Meg of Mystery Mountain

by Grace May North

  CHAPTER V. JANE'S SMALL BROTHER

  There were many conflicting emotions in the heart of the tall, beautifulgirl as she walked slowly back to the house, her father at her side withone arm lovingly about her.

  "Jane," he said tenderly, "I wish there were words in our Englishlanguage that could adequately express the joy it is to me because youare so like your mother, and, strangely perhaps, Dan is as much like meas I was at his age as you are like that other Jane. She was tall andwillowy, with the same bright, uplifting of her dark eyes when she waspleased."

  Then the man sighed, and he said almost pleadingly, "You do realize, doyou not, daughter, that I would do anything that was right to give youpleasure?"

  Vaguely the girl replied, "Why, I suppose so, Dad. I don't quiteunderstand ideals and ethics. I've never given much thought to them."Jane could say no more, for, vaulting over the low fence beyond theorchard, a vigorous boy of twelve appeared, and, if ten-year-old Juliehad made a terrifying onrush, this boy's attack resembled that of alittle wild Indian. "Whoopla!" he fairly shouted, "If here isn't oldJane! Bully, but that's great! Did you bring me anything?"

  There was no fending off the boy's well meant embraces, and Jane emergedfrom them with decidedly ruffled feelings.

  "I certainly don't like to have you call me old Jane," she scolded. "Ithink it is very lacking in respect. Father, I wish you would tell Geraldto call me Sister Jane."

  Mr. Abbott reprimanded the crestfallen lad, then he told the girl thatthe boy had not meant to be disrespectful. "You know, Jane, that childrenuse certain phrases until they are worn ragged, and just now 'old' isapplied to everything of which Gerald is especially fond. It is with hima term of endearment." Then, with a smile of loving encouragement for theboy, their father added: "Why, that youngster even calls me 'old Dad' andI confess I rather like it."

  The boy did not again address his sister, but going to the other side ofhis father, he clung affectionately to his arm and hopped along on onefoot and then on the other as though he had quite forgotten the rebuff,but he had not. They entered a side door and Jane went upstairs to herown pleasant room with its wide bow windows that opened out over the topsof the apple trees and toward the sloping green hills for which NewJersey is famous. Grandmother was in the kitchen preparing a supper suchas Jane had liked two years before when she had visited the Vermont farm,and Julie was setting the table, when Gerald appeared. Straddling a chairhe blurted out, "Say, isn't Jane a spoil-joy? I'm awful sorry herschool's let out, and 'tisn't only for vacation that she'll be home. Dansays it's forever 'n ever 'n ever. She'll be trying to tell us where tohead in. We'll have about as much fun as--as--(the boy was trying hard tothink of a suitable simile)--as--a----" Then as he was still floundering,Julie, holding a handful of silver knives and forks, whirled and saidbrightly, "as a rat in a dog kennel. You know last week how awful unhappythat rat was that puppy had in his kennel, till you held his collar andlet the poor thing get away." Then as the small girl continued on her wayaround the long table placing the silver by each plate, she saidhopefully, "Don't let's mope about it yet. Jane always goes a-visitin'her school friends every summer and like's not she will this."

  "Humph! She must be heaps nicer other places than she is here, or folkswouldn't want her." Their mutual commiserating came to an abrupt end, forGrandma appeared from the kitchen with a covered dish, out of which adelicious aroma was escaping. Then in from the other door came Dad, onearm about Jane and the other about Dan. Grandma glanced anxiously at herbig son. His expression was hard to read, but he seemed happier. How shehoped Jane had proved herself a worthy daughter of her mother.

  It is well, perhaps, that we cannot read the thoughts of those nearestus, for all that evening Jane was wondering how she could make over herlast summer's wardrobe that it might appear new even in a fashionablecottage-hotel.

  On Thursday, directly after breakfast, Jane went up to her room withouthaving offered to help with the morning work. She had never even made herown bed in all the eighteen years of her life and the thought did notsuggest itself to her that she might be useful. Or, if it did, sheassured herself that Julie was far more willing and much more capable asa helper for their grandmother than she, Jane, could possibly be. Thetruth was that bright-eyed, eager, light-footed little Julie was far morewelcome than the older girl, bored, sulky, and selfish, would have been.

  Dan left early for the city, where he wished to purchase a few things hewould need while "roughing it" in the Colorado mountains. Gerald wentwith him as far as the cross-roads, then the older boy tramped on to thedepot while the younger one, whistling gaily and even turning ahandspring now and then, proceeded to his place of business, and was soonnearly hidden in an apron much too big for him, while he swept out thestore.

  Mr. Abbott had watched his older daughter closely during that morningmeal. He had said little to her, but had conversed cheerily with Dan,telling him just what khaki garments he would need, and, at Gerald'surging, he had retold exciting adventures that he had had in that old logcabin in the long ago days, when he had first purchased it. How the boywished that he, also, could go to that wonderful Mystery Mountain, butnot for one moment would he let Dad know of this yearning. He was neededat home to earn what he could by working at the Peterson grocery. His bigbrother was not well, so he, Gerald, must take his place as father'shelper. He was a little boy, only twelve, and it took courage to whistleand turn handsprings when he would far rather have crept away into somehidden fence corner and sobbed out his longing for travel and adventure.

  All that sunny July morning Mr. Abbott worked in his garden back of theapple orchard.

  Often as he hoed between the long rows of thrifty vegetables, thesorrowing man glanced up at the windows of the room in which he knew hisbeloved daughter sat. How he wished she would come out and talk with him,even if it were to tell him that she had decided that she wanted to gowith her friends to Newport. He had promised to find a way to obtain the$300 she would need, if she wished to go for three months.

  He sighed deeply, and, being hidden from the house by a gnarled old appletree, he stopped his work and took from his pocket an often read letterfrom an old friend who had offered to loan him any sum, large or small,at any time that it might be needed. "If Jane wants to go, I'll wire forthe money," he decided. Never before had a morning dragged so slowly forthe man who was used to the whirl, confusion and excitement of WallStreet.

  And yet, though he hardly realized it, the warm, gentle breeze rustlingamong the leaves of the trees, the smell of the freshly turned earth inwhich he was working, the cheerful singing of the birds far andnear--brought into his soul a sense of peace. At the end of one row hestood up, very straight as he had stood before it had all happened, andlooking up into the radiant blue sky, he seemed to know, deep in theheart of him, that all would be well. It was with a brisker step than hehad walked in many a day that he returned to the house, when little Julieappeared at the back door to ring the luncheon bell.

  "Surely Jane has decided by now," he told himself. "And equally surelyshe will want to go West with the brother who has sacrificed himself, hisease and his health that she might finish her course at Highacres." Soconfident was he of his daughter's real nobility of nature that he foundhimself planning what he would suggest that she take with her. She wouldask him about that at lunch. There was not much time to prepare, but shewould need little in that wild mountain country. At last he heard herslowly descending the stairs. His anxiety increased. What would Jane'sdecision be?