CHAPTER IV. A SAD HOMECOMING
As Jane walked up the circling graveled path which led to thepicturesque, rambling, low-built brown house that she called home herheart was filled with conflicting emotions. She bit her trembling lipsand brushed away the tears that quivered on her eyelashes. She knew, oh,how well she knew, that they were prompted only by self-pity. Shestruggled to awaken the nobler self that her brother was so confidentstill slumbered in her soul, but she could not. She felt cold, hard,indignant every time she recalled that her father had sacrificed hischildren's comfort for a Quixotic ideal. "It is no use trying," sheassured herself, noticing vaguely that they were passing the rose garden,which was a riot of fragrant, colorful bloom. How tenderly her fathercared for that garden, for every bush in it had been planted by the lovedone who was gone.
The tall lad carrying her satchels walked silently at Jane's side. Hewell knew the conflict that was raging in the heart of the girl he hadalways loved, in spite of her ever-increasing selfishness, with atenderness akin to that which he had given his mother, but he said noword to try to help. This was a moment when Jane must stand alone.
They were ascending the wide front steps when the door of the house wasflung open and a little girl of ten leaped out with a glad cry. "Oh,Janey, my wonderful big sister Janey." Two arms were held out, and inanother moment, as the older girl well knew, she would be in one of thosecrushing embraces that the younger children called "bear hugs." Shefrowned slightly. "Don't, Julie!" she implored. "My suit has just beenpressed. Won't you ever grow up, and greet people in a more dignifiedway?"
The glad expression on the freckled face of the little girl, who couldnot be called really pretty, changed instantly. Her lips quivered and hereyes filled with tears. "Don't be a silly," Jane said rebukingly, as shestooped and kissed the child indifferently on the forehead.
A dear old lady, wearing a pretty lavender gingham and a white "afternoonapron," appeared in the doorway all a-flutter of happy excitement. Shehad not seen Jane for two years, and she took the girl's hands in her ownthat trembled.
"Dear, dear Jenny!" (How the graduate of fashionable Highacres had alwayshated the name her grandmother had given her.) "What a blessing 'tis thatyou have come home at last. It'll mean more to your father to have youhere than you can think." The old lady evidently did not notice thescornful curling of the girl's lips, or, if she did, she purposelypretended that she did not, and kept on with her speech. "You know,dearie, you're the perfect image of that other Jane my Daniel loved sodearly, and she was just your age, Jenny, when they met. It'll be likemeeting her all over again to have you coming home now, when he's in suchtrouble, you being so like her, and she was most tender and brave andunselfish."
Even the grandmother noticed that her well-meant speech was notacceptable, for the girl's impatience was ill concealed.
"Where is my father?" she said in a voice which gave Dan little hope thatthe nobler self in the girl had been awakened.
"He's working in the garden, dearie; out beyond the apple orchard," theold lady said tremulously. "He told me when you came to send you out. Hewants to be alone with you just at first. And your little brother,Gerald; I s'pose you're wondering where he is. Well, he's got a placedown in the village as errand boy for Peterson's grocery. They give himhis pay every night, and he fetches it right home to his Dad. Of coursemy Daniel puts the money in bank for Gerald's schooling, but the boydon't know that. He thinks he's helping, and bless him, nobody knows howmuch he is helping. There's ways to bring comfort that no money couldbuy."
Dan knew that Jane believed their gentle old grandmother was preaching ather. He was almost sorry. He feared that it was antagonizing Jane; norwas he wrong.
"Well, I think the back orchard was a strange place for father to have memeet him," she said, almost angrily, as she flung herself out of thehouse. Dan sighed. Then, stooping, he kissed the little old lady. "Don'tfeel badly, grandmother," he said, adding hopefully: "The real Jane mustwaken soon."
The proud, selfish girl, again rebellious, walked along the narrow paththat led under the great, old, gnarled apple trees which the children hadused for playhouses ever since they could climb. She felt like onestunned, or as though she were reading a tragic story and expected atevery moment to be awakened to the joyful realization that it was nottrue.
Her father saw her coming and dropped the hoe that he had been plyingbetween the long rows of beans. "How terribly he has changed," Janethought. He had indeed aged and there was on his sensitive face, whichwas more that of an idealist than a business man, the impress of sorrow,but also there was something else. Jane noticed it at once; an expressionof firm, unwavering determination. She knew that appealing to his lovefor his daughter would be useless, great as that love was. A quotationshe had learned in school flashed into her mind--"I could not love thee,dear, so much, loved I not honor more."
There was, indeed, infinite tenderness in the clear gray eyes that lookedat her, and then, without a word, he held out his arms, and suddenly Janefelt as she had when she was a little child, and things had gone wrong.
"Father! Father!" she sobbed, and then she clung to him, while he heldher in a yearning, strong embrace, saying, "It's hard, my daughter,terribly hard for all of us, but it was the thing that I had to do. Dan,I am sure, has told you all that happened. But it won't be for long,Janey. What I have done once, I can do again." He led her to a rusticbench under one of the trees, and removing her hat, he stroked her dark,glossy hair. "Jane, dear," he implored, when her sobs grew less, "try tobe brave, just for a time. Promise me!" Then, as the girl did not speak,the man went on, "We have tried so hard, all of us together, to make itpossible for you to finish at Highacres. Poor Dan made the biggestsacrifice. I feared that I would have to send for you to come home,perhaps only for this term, but Dan wrote, 'Father, use my college moneyfor Jane's tuition. I'll work my way through for the rest of this year.'And that is what he did. Notwithstanding the fact that he had to studyuntil long after midnight, he worked during the day, nor did he stop whenhe caught a severe cold. He did not let us know how ill he was, butstruggled on and finished the year with high honors, but, oh, mydaughter, you can see how worn he is. Dr. Sanders tells me that Dan mustgo to the Colorado mountains for the summer and I have been waiting,dear, to talk it over with you. You will want to go with Dan to take careof him, won't you, Jane?"
Almost before the girl knew that she was going to say it, she heard herself-pitying voice expostulating, "Oh, Dad, how cruel fate is! MarionStarr wanted me to go with her to Newport. They're going to one of thoseadorable cottage-hotels, she and her Aunt Belle, and we three girls whohave been Merry's best friends were to go with her. It would only cost meone hundred dollars a month. That isn't so very much, is it, Dad?"
Mr. Abbott sighed. "Jane," and there was infinite reproach in his tone,"am I to believe that you are willing that Dan should go alone to themountains to try to find there the health he lost in his endeavor to helpyou?"
Again the girl sobbed. "Oh, Dad, how selfish I am! How terribly selfish!I love Dan, but the thing I want to do is to go to Newport. Of course Iknow I can't go, but, oh, _how_ I do want to."
The girl feared that her father would rebuke her angrily for the frankrevelation of her lack of gratitude, but, instead, he rose, saying kindlyas he assisted her to arise, "Jane, dear, you _think_ that is what youwant to do but I don't believe it. Dan is to go West next Friday. My goodfriend Mr. Bethel, being president of a railroad, has sent me the passes.As you know, I still own a little cabin on Mystery Mountain which Ipurchased for almost nothing when I graduated from college and went Westto seek my fortune. There is _no_ mystery, and there was _no_ wealth, butI have paid the taxes until last year and those Dan shall pay, as I donot want to lose the place. It was to that cabin, as you have often heardus tell, that your mother and I went for our honeymoon. You need notdecide today, daughter. If you prefer to go with your friends, I willfind a way to send you."
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Meg of Mystery Mountain Page 4
