Dawn

by Eleanor H. Porter

  CHAPTER XXII

  HOW COULD YOU, MAZIE?

  As Miss Dorothy herself had said, it could not, of course, continue.She came once, and once again to see Keith; and in spite of herefforts to make her position clear to him, her secret still remainedher own. Then, on the third visit, the dreaded disclosure came,naturally, and in the simplest, most unexpected way; yet in a way thatwould most certainly have been the last choice of Miss Dorothy herselfcould she have had aught to say about it.

  The two, Keith and Dorothy, had had a wonderful hour over a book thatDorothy had brought to read. They had been sitting on the porch, andDorothy had risen to go when there came a light tread on the frontwalk and Mazie Sanborn tripped up the porch steps.

  "Well, Dorothy Parkman, is this where you were?" she cried gayly. "Iwas hunting all over the house for you half an hour ago."

  "DOROTHY PARKMAN!" Keith was on his feet. His face had grown verywhite.

  Dorothy, too, her eyes on Keith's face, had grown very white; yet shemanaged to give a light laugh, and her voice matched Mazie's own forgayety.

  "Were you? Well, I was right here. But I'm going now."

  "You! but--Miss Stewart!" Keith's colorless lips spoke the words justabove his breath.

  "Why, Keith Burton, what's the matter?" laughed Mazie. "You look as ifyou'd seen a ghost. I mean--oh, forgive that word, Keith," she brokeoff in light apology. "I'm always forgetting, and talking as if youcould really SEE. But you looked so funny, and you brought out that'Dorothy Parkman' with such a surprised air. Just as if you didn'tever call her that in the old school days, Keith Burton! Oh, Dorothytold me you called her 'Miss Stewart' a lot now; but--"

  "Yes, I have called her 'Miss Stewart' quite a lot lately," interposedKeith, in a voice so quietly self-controlled that even Dorothy herselfwas almost deceived. But not quite. Dorothy saw the clenched musclesand white knuckles of his hands as he gripped the chair-back beforehim; and she knew too much to expect him to offer his hand in good-bye.So she backed away, and she still spoke lightly, inconsequently,though she knew her voice was shaking, as she made her adieus.

  "Well, good-bye, I must be going now, sure. I'll be over to-morrow,though, to finish the book. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye," said Keith.

  And Dorothy wondered if Mazie noticed that he quite omitted a polite"Come again," and if Mazie saw that as he said the terse "Good-bye" heput both hands suddenly and resolutely behind his back. Dorothy sawit, and at home, long hours later she was still crying over it.

  She went early to the Burtons' the next forenoon.

  "I came to finish the book I was reading to Mr. Keith," she told Susanbrightly, as her ring was answered. "I thought I'd come early beforeanybody else got here."

  She would have stepped in, but Susan's ample figure still barred theway.

  "Well, now, that's too bad!" Susan's voice expressed genuine concernand personal disappointment. "Ain't it a shame? Keith said he wa'n'tfeelin' nohow well this mornin', an' that he didn't want to see noone. An' under no circumstances not to let no one in to see him. Butmaybe if I told him't was you--"

  "No, no, don't--don't do that!" cried the girl hurriedly. "I--I'llcome again some other time."

  On the street a minute later she whispered tremulously: "He did it onpurpose, of course. He KNEW I would come this morning! But he can'tkeep it up forever! He'll HAVE to see me some time. And when he does--Oh, if only Mazie Sanborn hadn't blurted it out like that! Why didn'tI tell him? Why didn't I tell him? But I will tell him. He can't keepthis up forever."

  When on a second and a third and a fourth morning, however, Dorothyhad found Susan's figure barring the way, and had received the samedistressed "He says he won't see no one, Miss Dorothy," from Susan'splainly troubled lips, Dorothy began to think Keith did mean to keepit up forever.

  "But what IS it, Susan?" she faltered. "Is he sick, really sick?"

  "I don't know, Miss Dorothy," frowned Susan. "But I don't like thelooks of it, anyhow. He says he ain't sick--not physicianly sick; buthe jest don't want to talk an' see folks. An' he's been like that'most a week now. An' I'm free to confess I don't like it."

  "But what does he do--all day?" asked the girl.

  "Nothin', that I can see," sighed Susan profoundly. "Oh, he plays thatsolitary some, an' putters a little with some of his raised books; butmostly he jest sits still an' thinks. An' I don't like it. If only hisfather was here. But with him gone peddlin' molasses, an' no one'lowed into the house, there ain't anything for him to do but tothink. An' 'tain't right nor good for him. I've watched him an' Iknow."

