Chapter V: Part 5

One morning, a week after Angelina's arrival, the girls found themselves with nothing to do. Aunt Pen had taken Renee out for a walk in the Park. The sun was shining warmly, buds were appearing on the lilac bushes, everywhere was the hint of spring. Aunt Pen had declared she had heard an oriole, she and Renee had started in search of the songster's nest. Pat had watched them depart with a little longing in her heart and a hurt that they had not even asked her and Angeline to go with them! Yet she knew how Angeline would have scoffed at the suggestion of a walk in the Park!

Angeline now was arranging and rearranging her hair before the mirror. Pat was crossly wishing she'd stop--she'd been fussing there for ages! "What'll we do?" she asked, as Renee's and Aunt Pen's figures disappeared up the street.

"Oh, let's go out somewhere for lunch. Then we can shop. You know, I think it's a _shame_ your aunt doesn't buy you some decent things! If _I_ were you I'd just go and get them myself! My goodness, you're too old to be dressed like a little kid. How the girls at school will laugh when I tell them!"

Pat's face flushed crimson. Angeline went on in her persuasive voice; "If you don't just show your independence _sometime_ they'll go on treating you like a child! Of course it's none of my business, but you're my dearest friend and I _do_ feel sorry for you! And I can help you pick out--oh, just a few things!"

Pat gave her head a little toss! "Shall we walk or ride?" she asked, mutely yielding to Angeline's tempting.

"Oh, dear me, ride, of course! I couldn't walk a _block_ in those heels!" and Angeline extended one of the bargain pumps for a loving inspection.

It was necessary, before they started forth, for Pat to open her treasure box in the Eyrie and take from it the crisp six dollar bills which she had ready for her Victory pledge, due on April first. This, with her week's allowance, seemed a great deal of money and would surely meet the expenses of their outing.

As they whirled along the street toward the shopping section of the city Pat caught Angeline's gay mood. With a little thrill she told herself that they were embarked upon an adventure! At Angeline's suggestion they lunched at a fashionable restaurant, always thronged at the noon-hour. Emboldened by Angeline's composed manner, Pat gradually lost her own awkward consciousness and enjoyed to the fullest the gay bustle and confusion, the clatter of china, the music rising discordantly above the endless chatter at the tables.

"_This_ is more like what we girls do at school," declared Angeline, dipping her pink finger-tips into the glass bowl before her. "And now let's go to the stores and find some things for you!"

Under Angeline's direction this was an absorbing process. She recalled a love of a taffeta dress they had seen in a window. Of course it could be charged--everyone must know who Miss Everett was! Fortunately for the success of their shopping they found a clerk who had often sold dresses to both Mrs. Everett and Celia. Anxious to make a sale, she assured Pat that the dress would look beautiful on her! She shook out its flounces temptingly as she said it. Angeline added that the flame-colored chiffon collar was "chic--everyone's wearing them in New York!" Pat was promptly thrilled with a mental picture of herself in the stylish gown!

"Of course your aunt will look cross for a moment," Angeline whispered, "but it's really none of her business is it? I know _my_ mother likes to have _me_ look after myself!"

So Pat bought the dress, gave the address, and carried it away with her in a box. They then made other purchases; a silk and lace petticoat that Angeline declared a "love," some chiffon ties, a velvet bag with a jeweled top, a vanity case and a box of face powder.

"What _fun_!" cried Angeline, seizing some of the precious packages. "Now I tell you what let's do! Let's stop at that Madame Ranier's place and let her curl your hair and do it up! Then you'll look just peachy! _All_ the girls are wearing their hair up now--truly, Pat! Why, you'd be ridiculous in New York!"

They found Madame Ranier's and Pat spent an uncomfortable hour before the mirror while a yellow-haired young woman curled her pretty hair with long, hot irons. Angeline hovered over them both, giving suggestions from time to time and exclaiming over the transformation. The hairpins hurt cruelly and Pat had a feeling that she could never move her head again; however, in spite of all this, she was secretly satisfied, as was Angeline and Madame and the young woman, that the result was most becoming and that she looked quite "grown-up!"

Then Angeline caught her arm. "Now, silly, just stand still _one_ moment and I'll have you looking _really_ like something," and to complete her afternoon's work, she dabbed at Pat's nose with the tiny powder puff she carried in her bag.

As they marched forth Pat tried to assume an airiness of manner she did not feel. Between their luncheon and Madame Ranier she had spent almost all of her money; the purchases she had had charged began to trouble her soul. Angeline stopped suddenly at Brown's window--she saw a book there that she declared she must have! All the girls were reading it! She ran in without another word and Pat could do nothing but follow her. The book, "All on a Summer's Day," was purchased and Pat paid for it out of what remained of her money.

"Prin said we younger girls couldn't read it, but guess she can't say anything to me now!"

"Now to wind up this jolly day, Pat--_I'll_ treat," Angeline said, edging toward a chocolate shop.

As they sat down at one of the little tables Pat saw across the room Garrett and Peggy Lee and Keineth Randolph. Her first thought was to join them but something in their faces stopped her. In that moment's exchange of glances, though the girls had nodded pleasantly enough, Pat read surprise, disgust, and outright amusement!

