The Enchanted Barn

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Produced by Al Haines

  [Frontispiece: SHE WAS ALMOST BREATHLESS WHEN SHE REACHED THE BOTTOM OFTHE HILL AND STOOD IN FRONT OF THE GREAT BARN. _Page 20_]

  The Enchanted Barn

  By

  Grace Livingston Hill Lutz

  Author of "Marcia Schuyler," "Phoebe Deane," "The Obsession of VictoriaGracen," etc.

  _With Frontispiece by_

  EDMUND FREDERICK

  Philadelphia & London

  J. B. Lippincott Company

  1918

  COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY THE GOLDEN RULE COMPANY

  COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  PUBLISHED APRIL, 1918

  PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS

  PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A.

  THE ENCHANTED BARN

  CHAPTER I

  Shirley Hollister pushed back the hair from her hot forehead, pressedher hands wearily over tired eyes, then dropped her fingers again tothe typewriter keys, and flew on with the letter she was writing.

  There was no one else in the inner office where she sat. Mr. Barnard,the senior member of the firm, whose stenographer she was, had steppedinto the outer office for a moment with a telegram which he had justreceived. His absence gave Shirley a moment's respite from thatfeeling that she must keep strained up to meet his gaze and not lettrouble show in her eyes, though a great lump was choking in her throatand the tears stung her hot eyelids and insisted on blurring her visionnow and then. But it was only for an instant that she gave way. Herfingers flew on with their work, for this was an important letter, andMr. Barnard wanted it to go in the next mail.

  As she wrote, a vision of her mother's white face appeared to herbetween the lines, the mother weak and white, with tears on her cheeksand that despairing look in her eyes. Mother hadn't been able to getup for a week. It seemed as if the cares of life were getting almosttoo much for her, and the warm spring days made the little brick housein the narrow street a stifling place to stay. There was only onesmall window in mother's room, opening against a brick wall, for theyhad had to rent the front room with its two windows.

  But, poor as it was, the little brick house had been home; and now theywere not to have that long. Notice had been served that they mustvacate in four weeks; for the house, in fact, the whole row of housesin which it was situated, had been sold, and was to be pulled down tomake way for a big apartment-house that was to be put up.

  Where they were going and what they were going to do now was the greatproblem that throbbed on Shirley's weary brain night and day, that kepther from sleeping and eating, that choked in her throat when she triedto speak to Mr. Barnard, that stared from her feverish eyes as shelooked at the sunshine on the street or tried to work in the busymonotony of the office.

  They had been in the little house nearly a year, ever since the fatherdied. It had taken all they could scrape together to pay the funeralexpenses, and now with her salary, and the roomer's rent, and whatGeorge got as cash-boy in a department store they were just barely ableto get along. There was not a cent over for sickness or trouble, andnothing to move with, even if they had anywhere to move, or any time tohunt for a place. Shirley knew from her experience in hunting for thepresent house that it was going to be next to impossible for them tofind any habitable place for as little rent as they were now paying,and how _could_ they pay more? She was only a beginner, and her salarywas small. There were three others in the family, not yetwage-earners. The problem was tremendous. Could it be that Carol,only fourteen years old, must stop school and go to work somewhere toearn a pittance also? Carol was slender and pale, and needed fresh airand nourishing food. Carol was too young to bear burdens yet; besides,who would be housekeeper and take care of mother if Carol had to go towork? It was different with George; he was a boy, strong and sturdy;he had his school in the department store, and was getting on well withhis studies. George would be all right. He belonged to a baseballteam, too, and got plenty of chances for exercise; but Carol was frail,there was no denying it. Harley was a boisterous nine-year-old, alwayson the street these days when he wasn't in school; and who could blamehim? For the narrow, dark brick house was no place for a lively boy.But the burden and anxiety for him were heavy on his sister's heart,who had taken over bodily all the worries of her mother. Then therewas the baby Doris, with her big, pathetic eyes, and her round cheeksand loving ways. Doris, too, had to be shut in the dark little housewith the summer heat coming on, and no one with time enough or strengthenough to take her to the Park. Doris was only four. Oh, it wasterrible, _terrible_! and Shirley could do nothing but sit there, andclick those keys, and earn her poor little inadequate salary! Someday, of course, she would get more--but some day might be too late!