  "But he used to see people, Susan."

  "I know it. He saw everybody."

  "Do you know why he won't--now?" asked the girl a little faintly.

  "I hain't the faintest inception of an idea. It came as sudden asthat," declared Susan, snapping her finger.

  "Then he hasn't said anything special about not wanting to see--me?"

  "Why, no. He--Do you mean--HAS he found out?" demanded Susan,interrupting herself excitedly.

  "Yes. He found out last Monday afternoon. Mazie ran up on to the porchand called me by name right out. Oh, Susan, it was awful. I shallnever forget the look on that boy's face as long as I live."

  "Lan' sakes! MONDAY!" breathed Susan. "An' Tuesday he began refusin'to see folks. Then 'course that was it. But why won't he see otherfolks? They hain't anything to do with you."

  "I don't know--unless he didn't want to tell you specially not to letme in, and so he said not to let anybody in."

  "Was he awful mad?"

  "It wasn't so much anger as it was grief and hurt and--oh, I can'texpress what it was. But I saw it; and I never shall forget it. Yousee, to have it blurted out to him like that without any warning--andof course he couldn't understand."

  "But didn't you explain things--how 'twas, in the first place?"

  She shook her head. "I couldn't--not with Mazie there. I said I'd comethe next morning to--to finish the book. I thought he'd understand Iwas going to explain then. He probably did--and that's why he won'tlet me in. He doesn't want any explanations," sighed the girltremulously.

  "Well, he ought to want 'em," asserted Susan with vigor. "'Tain't fairnor right nor sensible for him to act like this, makin' a mountain outof an ant-hill. I declare, Miss Dorothy, he ought to be made to seeyou."

  The girl flushed and drew back.

  "Most certainly not, Susan! I--I am not in the habit of MAKING peoplesee me, when they don't wish to. Do you suppose I'm going to beg andtease: 'PLEASE won't you let me see you?' Hardly! He need not worry. Ishall not come again."

  "Oh, Miss Dorothy!" remonstrated Susan.

  "Why, of course I won't, Susan!" cried the girl. "Do you suppose I'mgoing to keep him from seeing other people just because he's afraidhe'll have to let me in, too? Nonsense, Susan! Even you must admit Icannot allow that. You may tell Mr. Keith, please, that he may feel nofurther uneasiness. I shall not trouble him again."

  "Oh, Miss Dorothy!" begged Susan agitatedly, once more.

  But Miss Dorothy, with all the hurt dignity of her eighteen years,turned haughtily away, leaving Susan impotent and distressed, lookingafter her.

  Two minutes later Susan sought Keith in the living-room. Her wholeself spelt irate determination--but Keith could not see that. Keith,listless and idle-handed, sat in his favorite chair by the window.

  "Dorothy Parkman jest rang the bell," began Susan, "an'-"

  "But I said I'd see no one," interrupted Keith, instantly alert.

  "That's what I told her, an' she's gone."

  "Oh, all right." Keith relaxed into his old listlessness.

  "An' she said to please tell you she'd trouble you no further, so youmight let in the others now as soon as you please."

  Keith sat erect in his chair with a jerk.

  "What did she mean by that?"

  "I guess you don't need me to tell you," observed Susan grimly.

  With a shrug and an irritable gesture Keith settled back in his chair.r />
  "I don't care to discuss it, Susan. I don't wish to see ANY one. We'lllet it go at that, if you please," he said.

  "But I don't please!" Susan was in the room now, close to Keith'schair. Her face was quivering with emotion. "Keith, won't you listento reason? It ain't like you a mite to sit back like this an' refuseto see a nice little body like Dorothy Parkman, what's been so kind--"

  "Susan!" Keith was sitting erect again. His face was white, andcarried a stern anguish that Susan had never seen before. "I don'tcare to discuss Miss Parkman with you or with anybody else. Neither doI care to discuss the fact that I thoroughly understand, of course,that you, or she, or anybody else, can fool me into believing anythingyou please; and I can't--help myself."

  "No, no, Keith, don't take it like that--please don't!"

  "Is there any other way I CAN take it? Do you think 'Miss Stewart'could have made such a fool of me if I'd had EYES to see DorothyParkman?"

  "But she was only tryin' to HELP you, an'--"

  "I don't want to be 'helped'!" stormed the boy hotly. "Did it everoccur to you, Susan, that I might sometimes like to HELP somebodymyself, instead of this everlastingly having somebody help me?"

