stood very still for a moment, her handagain on her heart, as though to quiet its anxious beating that wasalmost a pain. "Jenny Warner," she said to herself, "you _must_ not letGrandma suspect that anything is wrong because, perhaps, nothing reallyis. If Harold does not want the farm sold, his mother may heed hiswishes."
Two moments later a smiling girl entered the kitchen, hung her hat on itsnail by the door as she said, "Well, Granny Sue, I was longer than Iexpected to be and you have started on the shirt. Let me have the iron.I'll promise not to scorch it, the way I did that towel you let me ironwhen I was just head above the ironing board. Do you remember it? Youwere so sweet about it when I cried. I recall, even now, how youcomforted me by saying that the two ends of the towel would make suchnice wash cloths, hemmed up, and that it was lucky the scorch was in themiddle of the towel because that would make the wash cloths just theright size." The old woman had relinquished the iron, and, sitting nearin Grandpa's armed chair, she smiled lovingly at the girl, who continued:"That's just the way you've overlooked all the mistakes I ever made. I dowish that every girl in all the world had a grandmother like you." Jennywas purposely chattering to keep from telling what was uppermost in hermind.
"What a proud, vain girl that Gwynette Poindexter-Jones must be!" Jenny'sthoughts were very different from her spoken words. "How cold andsuperior the tone of her voice when she informed her friends that she hadnever visited the farm, but that it looked very picturesque from adistance." Jenny's cheeks flushed as she indignantly told herself thatshe certainly hoped that the farm never would be visited by----. Herthought was interrupted by her exclamation of dismay. "Grandmother Sue._Here_ they come!"
The old woman rose hastily from the armed wooden chair. "Who, dearie? Whois it you see?" No wonder she asked, for the girl with the iron safelyupheld, that it might not scorch the shirt front, was staring with astartled expression out of the window toward the long lane.
Susan Warner had not seen the missionary's older daughter in many years,and so she did not recognize her as being the young lady in the leadmounted on a nervous, high-stepping black horse. Following were two othergirls in fashionable riding habits on small brown horses. But the oldwoman did not need to be told who the visitor was, for at once she knew.There was indeed a resemblance to her own Jenny in the face and the verybuild of the girl in the lead. However, a stranger who did not know therelationship would think little of it because of the difference in theexpressions. One face indicated a selfish, proud, haughty nature, theother was far more sensitive, joyous and loving. Jenny was again ironingwhen the old woman turned from the window to ask, "Do yo' know who theybe?"
"Why, yes, Granny; the one ahead is Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and thetwo others are her best friends, the ones who came to Granger Place withher from San Francisco. You know I saw them all close up this noon when Iwaited on table over at the seminary."
Susan Warner had stepped out on the side porch when the young lady in thelead drew rein. She wanted to close the door, shutting Jenny in, butsince the door stood open from dawn until sunset each day, she knew thatsuch an act would arouse suspicion. But _how_ she did wish she couldprevent Jenny's meeting her very own sister and being treated as aninferior.
The girl at the ironing board listened intently, strainingly, that shemight hear if the selling of the farm was mentioned.
Gwynette was saying, "My mother told me to ride over to our farm some dayand ask you to see that the big house is put in readiness for occupancyby the first of July. Ma Mere said that you could hire day labor to havethe cleaning done, but that she prefers to engage our permanent servantsafter she arrives."
How unlike her dear grandmother's voice was the one that was coldlyreplying: "I reckon your ma'll write any orders she has for me. Sheallays does."
If Gwynette recognized a rebelliousness in the remark and manner of thefarmer's wife, she put it down to ill-breeding and ignorance, and so saidin her grandest air, "Kindly bring us each a drink of milk." Then,turning to her friends, she added, "All of the produce of the farm is forour use, but since we are seldom here, it is, of course, sold in thevillage. I suppose Ma Mere receives the profits."
"Aren't you being unnecessarily rude?" Beulah Hollingsworth inquired.Gwynette shrugged. "Oh, nobody heard," she said in a tone which impliedthat she would not have cared if they had. But she was mistaken, forJenny had heard and her cheeks flamed with unaccustomed anger.
"Are the bees yours also?" Patricia Sullivan inquired, glancing back atthe orchard where a constant humming told that swarms of tiny wingedcreatures were gathering sweets.
"Why, of course," was the languidly given reply. "We'll take some of thehoney back with us. These people have to do as I say. They are just ourservants." To the amazement of the three, a flashing-eyed girl darted outon the porch as she cried, "You shall _not_ call my grandmother and mygrandfather your servants. And those bees _do not_ belong to you. Ibought them, and the white hens, with my _very own_ Christmas andbirthday money."
Susan Warner, coming from the cooling cellar with three goblets of milk,was amazed, for very seldom had she seen a flash of temper in the sweetbrown eyes of her girl.
"Never mind, dearie, whatever 'twas they said," she murmured in a lowvoice. "Go back to your ironin', Jenny; do, to please your ol' granny."
Obediently the girl returned to the kitchen, but she felt sure, from thefleeting glance she gave the companions of Gwynette, that _they_ were notin sympathy with her rudeness.
After drinking the milk, the three rode away, and from the indignanttones of one of them the listeners knew that the proud daughter of Mrs.Poindexter-Jones had been angered by the attitude of her mother'sservants.
Jenny's heart was indeed heavy as she contemplated the dreary possibilitythat her angry words might hasten the day when her loved ones would losetheir home.
Sadly she finished her task and put away the ironing board. Then sherecalled that an hour before she had assured herself that nothing else ofan unusual nature was apt to happen in that day already crowded withevents, but she had been mistaken. She had met Harold's sister and hadquarreled with her. Then, and for the first time, she realized that shehad half hoped that the daughter of their next door neighbor and shemight become friends. Jenny had never had
a close girl friend, and likeall other girls she had yearned for one.
"Dearie," her grandmother was making an evident effort at cheeriness, "ifyou'll be settin' the table, I'll start the pertatoes to fryin'. Herecomes your grandpa. He looks all petered out, and he'll want his supperearly."
Jenny smiled her brightest as she began the task of consoling herselfwith the thought that Harold Poindexter-Jones was their true friend, andhow she did wish that she might see _him_ and ask him if the farm was tobe sold.
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