  She shuddered as the terrible thought flashed through her mind, thenwent on with her work again. She must shake off this state of mind andgive attention to her duty, or she would lose even this opportunity tohelp her dear ones.

  The door of the outer office opened, and Mr. Barnard entered.

  "Miss Hollister," he said hurriedly, "if you have those letters ready,I will sign them at once. We have just had word that Mr. Baker of thefirm died last night in Chicago, and I must go on at once. The officewill be closed for the rest of the day. You can let those othermatters that I spoke of go until to-morrow, and you may have the dayoff. I shall not be at the office at the usual hour to-morrow morning,but you can come in and look after the mail. I will leave furtherdirections with Mr. Clegg. You can mail these letters as you go down."

  Ten minutes later Shirley stood on the street below in the warm springsunshine, and gazed about her half dazed. It seemed a travesty on herpoor little life just now to have a holiday and no way to make it countfor the dear ones at home. How should she use it, anyway? Should shego home and help Carol? Or should she go out and see whether she couldfind a house somewhere that they could possibly afford to move to?That, of course, was the sensible thing to do; yet she had no ideawhere to go. But they did not expect her home at this time of day.Perhaps it was as well that she should use this time and find outsomething without worrying her mother. At least, she would have timeto think undisturbed.

  She grasped her little package of lunch that she had brought from homewith her and looked about her helplessly. In her little thin purse wasthe dime she always carried with her to pay her car-fare in casesomething happened that she had to ride either way--though she seldomrode, even in a storm. But her mother insisted on the dime. She saidit was not safe to go without any money at all. This dime was hercapital wherewith to hunt a house. Perhaps the day had been given herby a kind heavenly Father to go on her search. She would try to use itto the best of her ability. She lifted her bewildered heart in afeeble petition for light and help in her difficult problem, and thenshe went and stood on the corner of the street where many trolley-carswere passing and repassing. Which one should she take, and whereshould she go? The ten cents must cover all her riding, and she mustsave half of it for her return.

  She studied the names on the cars. "Glenside Road" one read. What hadshe heard about that? Ah! that it was the longest ride one could takefor five cents within the limits of the city's roads! Her heart leapedup at the word. It sounded restful anyway, and would give her time tothink. It wasn't likely, if it went near any glens, that there wouldbe any houses within her means on its way; but possibly it passed someas it went through the city, and she could take notice of the streetsand numbers and get out on her return trip to investigate if thereproved to be anything promising; or, if it were too far away from homefor her to walk back from it, she could come another time in theevening with George, some night when he did not have school. Anyhow,th
e ride would rest her and give her a chance to think what she oughtto do, and one car was as good as another for that. Her resolve wastaken, and she stepped out and signalled it.

  There were not many people in the car. It was not an hour when peoplerode out to the suburbs. Two workmen with rolls of wall-paper slung inburlap bags, a woman and a little girl, that was all.

  Shirley settled back in her seat, and leaned her head against thewindow-sash wearily. She felt so tired, body and soul, that she wouldhave been glad to sleep and forget for a little while, only that therewas need for her to be up and doing. Her room had been oppressivelywarm the night before; and Doris, who slept with her, had rolled fromone side of the bed to the other, making sleep well-nigh impossible forthe elder sister. She felt bruised and bleeding in her very soul, andlonged for rest.

  The car was passing through the thickest of the city's businessthoroughfare, and the noise and confusion whirled about her ears likesome fiendish monotonous music that set the time for the mad dance ofthe world. One danced to it whether one would or not, and danced on toone's death.

  Around the city hall the car passed, and on up Market Street. Theypassed a great fruit-store, and the waft of air that entered the openwindows came laden with the scent of over-ripe bananas, late orangesand lemons; a moment later with sickening fumes it blended into adeadly smell of gas from a yawning hole in the pavement, and mingledwith the sweat of the swarthy foreigners grouped about it, picks inhand. It seemed as though all the smells in creation were met andcongregated in that street within four or five blocks; and one by onethey tortured her, leather and paint and metal and soap, rank cheese ina fellow traveller's market-basket, thick stifling smoke from a streetengine that was champing up the gravel they fed it to make a new patchof paving, the stench from the cattle-sheds as they passed the railroadand stock-yards, the dank odor of the river as they crossed the bridge,and then an oilcloth-factory just beyond! The faint sweet breath ofearly daffodils and violets from an occasional street vendor stood nochance at all with these, and all the air seemed sickening and dreadfulto the girl as she rested wearily against the window with closed eyes,and tried to think.