A deep crimson dyed her face, in funny contrast to the powdery whiteness of her nose. Trying to assume an indifferent air she turned her back on the others and devoted herself to Angeline; her pride and satisfaction had fled, though, leaving her deeply hurt, not so much because of the girls' suppressed ridicule as by the thought that they had not invited her and Angeline to join them.

Then Garrett added the last drop to her humiliation! As they trooped out, giving a passing smile to Pat and her guest, Garrett slyly poked Pat in the back and, leaning over, whispered: "Where'd you lose your ears, Miss Everett?" Involuntarily Pat clapped her hands to the curly puffs that were pinned carefully over her ears and threw Garrett a wrathful look!

But her adventure was ending most dismally! Reaching home she threw her boxes and bags and the book on her bed and fiercely shook out the miserable hairpins! For ten minutes she brushed the offending curls and then braided them into a tight pigtail. If Aunt Pen noticed the work of Madame Ranier's young woman, or the daub of powder still decorating the bridge of Pat's nose, she said nothing; neither did she question Pat concerning her absence at luncheon. She and Renee were in high good humor, they had had a happy afternoon and Renee was herself again.

"Pat, dear, don't you think--Renee is all better now--we might have some sort of a party in honor of Angeline?"

Angeline's expressive face brightened. She was always prettily agreeable when with the family. She clapped her hands to express her delight.

"Let's have a dinner dance," she cried; then--"oh, how _dreadful_ of me to speak right out--like that!" and she affected deep embarrassment.

"I had in mind a picnic at Hill-top on Saturday. The roads are open and we can all motor out, have lunch and then go to the sugar camp. The sap is running well, Mrs. Lee says."

Aunt Pen kept her eyes on her knitting and did not see the blank look of astonishment that crossed Angeline's face. Pat had exclaimed eagerly over the suggestion:

"I've never seen a sugar camp, have you, Renee?"

"Then I will tell Mrs. Lee that we will all go, Sheila and Peggy and Keineth, and Garrett may ask some of the boys. Garrett can drive their car too."

The next morning Angeline stayed locked in her room until after eleven o'clock. Then, hearing Pat in the adjoining room, she suddenly threw open the door and appeared fully dressed, even to the henna hat. To Pat's exclamation of astonishment she answered:

"I'm going back on the Empire! Will you tell Watkins? Now _don't_ be a silly and make a fuss, Pat--just tell your aunt that I had a telegram! Jule wrote that everything was smoothed over and that I was missing some fun! So you _don't_ think I'm going to stay any longer in _this_ dead hole!" She snuggled her face in the Pekinese. "You've been a _dear_ to keep me, Pat, but, you poor child, couldn't you see I was just bored to _death_? And a sugar-party! Oh, la, la--_won't_ the girls laugh? Why, I wouldn't be seen _dead_ at one!"

Slowly Pat stiffened until she stood as though made of stone. Her lips tried to frame the tumult of wrath that raged within her, but she only managed to say lamely: "I'll tell Watkins--if you've really--got to go!"

So Angeline and her dog and her bags of finery departed and ten minutes later, the rage in Pat's soul bursting all bounds, she presented herself at Aunt Pen's door, her arms filled with the hateful purchases of the day before, her face red with the effort to choke back her tears.

Aunt Pen had just come in. So she was amazed when Pat burst out: "She's gone and I'm glad of it! I just _hate_ her! She said we were stupid and that Sheila was common--and she was--bored to death and we--we weren't fashionable--and--and she wouldn't be seen _dead_ at a sugar-party! As if anyone wanted her, anyway!"

"Pat, dear, one thing at a time! Who's gone? Angeline?"

Pat dumped her boxes on the floor and sitting like a little girl on Aunt Pen's lap told of Angeline's dramatic departure. She could not see the smile that stole over Aunt Pen's face; she could not know that the sugar-party had been planned to bring about just what had happened! Wise Aunt Pen had decided that Pat had had just about as much of Angeline's company as was good for her! She listened to the tale of the shopping, glanced at each purchase, then patted the hair that was still curly.

"Poor Patsy, what a time you've had!"

"But I hate her, Aunt Pen, and I hate myself for ever having let her say Sheila was common! Dear old Sheila!"

"Well, dear, you've learned something in values--all around! Sheila, even though her life is a continual sacrifice of all the pleasures and luxuries most girls have, is a finer girl and a more worth-while friend than poor Angeline--and I think the _next_ time you'll stand up for her, won't you, my dear? Now, for the book--_that's_ the place for that," aiming it at the waste-basket, "and if you want some novels I'll find you some that are more thrilling and better brain-food. Your curls"--she fondled the dark head--"they _are_ pretty, Pat--it's too bad we aren't all born with curly hair and there's no particular harm in having it curled, only--it does take _so_ much time that could be spent in some much better way! And after a few years you can do up these braids and be a young lady, but for awhile longer we want our Pat a girl that can romp and play and get all the joy that youth alone offers!"

"Oh, Aunt Pen, you make me feel as if I'd been so silly! But what on _earth_ will I do with all these things!" and Pat kicked at the offending boxes.

"Well," Aunt Pen glanced appraisingly over the spilled contents. "You can give the bag to Melodia and the vanity case to Maggie and we'll just go back with the other things and ask the store manager to exchange them for--what do you say to shoes for all the Kewpies?"

