A Dear Little Girl at School

“He won’t bite you,” replied Helen, “and you don’t have to get close enough to him to comb his eyebrows. What I mean is that we can ‘be diligent and studious’ as the old copy-books used to have it, speak well of his school, and not carry tales home that will make our families think we are martyrs and that he is an ogre, or someone to be feared constantly.”

“Helen Darby! I’d like to know who has been giving you all these new ideas,” said Florence.

“Why, I think Mrs. Conway started them by the way she talked to Agnes, and I have a modest claim to some brains of my own, so I thought out the rest and talked it over with father who put things very clearly before me, and showed me that school-girls are half the time silly geese who seem to think their teachers are created for the mere purpose of making their lives miserable. Father said that the shoe was usually on the other foot, and that the girls were much more liable to make the teachers’ lives miserable. That set me a-thinking. Let me remark in passing that father says he thinks our club is great, and he wants to have a hand in furnishing the entertaining some time.”

This announcement made quite a ripple of excitement, for Mr. Darby did nothing by halves and it was expected that there would be a good time for the G. R.’s when they met at Helen’s house.

Edna kept in mind what had been said about Uncle Justus and before very long came an opportunity to prove her powers of doing him a kindness. It was just before Thanksgiving that Mrs. Conway came in one Thursday afternoon to see Aunt Elizabeth and of course her own two little daughters as well. Edna sat very close to her mother on the sofa, her hand stroking the smooth kid glove she wore.

It was a queer thing to have her mother for company, but it was very delightful, too.

“I hope you and Uncle Justus can come out to take Thanksgiving dinner with us,” said Mrs. Conway to her aunt.

“Thank you, my dear, but I am afraid it is impossible,” was the response. “I long ago promised to go to sister Julia’s, and hoped Justus would go, too, but he insists that he cannot possibly take the time, for it is something of a trip. He says he has some school papers he must attend to, and moreover, has promised to address a meeting in the afternoon, so that it will be impossible.”

“I am very sorry,” returned Mrs. Conway, “for we had quite counted on you both. Perhaps Uncle Justus can take the time to come to us even if he cannot go so far as Aunt Julia’s.”

Mrs. Homer shook her head. “I am afraid not, but you can ask him. Julia will be greatly disappointed, but you know Justus is nothing if not conscientious and if he has made up his mind he ought not to go, nothing will alter his decision.”

“What time is his meeting?” asked Mrs. Conway.

“At half past two, I believe.”

“Oh, dear, then I am afraid it will be difficult for him to get to us, or rather to get away. We are to have dinner at two rather than in the evening, partly on account of the children and partly on account of the maids, to whom I have promised the time after they have finished the necessary work. There is a train at two-forty-five, but that would be too late, and it takes nearly an hour by the trolley cars.”

“Then I am afraid he will have to dine alone,” said Mrs. Horner, “I don’t suppose he has ever done such a thing in his life as that, but it cannot be helped. Julia has few opportunities of seeing her family and he insists that I must not think of disappointing her on his account.”

Edna listened very soberly to all this, and when it was learned later that nothing could alter Uncle Justus’s decision, she felt very sorry for him. She took occasion to open up the subject herself that afternoon. “Uncle Justus,” she asked, “did you ever eat Thanksgiving dinner alone?”

Uncle Justus looked at her over his spectacles. “Well, no, I cannot say that I ever did.”

“Shall you like to do it?”

“No, I do not believe I shall particularly enjoy it, but duty must come before pleasure, you know.”

“I wish you were going to have dinner with us.”

“That would be very agreeable to me, but I fear I cannot think of it upon this occasion.”

Edna sighed. She had hoped he might reconsider it. When he had left the room she went out into the kitchen to see Ellen of whom she was very fond. “Ellen,” she said “are you going to stay in and cook Uncle Justus’s Thanksgiving dinner for him?”

“I am thot. It’ll not be much of a job I’ll be havin’ ayther.”

“Why! Isn’t he going to have a real Thanksgiving dinner?”

“She was tellin’ me this mornin’ thot it would be aisy, and I cud have me afthernoon the same as usual, for he’d not be in. Says she, ’a bit av a chicken will do and ye can make a pumpkin pie the day before, so what with a few pertaties and a taste of stewed tomats he’ll do bravely.”