  They slipped at last into the subway with a whir and a swish, where thecool, clean smell of the cement seemed gradually to rise and drown thememory of the upper world, and came refreshingly in at the windows.Shirley had a passing thought, wondering whether it would be like thatin the grave, all restful and sweet and quiet and clean, with thenoisy, heartless world roaring overhead. Then they came up suddenlyout of the subway, with a kind of triumphant leap and shout of brakesand wheels, into the light and sunshine above, and a new world. Forhere were broad streets, clean pavements, ample houses, well-trimmedlawns, quiet people walking in comfort, bits of flower-boxes on thewindow-sills filled with pansies and hyacinths; and the air was sweetand clean. The difference made Shirley sit up and look about her, andthe contrast reminded her of the heaven that would be beyond the grave.It was just because she was so tired and disheartened that her thoughtstook this solemn form.

  But now her heart sank again, for she was in the world of plenty farbeyond her means, and there was no place for such as she. Not ineither direction could she see any little side streets with tiny housesthat would rent for fifteen dollars a month. There were such in thecity, she knew; but they were scarce, and were gobbled up as soon asvacant.

  But here all was spaciousness, and even the side streets had threestories and smug porches with tidy rockers and bay windows.

  She looked at the great plate-glass windows with their cobwebby lacedraperies, and thought what it would be if she were able to take hermother and the children to such a home as one of those. Why, if shecould afford that, George could go to college, and Doris wear a littlevelvet coat with rose-buds in her bonnet, like the child on thesidewalk with her nurse and her doll-carriage.

  But a thing like that could never come to her. There were no rich olduncles to leave them a fortune; she was not bright and gifted to inventsome wonderful toy or write a book or paint a picture that would bringthe fortune; and no one would ever come her way with a fortune to marryher. Those things happened only in story-books, and she was not astory-book girl; she was just a practical, every-day, hard-working girlwith a fairly good complexion, good blue eyes and a firm chin. Shecould work hard and was willing; but she could not bear anxiety. Itwas eating into her soul, and she could feel a kind of mental paralysisstealing over her from it, benumbing her faculties hour by hour.

  The car glided on, and the houses grew less stately and farther apart.They were not so pretentious now, but they were still substantial andcomfortable, with more ground and an air of having been there always,with no room for newcomers. Now and then would come a nucleus of shopsand an old tavern with a group of new groceries and crying competitionof green stamps and blue stamps and yellow stamps posted alluringly intheir windows. Here busy, hurried people would swarm, and children ranand shouted; but every house they passed seemed full to overflowing,and there was nowhere any place that seemed to say, "Here you may comeand find room!"

  And now the car left the paved and built-up streets, and wandered outbetween the open fields, where trees arched lavishly overhead, andlittle new green things lifted up unfrightened heads, and dared to growin the sunshine. A new smell, the smell of rich earth and young greengrowing things, of skunk-cabbage in bloom in the swamps, of buddingwillows and sassafras, roused her senses; the hum of a bee on its wayto find the first honey-drops came to her ears. Sweet, droning,restful, with the call of a wild bird in the distance, and all the airbalmy with the joy of spring. Ah! This was a new world! This indeedwas heaven! What a contrast to the office, and the little narrowstifling brick house where mother lay, and Doris cut strings of paperdolls from an old newspaper and sighed to go out in the Park! What acontrast! Truly, this was heaven! If she could but stay, and all thedear ones come!

  She had spent summers in the country, of course; and she knew and lovednature, but it had been five years since she had been free to getoutside the city limits for more than a day, and then not far. Itseemed to her now that she had never sensed the beauty of the countryas to-day; perhaps because she had never needed it as now.

  The road went on smoothly straight ahead, with now a rounding curve,and then another long stretch of perfect road. Men were ploughing inthe fields on one side, and on the other lay the emerald velvet of afield of spring wheat. More people had got into the car as it left thecity. Plain, substantial men, nice, pleasant women; but Shirley didnot notice them; she was watching the changing landscape and thinkingher dismal, pitiful thoughts. Thinking, too, that she had spent hermoney--or would have when she returned, with nothing to show for it,and her conscience condemned her.

