CHAPTER XVIII
THE HAND-ORGAN MAN
Hardly had the four younger girls disappeared across the fields on theway to school the next morning, when the Abbott carriage drew up infront of the little brown house, and Cecile and Frances hurried up thepath to the door. Gail answered the imperative knock, and looked sosurprised and pleased at the unexpected call that the Judge's daughter'sface crimsoned with contrition and shame to think she had neglected thisold-time friend so long.
"Why, Cecile!" stammered Gail, glancing involuntarily from the girls'fresh, white suits to her own shabby print frock and rolled-up sleeves."This is a great treat. Come right in! We are so glad to have you call.Don't apologize; you are more than welcome. But please excuse myappearance. It is Monday morning and Faith and I are washing."
"Then don't you apologize, either," said Cecile, trying to laugh easilyand failing utterly. "We should not have called at this outrageous hour,but Frances is to return to the city this afternoon, and she insistedupon coming to see about the children before she left."
"Oh!" The bright light died from Gail's eyes, and the girls lookeduncomfortable. So it was an errand after all and not a friendly callwhich brought them. "What is the matter with the children? Has Peace--"
"No, oh, no, nothing has happened," Cecile began hastily, when Francesinterrupted, "It was on my account. Your little whistler has captivatedme completely--and mamma, too. We wanted to know if we might borrow themnext Saturday, Peace and Allee, to help out in the program at a party Iam giving that night. Oh, don't say no! I have set my heart on it. Wewill take the best care of them and bring them home early Sundaymorning. We are coming out here for dinner at Mr. Strong's house thatday, and of course must arrive in time for church service. Please say wecan borrow them. I do want them _so_ much!"
"Dear me," exclaimed Cecile in mortification. "I haven't even introducedyou two girls. No wonder you think I am crazy, Gail. This is my chumfrom Martindale, Miss Sherrar, Miss Greenfield--"
"I'm Frances," again the radiant-faced stranger interrupted.
"And I am Gail," smiled the other. "I have heard the Strongs speak ofyou often."
"No oftener than we have heard them speak about you," Frances assuredher. "We have known both of them for years, and ever since they tookcharge here in Parker we have heard lots about you."
"No doubt. Mr. Strong is quite a champion of Peace's, and she certainlyneeds one. I am afraid I don't make much of a success in bringing up thelittle ones."
"I think Peace is a perfect cherub--in looks."
The trio laughed merrily, and Cecile added, "She means to be in actions,but nothing she ever does comes out the way she intended it to, and shekeeps everyone guessing as to what she will do next. You ought to hearDaddy rave about her. He thinks she is the smartest child he ever saw."
"I think she is the sweetest," said Frances, "she and Allee. They areboth too cunning for anything. I simply must have them at my party.Won't you say they can come?"
"They have nothing to wear for such a grand occasion," Gail hesitated,anxious to please, and yet not quite willing to trust two of theprecious sisters with strangers for even a twenty-four hours.
"That is easily remedied. I have some little cousins who are sure tohave dresses that will fit. It is to be rather a dress-parade, I mustadmit, but you needn't worry on that account. Mamma knows how to fixthem up in Sara's and Marion's clothes. We must have them. Mr. Strongwill give us a good recommend, I know."
Gail laughed. "There is no need of that at all. I am willing that theyshould go, only you can hardly blame me for hesitating a little, as thiswill be the first time either one has been away from home over night;and besides, Peace is such a blunderbus, I rather dread to let her goanywhere for fear she will get into trouble."
"Now you oughtn't to feel that way at all," cried Frances gaily. "_I_was just such a child as she is, and see what a well-behaved young lady_I_ have grown to be! But really, she has such a sweet disposition andgreat, tender heart, she will come out all right, I know. Mr. Strongsays so, and he is a splendid character reader. Oh, of course, I supposeshe has her bad days. We all do, but she is too much of a darling tostay bad long. You should hear your preacher sermonize about her. Hesays just as sure as she gets into mischief of any kind she comes to himand tells him all about it, cries over it, and goes away promising to bea better girl. Oh, I have lost my heart to her completely! We won't lether get into mischief of any kind, I promise. And I know she will enjoyherself."