“Oh dear!” Edna sighed again as she thought of all that would be served at her own home table. Her little face wore a very serious and troubled look every time she looked at Uncle Justus that evening and the next day at recess she unburdened her heart to Dorothy and Jennie. These three always ate their lunch together and they took this opportunity for many a confidence.

“Girls,” Edna began smoothing down her frock and folding her hands. “I have a chance to do Uncle Justus a kindness and I can’t make up my mind to do it. I’m afraid I’m awfully selfish.”

Dorothy laughed. “I’d like to see anybody who’s less so, wouldn’t you, Jennie?”

“I certainly would. Edna, tell us about it.”

“Well, you see Uncle Justus has things to do so he can’t go with Aunt Elizabeth to her sister’s and he hasn’t even time to come to us for Thanksgiving, and he will have to eat his dinner all alone, unless – unless I stay and keep him company.”

“Oh Edna, and you couldn’t be with your family last year because you were here.” Dorothy’s tones were almost awe-stricken.

“I know, and of course I am dying to be at home, and that’s where the being selfish comes in, I keep thinking how I should hate to eat my dinner alone and every time I look at Uncle Justus I feel so sorry for him I can hardly stand it, then when I think of not going home I feel so sorry for myself I can scarcely stand that.”

Both girls were silent. They saw the opportunity for heroic sacrifice as well as Edna did, but they could not advise her either way; it was too weighty a question, though Jennie ventured, “If he is going to be busy all the time you would be all by yourself except at dinner.”

“Yes,” Edna nodded, “and Ellen is going out after she gets the dishes done, but I suppose I could go home after that. She could put me on the trolley and I’d get home in an hour. I thought about that.”

“So, then it wouldn’t be like staying all day, would it?” said Dorothy, brightening a little as she saw this much light upon the matter.

“Yes, of course that would make a great difference,” returned Edna.

“Or,” Jennie had a sudden brilliant thought. “Oh, Edna, I wonder if you couldn’t come to my house and stay all night with me. I should be so delighted to have you and I know mother would, too. We aren’t to have our Thanksgiving dinner till six, so you could have two.”

Edna looked quite happy as this plan was suggested. What girl of nine does not delight in such an experience as spending the night with a friend? The thought of two Thanksgiving dinners, though one might be rather a frugal one, had its charm, too. “I think that would be perfectly lovely,” she said, then after a moment’s thought, “but you must ask your mother first and I’ll ask mine.”

“I’ll ask her as soon as I go home and will tell you at the club meeting this afternoon, and then you can ask your mother when you get home and let me know on Monday. I just know what mother will say before I ask her.”

Then the bell rang and recess was over, but Edna returned to her lessons very happy at this solution of what had been a matter of deep thought. It turned out just as Jennie had prophesied, for she brought a veritable invitation to Edna that afternoon in the shape of a little note, and she further said that Mrs. Ramsey meant to make sure by writing a formal request to Mrs. Conway, therefore Edna considered the matter as good as settled.

She was full of the subject that afternoon when she reached home. It was quite dark although she and the others had taken the train which brought them more quickly. The club meetings were so interesting that it was hard to get away in time, but Mrs. Conway was on the watch as the girls came in the gate. Of course Edna had told Celia about all this, and indeed it had been talked over at the club, all the girls agreeing that it was a perfectly lovely thing for Edna to do, so she came in quite exalted by all the approval.

However, when she told her tale and her mother saw that it was a case of genuine desire to do a good deed, and that in the beginning it had appeared in the light of a heavier sacrifice than could be made easily, she felt that she could allow the child to do as she wished, being sure that it was not in a spirit of self-righteousness. And so, on the evening before Thanksgiving after Uncle Justus had returned from seeing Mrs. Horner safely on her journey to her sister’s, he saw a little figure watching for him at the window.

“Well, well, well, little girl,” he said, “how is this? I thought you would have been at home before now.”

“I’m not going till Friday,” replied Edna smiling up at him. “I’m going to stay and have Thanksgiving dinner with you.”