  "But you do help. You help me," asserted Susan feverishly, working hernervous fingers together. "An' you'd help me more if you'd only letfolks in to see you, an'--"

  "All right, all right," interrupted Keith testily. "Let them in. Leteverybody in. I don't care. What's the difference? But, please,PLEASE, Susan, stop talking any more about it all now."

  And Susan stopped. There were times when Susan knew enough to stop,and this was one of them.

  But she took him at his word, and when Mrs. McGuire came the next daywith a letter from her John, Susan ushered her into the living-roomwhere Keith was sitting alone. And Keith welcomed her with at least agood imitation of his old heartiness.

  Mrs. McGuire said she had such a funny letter to read to-day. She knewhe'd enjoy it, and Susan would, too, particularly the part that Johnhad quoted from something that had been printed by the Britishsoldiers in France and circulated among their comrades in the trenchesand hospitals, and everywhere. John had written it off on a separatepiece of paper, and this was it:

  Don't worry: there's nothing to worry about.

  You have two alternatives: either you are mobilized or you are not. Ifnot, you have nothing to worry about.

  If you are mobilized, you have two alternatives: you are in camp or atthe front. If you are in camp, you have nothing to worry about.

  If you are at the front, you have two alternatives: either you are onthe fighting line or in reserve. If in reserve, you have nothing toworry about.

  If you are on the fighting line, you have two alternatives: either youfight or you don't. If you don't, you have nothing to worry about.

  If you do, you have two alternatives: either you get hurt or youdon't. If you don't, you have nothing to worry about.

  If you are hurt, you have two alternatives: either you are slightlyhurt or badly. If slightly, you have nothing to worry about.

  If badly, you have two alternatives: either you recover or you don't.If you recover, you have nothing to worry about. If you don't, andhave followed my advice clear through, you have done with worryforever.

  Mrs. McGuire was in a gale of laughter by the time she had finishedreading this; so, too, was Susan. Keith also was laughing, but hislaughter did not have the really genuine ring to it--which fact didnot escape Susan.

  "Well, anyhow, he let Mis' McGuire in--an' that's somethin'," shemuttered to herself, as Mrs. McGuire took her departure. "Besides, hetalked to her real pleasant--an' that's more."

  As the days passed, others came, also, and Keith talked with them. Heeven allowed Dorothy Parkman to be admitted one day.

  HE GAVE HER ALMOST NO CHANCE TO SAY ANYTHING HERSELF]

  Dorothy had not come until after long urging on the part of Susan andthe assurance that Keith had said he would see her. Even then nothingwould have persuaded her, she told Susan, except the great hope thatshe could say something, in some way, that would set her right inKeith's eyes.

  So with fear and trembling and with a painful embarrassment on herface, but with a great hope in her heart, she entered the room andcame straight to Keith's side.

  For a moment the exultation of a fancied success sent a warm glow allthrough her, for Keith had greeted her pleasantly and even extendedhis hand. But almost at once the glow faded and the great hope died inher heart, for she saw that even while she touched his hand, he wasyet miles away from her.

  He laughed and talked with her--oh, yes; but he laughed too much andtalked too much. He gave her almost no chance to say anything herself.And what he said was so inconsequential and so far removed fromanything intimately concerning themselves, that the girl found itutterly impossible to make the impassioned explanation which she hadbeen saying over and over again all night to herself, and from whichshe had hoped so much.

  Yet at the last, just before she bade him good-bye, she did manage tosay something. But in her disappointment and excitement andembarrassment, her words were blurted out haltingly and ineffectually,and they were not at all the ones she had practiced over and over toherself in the long night watches; nor were they received as she hadpalpitatingly pictured that they would be, with Keith first stern andhurt, and then just dear and forgiving and UNDERSTANDING.

  Keith was neither stern nor hurt. He still laughed pleasantly, and hetossed her whole labored explanation aside with a light: "Certainly--ofcourse--to be sure--not at all! You did quite right, I assure you!"And then he remarked that it was a warm day, wasn't it? And Dorothyfound herself hurrying down the Burton front walk with burning cheeksand a chagrined helplessness that left her furious and with anineffably cheap feeling--yet not able to put her finger on anydiscourteous flaw in Keith's punctilious politeness.

  "I wish I'd never said a word--not a word," she muttered hotly toherself as she hurried down the street. "I wonder if he thinks--I'llever open my head to him about it again. Well, he needn't--worry!But--oh, Keith, Keith, how could you?" she choked brokenly. Thenabruptly she turned down a side street, lest Mazie Sanborn, comingtoward her, should see the big tears that were rolling down her cheeks.