"Oh, joy! For Easter! Oh, you're _such_ a comfort, Aunt Pen!"

"Seriously, Pat, do you feel that you really need a dress? Perhaps I have neglected you!"

"Oh, gracious no, I don't want to fuss with any more clothes! That's all Angeline talked about! Let's take this truck back right after luncheon!"

"Pat, dear, just a moment," Aunt Pen still had a little sermon tucked away in her mind. "You mustn't hate Angeline--when you think all this over you'll realize she has taught you a valuable lesson--perhaps you, too, have given her something in return! Each one of us has within us much that we give all unknowingly to others, that helps them. Think how much little Renee has taught you with her unselfish companionship and Sheila, who is so brave and cheerful and honest, and Peggy and all the others! And you must think that you, too, in turn, through your friendship, give them something of what is good in you! Can you understand what I mean? So let Angeline go away with grateful thoughts in your heart--she is silly now but some day she may outgrow all that and be a fine girl!"

Pat's face reflected Aunt Pen's seriousness. "I just ought to feel sorry for her 'cause she hasn't a mother and a daddy and an Aunt Pen like I have! But, oh, I don't want to ever look another piece of chocolate candy in the face again! And I'm as broke as broke can be and have spent even my Victory money and I'll have to draw more from 'LaDue and Everett' to meet my pledge and save all this month to pay it back," with a groan. "But, Aunt Pen, will we have the sugar-camp picnic just the same?"

"We surely will," smiled Aunt Pen, folding the dress back into its box, "and a good time, too!"

So Pat quickly forgot Angeline's insults, her abused stomach and her empty pocketbook in a happy anticipation of the day in the woods at Hill-top with the boys and girls who were her "really worth-while friends."

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*FOR HIS COUNTRY*

"Paddy! Pad-dy Quinn! You get _right straight_ out of there!" The cry came from Sheila. Returning from school she had spied, as she turned into her walk, Paddy digging among her mother's precious tulips.

Sheila threw her books inside the kitchen door, taking pains to notice that the room was empty, and then went back to punish the culprit. Paddy lay crouched on the ground watching her with bright eyes and wagging his stub of a tail in a way that was anything but repentant!

Perhaps the only thing that Mrs. Quinn loved more than Paddy, except of course her Sheila and her Denny and her Matt and her Dare, were the bulbs that grew each spring in the little border bed along the old fence. Her tulips always put their tiny green leaves up through the earth long before any other tulips; they were always bigger and brighter and seemed almost human, the way they nodded on their silvery green stalks and leaned toward one another as though repeating, like old gossips the stories the robins sang over their heads. Each fall Mrs. Quinn carefully covered them over and each spring, at the first feel of warmth in the sunshine, she watched daily for the tiny green tips, as a mother might watch for the return of a long absent son.

The children shared her interest, too--they could not be her children if they did not love the flowers and birds and sunshine that made their living joyous! The fairy stories she had taught them in their babyhood, as she had rocked them in her loving arms, had made the familiar things about them have a magic of their own; the old clock in the corner was not ugly because elves lived in it by day and pranced from its old case at night; a fairy princess had her fairy-palace in the nearby tree tops, a prince hid in the wood box, the nodding posies that always budded and grew wherever Mrs. Quinn lived, were the souls of sprites and at night danced about under the star-light; the dew that could be found on the blades of grass in the early morning were the jewels that they dropped in their haste to flee back to hiding from the approaching dawn!

Trouble had been a frequent visitor in this magic household but the only mark it ever left was an added line in the corner of Mrs. Quinn's smiling lips, made by long night struggles over the dilapidated book which contained the family accounts. Even when left a widow with four children to bring up, she did not lose one bit of the optimism that, years before, had made the whole world her Denny's and hers for the conquering! Her Denny had been taken from her before any one of the dreams they had dreamed had come true; still, for her, he lived on in her Sheila and the three small boys who had red hair and blue eyes like the father, and she still dreamed the old dreams for them. "There was no cloud so dark but that it had its bright lining somewhere" was the brave philosophy with which she directed her household, and the meals that were often frugal she made cheery with some loving nonsense. The sacrifices Sheila had to make as she grew older were nothing because she knew her mother made them, too, and there was comfort in the sense of sharing. The summer before Mrs. Quinn had taken the old brick house, fashionable in its day, comfortable now, even in its shabbiness, and had rented its rooms to lodgers. With careful economy this slender income would keep them comfortable until the day, to which Sheila always looked forward, when she herself could earn money and give to the boys the advantages of education that she would not ask for herself. To her her own little ambitions were as nothing compared to the big things that must be done for the boys so that they would grow into great men!

Paddy had become, immediately upon his adoption, a favored member of the family. He had privileges, too, and these increased as he willed because, from the mother down, not one of them could speak crossly to what little Dare called "the orphing dog." He slept in a box near the stove when he was not stretched across the foot of one of the boy's beds; he ate from a plate under the chair in the corner, a spot of his own choosing, from which he could watch the course of the family meal and ask for a second helping when he wished. He shared the rise and fall of the family fortunes--a bit of liver when the rest had chicken, a good bone on a holiday, a new collar when Matt found, on the walk before the house, a crisp five-dollar bill that had no owner.