  They were coming now to a wide, old-fashioned barn of stone, with amplegrassy stone-coped entrance rising like a stately carpeted stairwayfrom the barn-yard. It was resting on the top of a green knoll, and agreat elm-tree arched over it protectingly. A tiny stream purled belowat one side, and the ground sloped gradually off at the other. Shirleywas not noticing the place much except as it was a part of thelandscape until she heard the conductor talking to the man across theaisle about it.

  "Good barn!" he was saying reflectively. "Pity to have it standingidle so long; but they'll never rent it without a house, and they won'tbuild. It belongs to the old man's estate, and can't be divided untilthe youngest boy's of age, four 'r five years yet. The house burneddown two years ago. Some tramps set it afire. No, nobody was livingin it at the time. The last renter didn't make the farm pay,--too furfrom the railroad, I guess,--and there ain't anybody near enough roundto use the barn since Halyer built his new barn," and he indicated agreat red structure down the road on the other side. "Halyer useta usethis,--rented it fer less'n nothing, but he got too lazy to come thisfur, and so he sold off half his farm fer a dairy and built that therebarn. So now I s'pose that barn'll stand idle and run to waste tillthat kid comes of age and there's a boom
up this way and it's sold.Pity about it, though; it's a good barn. Wisht I had it up to myplace; I could fill it."

  "Make a good location for a house," said the other man, lookingintently at the big stone pile. "Been a fine barn in its time. Oldman must uv had a pile of chink when he built it. Who'd ya say ownedit?"

  "Graham, Walter Graham, big firm down near the city hall--guess youknow 'em. Got all kinds of money. This ain't one, two, three with theother places they own. Got a regular palace out Arden way fer summerand a town house in the swellest neighborhood, and own land all over.Old man inherited it from his father and three uncles. They don't evenscarcely know they got this barn, I reckon. It ain't very stylish outthis way just yet."

  "Be a big boom here some day; nice location," said the passenger.

  "Not yetta while," said the conductor sagely; "railroad station's toofar. Wait till they get a station out Allister Avenue; then you cantalk. Till then it'll stay as it is, I reckon. There's a spring downbehind the barn, the best water in the county. I useta get a drinkevery day when the switch was up here. I missed it a lot when theymoved the switch to the top of the hill. Water's cold as ice and clearas crystal--can't be beat this side the soda-fountain. I sometimesstop the car on a hot summer day now, and run and get a drink--it'sgreat."

  The men talked on, but Shirley heard no more. Her eyes were intent onthe barn as they passed it--the great, beautiful, wide,comfortable-looking barn. What a wonderful house it would make! Shealmost longed to be a cow to enter this peaceful shelter and feel athome for a little while.

  The car went on, and left the big barn in the distance; but Shirleykept thinking, going over almost unconsciously all the men had saidabout it. Walter Graham! Where had she seen that name? Oh, of coursein the Ward Trust Building, the whole fourth floor. Leather goods ofsome sort, perhaps, she couldn't just remember; yet she was sure of thename.

  The man had said the barn rented for almost nothing. What could thatmean translated in terms of dollars? Would the fifteen dollars a monththat they were now paying for the little brick house cover it? Butthere would be the car-fare for herself and George. Walking thatdistance twice a day, or even once, would be impossible. Ten cents aday, sixty cents a week--twice sixty cents! If they lived out of thecity, they couldn't afford to pay but twelve dollars a month. Theynever would rent that barn for that, of course, it was so big andgrand-looking; and yet--it was a _barn_! What did barns rent for,anyway?

  And, if it could be had, could they live in a barn? What were barnslike, anyway, inside? Did they have floors, or only stalls and mud?There had been but two tiny windows visible in the front; how did theyget light inside? But then it couldn't be much darker than the brickhouse, no matter what it was. Perhaps there was a skylight, and hay,pleasant hay, to lie down on and rest. Anyhow, if they could onlymanage to get out there for the summer somehow, they could bear somediscomforts just to sit under that great tree and look up at the sky.To think of Doris playing under that tree! And mother sitting under itsewing! Mother could get well out there in that fresh air, and Doriswould get rosy cheeks again. There would not likely be a school aboutfor Carol; but that would not hurt her for the summer, anyway, andmaybe by fall they could find a little house. Perhaps she would get araise in the fall. If they could only get somewhere to go now!

  But yet--a barn! Live in a barn! What would mother say? Would shefeel that it was a disgrace? Would she call it one of Shirley's wildschemes? Well, but what were they going to do? They must live_somewhere_, unless they were destined to die homeless.