“What? What? What?” Uncle Justus frowned and shook his head, but he took off his spectacles and wiped them very vigorously.

“Yes, I am.” Edna was very decided. “Mother said I might, and oh, Uncle Justus, she knew Aunt Elizabeth would be away and she thought maybe you and I would like some of our Thanksgiving, so she has sent some of her goodies, and we’re going to have a lovely time. I am going to help Ellen set the table and wipe the dishes.”

“But, my child, I cannot allow it. No, no, no.”

“Oh, but, please.” The more Uncle Justus denied, the more anxious was Edna.

“But, my child, it would be selfish and inconsiderate of me in the extreme to take you away from your family on a holiday. I know what it means to little people to have such treats, and to an old fellow like me it will not make such a difference.”

“But you told me you had never had a Thanksgiving dinner alone.”

“That is quite true, but it is no reason why I should call upon a little girl like you to give up the holiday to me.”

“Don’t you want me to stay?” asked Edna wistfully, and feeling a little hurt lest after all, her sacrifice was not really needed.

Then Uncle Justus did a rare thing. He sat down, put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. “My dear little girl,” he replied, “if that is the way you feel, I can only say that I am delighted beyond measure that you want to stay, and you will give me a greater cause for thanksgiving than I have expected or deserved,” and he drew her to his knee.

Edna smiled as she wondered what Florence Gittings, or any of the other girls, for that matter, would say if they could see her then so extremely near the fierce eyebrows.

“But what will you do in the afternoon?” asked Uncle Justus after a moment. “I must go out early, you see.”

“I know that. At first I thought I would get Ellen to put me on the cars to go home. It would be quite safe, for I have gone so many times, but Jennie Ramsey and her mother have invited me to come there to stay all night. I’ll come back here on Friday, if you would like me to, Uncle Justus. I could stay till Aunt Elizabeth comes home.”

Uncle Justus was silent for a moment. He smoothed her hair thoughtfully and then he said gently. “Your mother very kindly has asked me to spend the week end with you all, so suppose we go out together on Friday afternoon. I can take my papers with me and do my necessary work on Saturday there as well as here. Your little club meets on Friday afternoon, doesn’t it? I will meet you and Celia at the station in time for the four-thirty train, which is the one you usually take, isn’t it?”

Edna was surprised that Uncle Justus should know all this about the club and the time of their going home, but she didn’t say so. “I think that will be a very nice plan,” she told him. “I’ll come back here on Friday morning and have dinner with you, and then I can go to the club meeting. It is to be at Helen Darby’s this time, and that is very near, you know.” The twilight gathered about the two and in the dim light Uncle Justus did not appear in the least a person to stand in awe of, for when Ellen came to call them to supper she was surprised to see the little girl still sitting on the old man’s knee, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder.

CHAPTER V

IN A BLIZZARD

The enjoyment of helping Ellen, of setting the table and of being consulted on such important subjects as whether the best china and the finest tablecloth should be used almost made up to Edna for being away from home on Thanksgiving day. The basket sent by Mrs. Conway contained several things which made the dinner much more of a feast than it would otherwise have been, for there was a jar of tomato soup, a small chicken pie with scalloped leaves and little balls of crust on top, some delicious pickles, a glass of currant jelly and another of cranberry sauce. Margaret had brought in a bunch of cut flowers from Mrs. MacDonald’s greenhouse, the day before and these set in the middle of the table were a lovely ornament.

“It’s the foinest lookin’ table iver I saw in this house,” said Ellen when Edna called her in to see. “What was it yez were sayin’ about thim little toasty crusts for the soup. I’d be afther makin’ thim if I cud know wanst.”

“Oh, I can tell you just how,” said Edna, “for I have watched our cook make them.” She felt very important to be overseeing this piece of cookery and went in to call her uncle, feeling very much pleased at what had been accomplished.

“Well, well, well,” exclaimed Uncle Justus, “this does look like holiday times. Who did all this?”

“Ellen and I,” Edna told him, “and it was lots of fun.”

Uncle Justus nodded. “I dare say,” he said with a smile, as he sat down.