Though, as a dog--especially an "orphing" dog Paddy measured in good manners up to the average, he had occasionally, during the winter, fallen into deep disgrace. Time and again he had been found digging vigorously in the back yard. Both Mrs. Quinn and Sheila had protested violently! The bulbs were there and, too, it was Sheila's precious war-garden--the best in the troop! Paddy had been punished--severely for the Quinns; in spite of this he was found again and again at his mischief.

"Oh, dear, he'll ruin everything," Sheila had cried, eying the havoc Paddy had worked. The more the snow melted from the ground the more determined Paddy seemed to dig his way straight through to China!

Then Mrs. Quinn had made the ultimatum! The children heard it with worried faces; Paddy listened, disturbed, from the stove behind which, after a chastisement, he had taken refuge.

"If we find him at it _once more_ he'll go straight to the pound! I'm _not going_ to have my bulbs ruined!" And Mrs. Quinn had turned resolutely away from the dismay and grief she saw in four young faces.

Sheila knew that her mother had meant what she said. That was why, on this day, she had peeped into the kitchen before she went back to Paddy. If no one had seen him then he might have just one more chance!

"You're a _bad, bad_ dog!" she said, advancing threateningly upon the culprit.

But Paddy barked protestingly. His whole manner seemed to say: "I'm through now. See what I've found!" And between his paws he held a small tin tube, badly discolored from long contact with the earth.

As Sheila leaned over he jumped upon her, then pawed the ground where the tube lay.

"What have you got? Don't you dare bury that in the tulip bed!" But he barked so hard in protest that Sheila gingerly picked up his treasure.

Under her fingers it came apart and from it dropped three folded slips of paper.

"For goodness sake!" cried Sheila, almost frightened. She smoothed them out; except for a slightly mouldy smell they were in good condition and the writing upon them could be easily read.

They were the lost formulas!

"_Mother! Mother! Mother!_" With one bound Sheila was in the house confronting her mother who had come up from the cellar, panting with alarm.

"_Paddy's found 'em! Paddy's found 'em!_" And she threw her arms about her mother's neck in a hug that swept the two of them straight into the big rocker!

"Sheila Quinn, are you _loony_? What _have_ you got? And _do_ stop that dog's barking!"

"Oh, mumsey, it's the lost formulas--they were buried in the tulip bed! _That's_ what Paddy's been digging for--all this time!"

The two spread the papers out on the table and read them over and over.

"Don't they sound _dreadful_! Just's if they'd explode all by themselves!" whispered Sheila, recalling what Mr. Everett had said about the formulas.

So giving Paddy a warm hug by way of tribute Sheila put the formulas back in the tin tube and started forth to find Mr. Everett, to tell him the whole story. All through the winter the loss of the formulas had worried Mr. Everett. His experts had been working over the experiments again and in time would, of course, have made new formulas; it was the fear, however, that some other government already possessed the secret that had troubled, not only the officials of the Everett Works, but the United States government as well. So that when Sheila, with Aunt Pen, Pat and Renee, burst into the office with the wonderful news, Mr. Everett felt as though a great load was rolling off his shoulders!

A curious gathering inspected the dirty tube and listened to the story; Mr. Everett and his staff, some secret service men, two chemists from the experimental laboratory, in their long white coats, some workmen who were passing the door and had been attracted by the exclamations--and the girls. Mr. Everett questioned Sheila closely. She recalled that Paddy had--all winter long--barked a great deal at night, so much so that after awhile the family grew accustomed to it and did not notice it.

"Marx buried it--intending to go later and dig it up! The man was smart enough to know that if they'd been found on his possession nothing could have saved him. It was a lucky thing they kept him locked up so long! Your dog has done good work, Miss Sheila!"

Mr. Everett then, turning the tube over and over in his hands, said to one of the others in a low tone:

"After all--perhaps the best service we could do for our country and the world would be to bury it again--where it would lie forever and ever!"

That night, for the second time, Mr. Everett, with Pat, came to the Quinn kitchen. But this time he was accompanied by Aunt Pen and Renee, too. They made a very loud noise at the doorstep, as though dragging to the door some heavy object. Mr. Everett insisted that the three small Quinns must stay up and to make it certain drew little Dare to his knee.

"We're going to have a regular ceremony," declared Pat so solemnly that Mrs. Quinn nervously fell to lighting more gas jets and Sheila sent Matt off to the sink to wash the jam from his face.

"We must decorate Mr. Paddy Quinn for distinguished service," Pat finished. So the boys with shouts dragged Paddy from his basket--for Paddy believed in an early bed-hour--and set him in the centre of the merry circle. Thereupon Mr. Everett produced a handsome collar decorated with a red, white and blue bow and allowed Dare to fasten it about the shaggy neck. Everyone laughed at the comical picture Paddy made in his gay decoration! Then a knock came at the door and in trooped Peggy and Keineth, trying to look as though they had not known what had been happening!

Mr. Everett rose with much seriousness. "And now that everyone is here I want to present _another_ badge of honor, that has been left in my keeping!" Sheila guessed what was coming! She threw one wildly happy look toward her mother and then stood quite still, blushing. Mr. Everett drew from his pocket the flat tissue-paper package, unwrapped it, and held up the badge of the Golden Eaglet.