  The car droned on through the open country coming now and then tosettlements of prosperous houses, some of them small; but no empty onesseemed to beckon her. Indeed, they looked too high-priced to make hereven look twice at them; besides, her heart was left behind with thatbarn, that great, beautiful barn with the tinkling brook beside it, andthe arching tree and gentle green slope.

  At last the car stopped in a commonplace little town in front of a redbrick church, and everybody got up and went out. The conductordisappeared, too, and the motorman leaned back on his brake and lookedat her significantly.

  "End of the line, lady," he said with a grin, as if she were dreamingand had not taken notice of her surroundings.

  "Oh," said Shirley, rousing up, and looking bewilderedly about her."Well, you go back, don't you?"

  "Yes. Go back in fifteen minutes," said the motorman indulgently.There was something appealing in the sadness of this girl's eyes thatmade him think of his little girl at home.

  "Do you go back just the same way?" she asked with sudden alarm. Shedid want to see that barn again, and to get its exact location so thatshe could come back to it some day if possible.

  "Yes, we go back just the same way," nodded the motorman.

  Shirley sat back in her seat again contented, and resumed her thoughts.The motorman took up his dinner-pail, sat down on a high stool with hisback to her, and began to eat. It was a good time now for her to eather little lunch, but she was not hungry. However, she would be if shedid not eat it, of course; and there would be no other time when peoplewould not be around. She put her hand in her shabby coat-pocket forher handkerchief, and her fingers came into contact with somethingsmall and hard and round. For a moment she thought it was a buttonthat had been off her cuff for several days, But no, she rememberedsewing that on that very morning. Then she drew the little object out,and behold it was a five-cent piece! Yes, of course, she rememberednow. It was the nickel she put in her pocket last night when she wentfor the extra loaf of bread and found the store closed. She had madejohnny-cake instead, and supper had been late; but the nickel hadstayed in her coat-pocket forgotten. And now suddenly a big temptationdescended upon her, to spend that nickel in car-fare, riding to thebarn and getting out for another closer look at it, and then taking thenext car on into the city. Was it wild and foolish, was it not perhapsactually wrong, to spend that nickel that way when they needed so muchat home, and had so little? A crazy idea,--for how could a barn everbe their shelter?

  She thought so hard about it that she forgot to eat her lunch until themotorman slammed the cover down on his tin pail and put the high stoolaway. The conductor, too, was coming out of a tiny frame house, wipinghis mouth with the back of his hand and calling to his wife, who stoodin the doorway and told him about an errand she wanted him to do forher in the city.

  Shirley's cheeks grew red with excitement, for the nickel was burningin her hand, and she knew in her heart that she was going to spend itgetting off that car near that barn. She would eat her lunch under thetree by the brook! How exciting that would be! At least it would besomething to tell the children about at night! Or no! they would thinkher crazy and selfish, perhaps, to waste a whole day and fifteen centson herself. Still, it was not on herself; it was really for them. Ifthey could only see that beautiful spot!

  When she handed her nickel to the conductor, she felt almost guilty,and it seemed as if he could see her intention in her eyes; but shetold herself that she was not sure she was going to get off at all.She could decide as she came near the place. She would have to get offeither before she got there or after she had passed and walk back. Theconductor would think it strange if a young girl got off the car in thecountry in front of an empty barn. How would she manage it? There hadbeen houses on the way, not far from the barn. What was the name theconductor had mentioned of the man who had built another barn? Shemight get off at his house, but still--stay--what was that avenue wherethey had said the railroad would come some day with a station? Theyhad called it out as they stopped to let off the woman and the littlegirl. Allister Avenue! That was it. She would ask the conductor tolet her off at Allister Avenue.

  She watched the way intently; and, as they neared the place whereAllister Avenue ought to be, her heart pounded so that she felt quiteconscious, as if she were going to steal a barn and carry it home inher coat-pocket.

  She managed to signal the car to stop q
uite quietly, however, andstepped down to the pavement as if it were her regular stopping-place.She was aware of the curious gaze of both motorman and conductor, butshe held her head up, and walked a few steps up Allister Avenue untilthe car had whirred on out of sight. Then she turned anxiously,looking down the road, and there to her joy saw the stone gable of thegreat barn high on its knoll in the distance.