"Well," answered Gail, slowly, "they may go, if you wish them so badly.How--"
"Cecile will bring them when she comes Saturday morning, if you arewilling. That will give us plenty of time to get everything fixed upproperly. I thank you so much for your permission; and, Gail, though wemust hurry away this morning, the next time I come out here for a visit,I shall run in to see you for a nice long chat. May I?"
"Oh, if you just would!" cried gentle Gail impulsively, longing to takethe bright face between her hands and kiss it. "We are too busy here toget out very much ourselves, but we do like company 'awfully bad,' asPeace used to say. I hope you come soon. The children will be ready forCecile Saturday when she gets here. Good-bye, I am sorry you must go sosoon. Come again, Cecile." The girls were gone, and Gail went back toher wash-tubs in a daze.
Needless to say, the little girls were wild with excitement when told ofthe coming gala day, and Cherry was green-eyed with envy, though, likethe well-behaved child she was, she never said a word to mar thebeautiful time in store for the two more fortunate sisters. Long beforeCecile arrived Saturday morning, the stiffly-starched duet stood on thesteps, waiting in a fever of impatience; and by the time the Sherrarhouse in the great city was reached, both little girls were almosttransported with joy. They nearly talked Cecile's head off, so eagerwere they to find out all about the grand party, and everything else ofinterest they could think of; so she was more than relieved to turn herlively charges over to Frances the minute that young lady put inappearance.
"You little darlings!" the hostess exclaimed at sight of them. "Takethem right upstairs, Sophy; mamma wants them at once. Cecile, you looktired out. Oh, yes, I can understand just how you feel for Sara andMarion were here all day yesterday, and what do you think? They haven'ta thing suitable for us to borrow. Mamma says we'll have to go downtownand buy something ready-made for Peace and Allee. She is dressing now,and if you aren't too tired, I'm going to drag you along."
"Oh, I'm never too tired for gadding," replied Cecile with animation."But I can't answer half the questions those chatterboxes ask, and thismorning Allee was as bad as Peace. She wants to know if a chandeliercrows and is just an ordinary rooster. Peace thinks those green-houseswe pass on the car ought to be called 'white-houses,' because they arepainted white. Just before we got off at our avenue she suddenlydemanded to know for whom 'Vandrevort Street' was named. I couldn'tthink for the life of me what she meant until I remembered we crossTwenty-fourth Street, and the conductor was a foreigner who doesn'tpronounce his words distinctly. She is possessed to know why, if theworld is round, the houses on the other side don't fall off; and why,when we lift our feet to step, they always come down to the earth againinstead of staying in the air. Why is it we can't pick ourselves up inour own arms; why don't women's shoes hook up like men's; what is thereason policemen's clothes are always blue and the grass is neveranything but green; why don't mules look like horses and what makes themkick?"
Cecile stopped for breath, and Frances screamed with delight. "Maybe webetter stop and consult the doctor while we are in town," she suggested.
"No, I guess that won't be necessary now, for I have resigned them toyour tender mercies, and you must answer their questions after this. Ifyou don't get enough of it, Frances Sherrar, before tomorrow morning--"
"Don't prophesy, Cecile! If they can hold a candle to Marion and Sara,I'll give you my opal ring."
"I stand a pretty good chance of getting the ring, then," answeredCecile, half-laughing, half-serious
; but at that moment Mrs. Sherrarhustled down the stairway, with the two children in her wake, and themerry group set out for town.
"This is the corner, mamma," said Frances, as the car came to astandstill at one of the busiest streets; "and, oh, if there aren't Mrs.Tate and Lucy! I haven't seen them for an age. Hurry, mamma, you knowyou are as anxious to see them as I am."
Peace and Allee found themselves bundled hurriedly down the steps,jerked through the surging crowd of people, teams and automobiles instreet, and landed on the opposite corner breathless, but game.