"It gives me profound pleasure to return this to Miss Sheila Quinn! May she always keep and give to others, too, her sense of a true scout's honor! It is one of the strongest weapons we can carry!"

His voice was so earnest and the eyes he fixed on Sheila so full of sincere respect and admiration that the laughter in the room suddenly died. As Pat said afterwards: "It was just as though Sheila was a knight and was starting out on some crusade!" And Mrs. Quinn, who knew something of the weapons one needed to fight the battles of life, choked down a catch in her throat and Aunt Pen whispered something under her breath with a look that was like a caress for Sheila!

Then the girls opened the door and revealed a tub of ice cream on the threshold; while two of them were lifting it out of the ice Pat brought in and opened a big box full of dewy-wet pink roses.

Keineth went to the piano and played so that "the fairies danced," and then everyone sang--Dare, holding tightly to one of Mr. Everett's hands, almost splitting his throat in his effort to express his joy!

"_Such_ an evening!" said Mrs. Quinn as she closed the door behind the last guest. "And who'd have ever thought of it at six o'clock and you, Matty, with your elbow out of your sleeve! Well, well, I guess _those_ good folks don't mind a thing like that!"

"_Mother--look!_" Sheila had gone to the roses and had leaned over them to whisper good-night into the fragrant petals. And there, hidden among the leaves, she had found a small envelope addressed to "Miss Sheila Quinn."

She opened it quickly. "Oh, _Mumsey_!" she cried. For before her amazed eyes she unfolded a check for two hundred dollars!

And with it was just one short line.

"As a small token of appreciation for Paddy's services I present this to his mistress, begging her to do with it whatever she wants most in the world."

"Mumsey--the music!" Sheila ran to the piano, which had been scarcely touched during the long winter. With ecstatic fingers she ran up and down the scale.

And Mrs. Quinn, watching her girl with happy, misty eyes, seeing in the young face a look of the father who had gone on, and the glow of the rosy dreams she had used to dream in her own girlhood, thought it the most beautiful music in the world!

*CHAPTER XIX*

*A LETTER FROM FRANCE*

"A letter for you, Miss Renee!" and Jasper laid down at Renee's elbow a square, bluish envelope with a foreign postmark.

From time to time Renee and Mr. Everett had received cards from Renee's guardian--but this was a fat envelope! Aunt Pen reached eagerly for it and turned it over and over in her fingers. Whereupon Pat nodded to Renee, as much as to say: "The plot thickens! The mystery clears!"

"What fun to have it come on a nasty, rainy day like this!" she declared aloud. "Let's take it to the Eyrie and read it very slowly so's to make it last a _long_ time!"

"Renee may want to read her own letter by herself, Pat," laughed Aunt Pen, looking as happy as though the letter had come straight to her.

"Oh, _no_, please! Let's do what Pat says! And _you_ read it, aloud, Aunt Pen!"

So the fat envelope was carried to the Eyrie and Aunt Pen sat down in the one sound chair while Pat and Renee stretched out on the floor at her feet. And as Aunt Pen began to read no one minded the rain beating in torrents against the Eyrie windows!

"My dear little girl and all her good friends, the Everetts," the letter began. "Because I am confined by an inconsiderate doctor to a very small bed in a very big room in what, in the sixteenth century, used to be a monastery and is now one of the best of the American base hospitals--though I wish the window was bigger so it could let in a little more sunshine to warm these ancient walls--I have time at last to write to you a real letter. Since I returned from God's country I have been continually on the jump. I got back to the boys just in time to fire one last shot at the Jerrys, though it was a waste of good honest steel, for they were running faster than even a bullet could go. After the armistice they sent us almost directly up to the Rhine. Somehow, now that I've got the time to write, and a fairly good pen, I can't seem to find the words that will describe to you just how we men felt when we knew we were there--at the old Rhine--the way we'd talked and sung about back in the training camp. Things were not tedious--not for a moment--and we were as busy as ever and constantly on the alert that Jerry didn't slip anything over us. And then just when I was getting used to the eternal rain and mud and the Germanness of everything--and good honest, sheets, too, on a regular old grandmother's feather bed--I was ordered back with a detachment to Le Mans.

"And now, Renee, I must tell you a little story. It is about a poor French soldier I found in one of the many small villages not far from Valenciennes. We were going back in lorries, one had broken down and that held us up for a couple of hours. Some of us were prowling around for souvenirs. (By the way I am sending a German helmet to you by mail. Turn it upside down, fill it with earth and plant flowers in it--that'll redeem it.) To go back to my story--I happened upon a very old man digging in a strip of a back yard that looked the way one of our streets home look when they're paving it and putting sewers through--it was back of what had been a cottage only the roof and two of the walls were gone. I asked him for a drink and he took me to the one room that was whole to give me some of the wine which--he told me proudly--he had hidden months before, and there I found his very old wife and a young French soldier. The Frenchman would not talk to me at all, just stared and shrank away as though he was frightened. I shall never forget how the poor fellow looked, a bag of bones, hollowed eyes that burned in his white face and an empty sleeve. The old man told me the boy's story, then, and with the knowledge of French I have picked up I was able to put it together. He had been released from a German prison, he had had to walk back with other French prisoners, but because he had had his arm amputated in the prison and had had a long run of fever and was half starved he had not been able to keep up with the others and had dropped behind. The old peasant had found him lying by the road, raving in delirium. There had been a nasty wound on his forehead, too, as though back in the prison camp some Jerry had struck him over the head. The old couple had taken him in and for weeks and weeks had nursed him as best they could, keeping him alive with their precious wine. His fever had gone, the wound had healed, his strength had begun to slowly return, but he could not remember one single thing of what had happened nor tell who he was--that blow had wiped everything out of his mind! He was like a little child. But the shock of seeing me started something working in his brain; he stared and stared, after a little he got up his courage to feel of my face and of my uniform--and then of his own uniform--or the rags and tatters of what had been a good French uniform, and I think at that moment blessed memory began to return!