It was really a merrier repast than Edna had ever eaten under that roof, for instead of eating his dinner in silence as he generally did, Uncle Justus was quite talkative and actually attempted to joke once in a while. When Ellen was taking away the plates before she served the dessert, the old gentleman arose. “I think,” he said, “that this is just the occasion to open that jar of ginger Captain Doane sent me awhile ago.” So he went to his own special cupboard, unlocked the door and brought forth the wicker bound ginger jar which had been there several weeks, and it is safe to say Edna was given her share.

“A famous dinner,” said Uncle Justus as he rose from the table. “I can’t remember that I ever had a pleasanter one, and I have you to thank for it, my dear. Now, I am afraid I shall have to go to my meeting, but I know you have an agreeable plan for the evening, so I do not feel the reluctance in leaving that I should otherwise.”

Edna helped him on with his overcoat, handed him his walking stick and saw him off, standing in the door, and hoping he would look back. He did this giving her a smile and nod as she waved her hand. Then she went back to Ellen and together they did the dishes very carefully. After this both must get dressed, and an hour later they were about to start when the bell rang and Ellen opened the door to Jennie Ramsey.

“I thought I’d just come for you in the motor car,” she said. “Mother said Mack could take us for a little ride in the fresh air so we would have a better appetite for dinner.”

This was quite exciting, for Edna’s opportunities for riding in an automobile were not many.

The magnificence of the Ramsey’s dinner far outdid Aunt Elizabeth’s, but Edna did not enjoy it one whit the more, although it was very delightful to be served by a man in livery, and to have such exquisite china and glass to look at during the meal. The child felt a little shy in the presence of so many strangers, and had little to say. Moreover, she had too often been told by Aunt Elizabeth that “little children should be seen and not heard” for her not to remember she must not chatter. Really the best time came when she and Jennie went up to bed when Jennie showed her all her treasures, her pretty room and her rows of books. They became very confidential as they snuggled down under the covers, and when Mrs. Ramsey came in to kiss them both good-night, Edna felt much happier than had seemed possible she could be when she first considered that she must spend the day and night away from her mother.

The club meeting at Helen Darby’s the next day was a fine affair, too, for Mr. Darby had provided an entertainment which pleased them all. A wonderful juggler did all sorts of curious tricks and a young man sang the drollest of songs. Then, too, the refreshments were unusually good. It had been made an inviolable rule that not more than three articles were to be served, but when there were ice cream, delicious cakes and bon-bons, surely these were quite enough.

“You see,” said Helen in explanation, after some of the girls had protested, “father said this was a holiday meeting and it might be a little more elaborate, he thought.”

Uncle Justus took Edna and Celia home that evening, and if he did not enjoy his visit it was not the fault of the girls. It is probable the old gentleman had rarely had such attentions and such a fuss made over him. He was invited to the Evans’s to supper on Saturday and to Mrs. MacDonald’s to dinner on Sunday. He was taken to drive; he was invited to walk, and really was quite overcome by all this thought of him from the members of the G. R. Club.

Monday morning saw everyone but Celia back at school. Celia having had too much Thanksgiving, or too much something was not able to go, and indeed, had to remain at home for the entire week, and it seemed very much like the old days to Edna when she had to stay at Uncle Justus’s without her sister. Aunt Elizabeth returned home on Monday afternoon, quite “smoothed out” Edna told her mother afterward. So the week sped along in the old way till Friday afternoon.

It had begun to snow a little when Edna started out to the club meeting which was held at Florence Gittings’s. The little girl had no fear, however, for she expected to meet Dorothy and Agnes and go home with them, but for some reason neither was present. Later on it was learned that Mr. Evans had called for them at their aunt’s and had taken them home fearing a heavy storm would prevent their going later. A telegram which they sent to Edna at Florence Gittings’s was not delivered till after the child had left the house.

“You aren’t going off by yourself,” said Florence when the club meeting was over. It had seemed rather a poor little affair after the brilliancy of Helen’s entertainment, and with both Agnes and Celia missing. However they had all done their best, but it broke up rather earlier than usual.

“Oh, I must go,” said Edna. “I am sure Agnes and Dorothy will be at the railway station, and we can all go out together.”

“But it is snowing so hard and the wind is making the snow drift,” continued Florence.