"Stay right here," they heard Mrs. Sherrar say; and the next instant theolder members of the party were wholly absorbed with thoseunexpectedly-met friends. The children listened impatiently for a fewmoments, but finding the conversation very uninteresting, looked aboutthem for other more congenial amusement.
Just then a wheezy old hand-organ behind them began a familiar melody,and Peace beheld the player, a bent, white-haired, blind man, sitting inthe shadow of a lamp-post on the edge of the curbing, slowly, patientlyturning the crank of the little machine. She was at his side in aninstant, staring into the sightless face with her great, brown, pityingeyes. His clothes were very shabby, his cheeks were pinched and pale;his cup, she noticed, stood empty on the top of the organ; his handswere terribly thin, and trembled as he played, so that he had to stopfrequently between songs and rest.
"Are you sick, Mr. Blind-man?" she asked before she was aware she hadspoken her thoughts aloud.
The white, unseeing eyes of the organist turned in the direction of thevoice, and he answered with a show of cheerfulness, "Not now, littlelady."
"Then you have been?"
"Yes, this is my first day out for two weeks."
"Oh, you poor man! It must tire you dreadfully to have to grind that boxall day. Won't you let me try it awhile? I know I can do it all right.You can count your money while I play."
"There ain't been any to count so far this morning," he murmured,unconsciously dropping his hand from the organ as the quaint,old-fashioned song was finished; and before he had a chance toremonstrate, Peace had seized the crank with both hands, and wasgrinding away with all her might. But, though the crank seemed to turneasily enough, the music came in jerks, and the blind player tookpossession of his organ the minute she had completed the last bar,saying gently, "I am afraid you don't know how to make the music, littleone. But I thank you a thousand times for your great good-will. I shallsoon be strong enough to play as well as I always have. The first day isa little hard. Tomorrow it will be better. We'll change the roll now,and give them another tune." He fumbled about the organ for a moment ortwo, and then the strains of _Annie Laurie_ filled the air.
"Oh, I know that!" cried Peace, with animation. "Allee, you come andsing, while I whistle. We can do it lovely. Now begin again."
Nothing loath to humor his strange, sympathetic little guests, he beganthe second time to grind out the wheezy notes of the beautiful,time-honored song, and Peace's red lips took up the accompaniment,while Allee's sweet, childish voice warbled the words:
"Maxwellton braes are bonnie, Where early fa's the dew, And it's there that Annie Laurie Gied me her promise true-- Gied me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot will be; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee."
Mrs. Sherrar wheeled in amazement at the sound; the girls broke offtheir animated conversation to stare at the quaint group on the corner;a crowd gathered quickly; and with sudden, characteristic impulsiveness,Peace caught up the battered tin cup from the old hand-organ, and heldit out invitingly. Hand after hand plunged deep into scores of pockets;coin after coin rattled into the little dipper; the old man playedeagerly, breathlessly; and the children sang again and again in responseto the applause from the street.
How long the impromptu concert might have continued no one knows, butthrough a break in the sea of faces surrounding them, Peace caught aglimpse of Mrs. Sherrar's portly form, and it reminded her suddenly ofwhere she was and how she came to be there. Breaking off in the midst ofher song, she thrust the heavy cup back into the owner's hands, bowedto the astonished throng, and cried shrilly, "He's been sick and can'tplay as much as he used to could, until he gets strong again; so heneeds all the money he can get. Don't forget him when you go by again."
Grabbing Allee by the arm, she whisked away to where her friends werewaiting, fearful lest they might not approve of her impulsive action; sobefore they had a chance to speak a word either of blame or praise, shebegan, excusingly, "Just s'posing we all had our eyes punched out so'swe couldn't see, and had to sit on street corners and grind out musicall day long. Wouldn't it be terrible? I--I--thought--maybe it mighthelp a little if we joined in the music, and it did. He's got a wholecupful of money, and now maybe he'll go home and rest a bit. He's beensick."
Tears filled the eyes of the little company of grown-ups, and Frances,with an understanding heart, drew the childish figures close, sayingtenderly, "For these bonnie little lassies I'd lay me doon and dee."
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