"To make a long story short I just took him along on the lorry to Paris and put him in a hospital there under expert care and now he's as sane as he ever was and says he can remember the German doctor who struck him and wants to go back and find him! But I told him that a higher Justice was going to settle all those scores and that he was going back to America with me--when I go. That is why I am telling you the story; I know your kind little heart that is part French will find pity and affection for this poor fellow who has suffered so much that little girls like you might go on living happy safe lives in a good world, and you will be kind to him when I bring him home with me.

"Home--Renee, it seems so funny for me to think of a home! I used to dream of having one but I have found out some dreams don't come true, and since then I've just wandered from one country to another building bridges and railroads and such things. But I feel tired now and I think when I go back I'll fix over an old house I own in a little town up in the Adirondack mountains, and we'll go there and we'll be happy, or at least I promise I'll see that you are happy. And we'll keep the French soldier I've adopted as long as he will stay, won't we?

"When I was in Paris I went down and spent a whole day with Susette and Gabriel. They are well, Gabriel's rheumatism is better, and he declares it is the slippers you sent him--he wears them all the time. They are happy getting their garden ready, and the florists in Paris are placing more orders for violets than before the war. Prosperity shines in every wrinkle in Susette's face. She pointed out to me where she has hung the Stars and Stripes alongside of the Tri-color and told me that I must tell you. Your picture was in a place of honor on the shelf under the Madonna and there was over it a tiny wreath of waxed snowdrops which Susette says she made herself. I looked at the picture and I said to myself: 'Bill Allan, that big girl with the very nice eyes is your ward, given into your care by the bravest lad you ever knew--see that you live up to the charge with the best that's in you!' That was the vow I made in front of your picture, Renee.

"Some day when we've saved enough money we'll go back and visit Susette. But she's happy, Renee--the way we're all happy over here--the fighting is over!

"You and I can never thank the Everetts for all they have done for us. I bless the Fate that brought that very lively Miss Pat into the Red Cross office for I'll admit right at that moment I didn't know what to do with you! I think that in a few weeks I'll be sent back to America and then I will try to tell them how grateful we are..."

The letter concluded with a brief description of the hospital and its beautiful, cloistered grounds where, long before, monks had found rest from the world's strife. But not one of the three listened; Aunt Pen's thoughts, even while her lips went on framing the words of the letter, were back, repeating over and over--"I used to dream of having a home but I found out some dreams can't come true!" and, as she finished and folded the letter, her eyes, staring out over the wet housetops, saw vividly again the college campus and the old stone bench under a spreading elm where she and another had talked about that very house in the Adirondacks!

"It _is_ my Will!" she murmured almost aloud. But for once Pat was too concerned with her own worry to notice her Aunt Pen's absorption!

"I think it's just _mean_ in him to say he's coming over here and take Renee away to some old place--we _won't_ let her go!" she exploded.

A little dread of this same thing was disturbing Renee! Though she had in the long trip across the sea learned to respect and trust her new guardian, and, because Emile had placed her under his care, would always feel a strong loyalty for him, she shrank a little from the thought of leaving these kind friends and going to a strange home. Aunt Pen, coming with an effort back from her own dreams, read what was passing in both Pat's and Renee's minds.

"Let's not worry, girlies! I know everything is going to turn out just the way that will make everyone happy--when Capt. Allan returns!"

Now Pat suddenly grew suspicious!

"You speak _just as though_ you knew something we didn't know, Penelope Everett! What _is_ it? _Did_ you know Renee's guardian before? You've _got_ to tell us every thing!" And Pat, a vision in her mind of romance and mystery unfolded at last, knelt before Aunt Pen and rested her elbows upon Aunt Pen's knees with an air that said: "I'm ready now to hear the whole story!"

But Aunt Pen's face, rosy red, did not suggest the secret sorrow that Pat had liked to imagine! She laughingly pushed Pat away.

"What an old teaser you are! Yes, this _is_ the same Will Allan I knew! He used to tell me, sometimes, of the old house in the mountains which an aunt had left him. Then he went to South America to build a bridge or something! There's nothing more to tell!"

Pat was visibly disappointed.

"Well, anyway, will you promise to keep him from separating Ren and me?" she begged.

Aunt Pen slipped the letter back into its envelope.

"I'll promise to do my best to keep him from--separating you--very far! If he remembers me," she added with sudden alarm! Such a thought had not occurred to her! Now it brought a tiny droop in the corner of her lips. "Anyway, Pat, much as we love Renee we must not forget that Capt. Allan has the first claim, though I am sure he will be anxious to do whatever will make her the most happy! He may let Renee decide."