“Oh, but the cars go all the way to the station. I won’t have to walk, and very likely mother will send one of the boys, Cousin Ben, perhaps, to meet me.”

“I wish we had a telephone,” said Florence, “but we haven’t, and I suppose you can telephone from the station if you want to.”

“I might do that,” said Edna.

“I think you’d better go back to your Uncle Horner’s,” suggested Helen.

“Oh, but – ” Edna did not want to do this. A whole week at the school without Celia was about all she thought she could stand. “I shall do all right,” she insisted. “I’m sure the girls will be at the station.” So the others saw her depart without urging her further.

Owing to the snow which was drifting heavily, the cars were running much more slowly than usual, and when Edna reached the station her train had just gone. It was the train her father always took and she had hoped to see him. She decided to telephone and took out her purse to see what money she had. Alas! she had but ten cents, not enough for an out-of-town toll. She had her school ticket fortunately. Celia was the one who always carried the money for the expenses, and Edna remembered that her mother had told her to be sure to provide herself with enough. “If you find you run short,” she told the child, “either send down to your father for some change or borrow it from Aunt Elizabeth.”

Edna would rather have done almost anything than borrow from Aunt Elizabeth and she had forgotten to look in her purse anyhow, before starting. “Even if I had,” she told herself, “I would have thought I had enough for I didn’t expect to need anything but car fare.” The next train would leave at five, but as it was a short run Edna thought she might venture to take it, even though it might be dark when she reached the station. She could telephone to the house from there, if necessary. So she waited patiently till it should be time for her train to be ready and then she went out and took her seat. It was snowing desperately hard she noticed as they moved along, and the train stopped frequently, but at last she reached her own station and got off feeling very thankful to be this near home. She looked around; not a soul was there to meet her. She would have to telephone. She turned toward the waiting-room, but to her consternation found the door locked.

There was not a soul in sight. She stood still for a while. It was getting colder, and the snow was drifting and swirling around at a great rate. What should she do? The station master had probably gone home to his supper, for there were no more trains till nearly six o’clock from either direction. He had not counted on his presence being needed between whiles once he had seen to his freight and baggage, and he had gone to the back of the building where he lived.

It was not more than a ten minutes’ walk to her home in good weather, and Edna at last thought she would venture. She pulled her hat down over her ears and her coat collar up around her neck and started. It was desperate walking here in the country where the sharp wind seemed to search out every unprotected part of the body. The snow nearly blinded her, and cut her face like a knife. Every little while she had to stop to get breath, and as she found the difficulties increasing she thought of all the stories she had heard of persons perishing in the snow a few yards from their own door-ways. “I wish I had gone back to Uncle Justus,” she murmured. “Oh, dear, I don’t believe I will ever get there.”

The whiteness of the snow made it possible for her to see a little of the way when she first started, but as she went on and it grew darker she began to wonder if she were in the road. She brushed away the stinging flakes and looked around, peering into the darkness gathering around her. Through the blinding, hurrying flakes she could see twinkling lights here and there, and presently she located the piece of woods just beyond her own home, but it was far to the left, and she realized that she had turned into a by-road instead of keeping to the main one. The tears began to course down her cheeks when she appreciated how far she was from her own house. “I can never go back,” she sobbed. “I can’t. I am so cold and so tired, I’m afraid I can’t get there. It would never do to stand still,” she realized and presently she made up her mind to struggle on toward the nearest light a little ahead.

She bowed her head again and pressed on through the drifts, feeling her strength would do no more than get her to this refuge. At last it was reached, a little house, by the wayside, a tiny garden in front and a small cow-shed behind. Managing to get the gate open, Edna went upon the porch and knocked at the door.

It was opened by a little girl about her own age. “Why,” she exclaimed, “who is it? I thought you were mother. Come right in out of the storm. Isn’t it a dreadful one?”

Edna, scarce able to speak, tottered into the room, warm from a bright fire in a base-burner stove and cheerful by reason of a lighted lamp.

“You are all covered with snow,” the little girl went on. “Do come to the fire and take off your hat and coat. You must be nearly frozen and I expect your feet are wet and cold. I’ll take off your shoes.”