"Oh, that would be _dreadful_!" cried Renee.

But the thought satisfied Pat. She stood up with sudden resolution. "Well, then, _I'm_ going to begin right now teasing Renee _every minute_ to choose us! I'm glad the letter came! Everything was so dull and now it's exciting again! And that poor Frenchman--let's go over to Peggy's, Ren, and tell her all about him! As if we minded rain, anyway!"

*CHAPTER XX*

*THE LOST BABY*

"Ren, you look as though you'd stepped out of a picture book!"

Renee did, indeed! With odds and ends from the scrap-bag and the store-room upstairs she and Pat had put together an Alsatian costume. Pat, perched cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a book on Historical Costumes stretched across her knees, proclaimed her satisfaction with their handiwork while Renee turned and turned before the long mirror, stopping to spread out the full short skirt or perk up the enormous bow that adorned her head.

Keineth Randolph was going to give a party. It was to be a costume party; there was to be dancing as well as games; all the boys and girls of the Randolph's acquaintance had been invited. They always loved to go to the Randolph's home; the house, though small, seemed to have been built for the sole purpose of giving young people room for a good time; John Randolph, himself, could be as young as the youngest and Keineth, always good-humored, was a hospitable little hostess. Add real musicians, tucked off on the landing of the stair, a table in the corner of the dining-room laden with goodies dear to young folks, witches and goblins, lords and ladies of past kingdoms, monks, fairies, clowns and elves to make merry--well, "it will be one grand party!" Pat had declared.

She herself had been torn in mind as to what she wanted to be. She pictured herself as Jeanne d'Arc, glorious in silver armor and lance in hand; she considered Mary, Queen of Scots; then her romantic fancy favored Cinderella! But learning from Peggy that Garrett was going as the brave Powhatan, the Indian Chief, she promptly decided to tease Garrett by appearing as Pocahontas! Aunt Pen was shopping at that very moment trying to find the gayest feather duster in the city with which to decorate her.

"Pat, I'll wear my locket!" cried Renee, turning from the mirror.

She ran to her drawer as she spoke and drew from it the little case. Pat watched her approvingly as she fastened the bright red band about her throat. It added a piquant spot of color to the quaint costume and the curious old locket looked as though it might have been fashioned by some old artisan for a royal lady in the days when feudal lords reigned over France!

"It's _perfect_!" Pat gave a leap over the low footboard of her bed to examine more closely Renee's entire appearance.

"You're going to be the best thing there," she declared conclusively. "I know everyone will be crazy over you! _Won't_ it be fun? I can't wait until Thursday comes! Only then it'll be over so soon!" And Pat sighed deeply, as millions of others have sighed over the rapid flight of time!

Maggie tapped at the door.

"There's a queer old woman downstairs a-asking for you, Miss Renee!"

"For me?" Renee turned, startled. Then a sudden thought enlightened her. "It must be Elsbeth!"

She ran quickly down the stairs to the door followed by Pat. It was Elsbeth, the queer old servant who lived with Mrs. Forrester. At sight of Renee she turned a face white with distress.

"Oh, Miss Renny, Miss Renny, she's took again! Mis' Lee sent me to fetch you! You must come!"

"What do you mean, Elsbeth--Mrs. Forrester? I'll go with you at once!"

"I think that's _mean_, Renee! We were going to plan my costume--you _know_ it!" protested Pat.

"Oh, _Pat_!" Renee's voice pleaded from the depths of the hall closet where she was hunting for her warm coat. "Oh, Pat--you wouldn't want me not to go! The poor thing!"

Pat was a little ashamed; however she did not want to show it--she cast an accusing look at old Elsbeth as though she was to blame.

"Well, I don't believe I'd leave you for any of the Kewpies, but I'll get along somehow!" and assuming the air of a martyr she started slowly back up the stairs.

"I'll get back as quickly as I can, truly, Patsy, so wait for me!" Pat paused in her ascent. "You're never going in _that_ costume, are you?"

Renee had completely forgotten what she had on! However, she only laughed and buttoned the coat up closely about her throat.

"Oh, it won't make any difference! I'm ready, Elsbeth--let's hurry!"

"She was took last night with one of her spells and cried and wouldn't take her powders! And to-day she's still like she was dead," the old servant explained to Renee as they almost ran through the streets. They made a curious pair--the young girl's scarlet skirts swinging out below the coat, the gilded cardboard with which she had covered her slippers flopping about her ankles and the ends of the big black bow peeping out from under the soft hat she had clapped upon her head; Elsbeth, hobbling in her effort to keep up with the younger feet, her loosened ends of stringy gray hair flying in every direction, and her hands rolled in the apron she tried vainly to conceal under the short, shabby jacket she wore.

"The Lord sent Mis' Lee," she gasped, panting for breath, "and she sez--go fetch Miss Renny! An' I come!"

"She'll be better, I know, with Mrs. Lee there! Don't worry, Elsbeth," and Renee, heedless of the panting breath beside her, quickened her pace so that in a very few minutes she was tapping at the door.

Mrs. Lee opened it and drew Renee into the dingy parlor. She went to one of the windows and raised the shade to the very top, letting in a flood of warm sunshine. Then she whispered to Renee:

"The doctor is with her now. It is the first time since I have known her that we could get her to see a doctor! Take off your coat, my dear! Oh----" she stared for a moment, puzzled, then laughed: "you were trying on your costume for Keineth's party! You are a picture, my dear!" She hesitated, as though something in Renee's face suddenly held her attention.

"Just for a moment you made me think of someone, but I can't tell who! Perhaps it is that you so thoroughly look the part of a little Maid of Alsace! I thought, while we were waiting, I might tell you a little more of poor Mrs. Forrester's story. Then you will understand why she suffers as she does! She was not always alone as she is now--she once had a beautiful young daughter----"

"Oh," broke in Renee, excitedly, "was that the lost baby?"

"Yes, though she was twenty years old! Now the mother always thinks of her as a baby."

"Did she die?"

"No--to Mrs. Forrester then it was worse than death. The two of them seemed to have been quite alone in the world; the mother cared for nothing but the little girl. Every luxury that money could buy she heaped upon her with a lavish hand. One might think that the child would have been dreadfully spoiled but those who knew them say she was sweet and gentle, pretty as a flower. When she was a little older the mother took her away--she must have the best schooling that money could obtain. They traveled a great deal, too. And all the while, as the young girl grew toward womanhood, the proud mother was building plans for the wonderful future her child must have! I do not know of just what greatness she dreamed--whether it was of some Duchess Somebody or even a prince's title--I only know that she held money and high social position as the greatest gifts with which a Kindly Providence could endow her flower and lost sight of what makes real happiness in this world!

"It sounds like a fairy tale, my dear! While the proud mother was dreaming her golden dreams, the young girl met and fell in love with a poor artist--a boy, for he was only twenty-two, whose family was quite unknown and who had nothing in the wide world but a profound belief in his own great talent. The young girl went proudly and joyously with him to the mother to tell of their happiness. The mother would only believe that the boy was an adventurer--a fortune seeker; she saw an end to the plans of her whole lifetime, an obscure future for the girl she had so carefully educated. She sent the young man away and forbade his communicating in any way with her daughter. For weeks the girl pleaded vainly, the mother would not listen; in a fury of disappointment she even locked her for days in her room, thinking to break the young will! But there is an old saying that true love will find a way--the day came when the young girl slipped away, joined her lover and a few hours later returned to tell the mother that they had been married. Then it was that anger and baffled pride drove out all love and justice from the mother's heart; heaping curses upon the frightened girl she drove her from her, bidding her never cross her path again! The girl and boy went away and from that day to this the unhappy woman has never laid eyes upon them. Her rage brought about a spell not unlike what she is having now; for days and days she lay in her bed refusing to let anyone near her. Then, finally, as the weeks grew into months, slowly into her heart crept the realization of what she had done. Remorse began eating at her soul. She tried vainly to find some trace of the daughter; with only Elsbeth she wandered for month after month over every country of the globe, seeking everywhere! She spent almost a fortune on her search. But there was never a sign. It was as if the world had swallowed them. And, finally, broken by her sorrow, unhappy and discouraged, without any friends and with only a little of her former wealth left, she came back to this city and to this old house. It looked then just the way it does now. She threw out anything in it that might make it even a little cheerful and then settled down to die! But life, cruelly enough, has hung on and on! I have learned her story from things she has told me; for some strange reason she has seemed to want to confide in me. And Elsbeth, too, has sometimes softened a little and talked about the old days! That is her sad story, my dear! I know, now, how tender you will always be with her and I have often thought that perhaps you may remind her--a little--of the--lost baby, because you are young and like a flower, too!"

Two bright spots of color burned in Renee's cheeks. To herself she was saying: "_Wait_ until I tell Pat!" The thrill of the secret of the lost baby held her more than any sympathy for the old lady; perhaps deep in her heart some sense of justice told her that the proud mother had had just the punishment she deserved.

Mrs. Lee had turned toward the door. "The doctor is going! Wait here, Renee, until I call you. He may have some directions to give."

Renee looked about the room. What a horrible place! Even the gold of the sunlight dimmed to a cold lustre as it lay across the dusty surface of the shabby furniture! Everything was so unspeakably ugly and so still! She suddenly felt very lonely. A moment's wild impulse tempted her to run back to Pat as fast as her feet could fly! They had been having such fun fixing the costumes; the pink-curtained room had been so cheery, Peter Pan had been singing so lustily--why should she stay here?

Except for the low murmur of voices from the hall where Mrs. Lee was talking to the doctor, the only sound to break the awful stillness was the loud ticking of old Elsbeth's clock in the kitchen. It had a mournfully resentful tick as much as to say to its unhappy listeners: "No matter how wretched you feel, I go on--I go on--I go on!"

The door going into the room where Mrs. Forrester lay was closed. As she thought of crossing its threshold little Renee shuddered. A fear she could not explain gripped her! After all, she was only a little girl; she had never seen anyone suffer--except Gabriel when he was tortured with his rheumatism; she had never seen anyone die--her own dear mother had seemed to just go to sleep! And what if Mrs. Forrester should die? If she wanted to go back home, surely Mrs. Lee would let her go!