A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays Part 15

"So I was, my dear, but I couldn't have enjoyed it knowing you were here without your mother or any of your family. I know little folks like their mothers when they are not feeling well, and though I couldn't in any way take the place of your mother, I wanted to come and look after you a little."

Edna put up a hand and softly stroked the cheek above the curled grey whisker, and even a part of the whisker itself. "I think it was dear of you to do that, but Uncle Justus, I am afraid Mr. Ramsey was disappointed not to have you go, and I did not mind so very much being alone. I did want mother awfully, when I was feeling the sickest, but I tried to think how lovely everyone was to me, and of how nice it was to be in this lovely cool place by the sea, instead of in the hot city, and I didn't feel so."

Uncle Justus murmured something which Edna couldn't quite make out, something about babes and sucklings which really did not appear to have much to do with the subject.

"Aren't you really disappointed about not going on the sailing party?"

she asked presently.

"No, my dear. I prefer to be here. Besides, do you remember a little girl who gave up having her Thanksgiving at home that she might share a lonely dinner with her old uncle? If you have forgotten, I have not."

"Oh, but," returned Edna, quite embarra.s.sed, for the little girl was none other than herself, "you see you were quite well, and didn't have a headache." Just what this had to do with it was rather puzzling and Uncle Justus smiled at the attempted argument.

Then they fell into talking about various things, and in the course of the conversation Edna told of her adventure in the fog, of how scared she had been, and how fearful lest Louis were drowned. Uncle Justus listened attentively, and asked such adroit questions that though Edna tried to s.h.i.+eld Louis, she knew that Uncle Justus was aware of everything that had happened. He was Louis's Uncle Justus as well as Edna's.

When the story was ended Uncle Justus was silent for a time, but he stroked Edna's hair thoughtfully. At last he said half to himself, "I shall have to have a talk with the boy's mother. He will be ruined if something is not done." And then Emma came in to know if Mr. Horner would have tea, and then since he declined this, she asked if he would dine with Miss Edna.

"Oh, you will, Uncle Justus, won't you," begged Edna.

"I will if you would like me to," he said simply.

So Edna sat up straight and said, "He will stay, Emma, but you must give him more than I am to have, for Mrs. Ramsey said I'd better not eat anything very hearty."

"You were to have some broth and toast, Miss Edna," Emma told her, "and if you wanted more before bedtime I was to give you some hot milk."

"But they will be back by bedtime, Emma, I am sure."

"Very well, miss. I will see that the gentleman has something proper."

She went out and Edna, feeling that she had been coddled long enough, took a seat on a low chair, and pretty soon dinner was announced, the two eating it very happily together. Edna had her chicken broth and toast for which she was quite ready by this time, declaring that she was actually hungry and that her head was steadily getting better.

As she had predicted, it was not bedtime when the sailing party returned, full of their doings. Edna was ready with plenty of questions and was told how Miss Eloise proved to be a good sailor, and had enjoyed the trip immensely, of how Ben and Mr. Ramsey had carried her ash.o.r.e bodily, of how they had made a fire and cooked their supper, and last of all, how they had all missed her.

It was after Ben and Uncle Justus had departed for the yacht that Edna watching the lights in the harbor, heard Mr. Ramsey say, "We saw Mr. Horner in a new light to-day. Who could ever imagine him so tenderly anxious about his little niece? He always seemed rather a cold undemonstrative person to me. I was certainly surprised when he insisted upon returning that he might be with Edna in our absence."

"I was rather surprised myself," responded Mrs. Ramsey, "though now I remember it, Jennie has told me that he is devoted to Edna, and though all his other pupils stand in awe of him, that she alone seems to have no fear. He must have a tender heart, for all his bushy eyebrows and stern exterior."

The twinkling lights in the harbor were still s.h.i.+ning when the little girls went to bed, but before morning a wilder light was blazing from the point where old Cap'n Si's little house stood, and, the next morning when the children looked across to where yesterday they had seen the old man sitting on the bench outside his door, the smoke curling from the chimney and the flowers in his little garden making a brave showing, they beheld but a heap of blackened ruins.

Jennie was the first to see it and ran to her father who had just come down. "Oh, Papa," she cried, "just come here. There isn't any Cap'n Si's house any more."

"What's that?" said her father joining her at the window where she stood.

"Just look."

Mr. Ramsey did look but he saw only the charred bits of wood from which a slight smoke was rising. "That's bad, very bad," he said shaking his head. "Why it was only last night that he was telling us that he was born in that house and hoped to die in it. I wonder how it could have happened. I hope no one was hurt. Who lives with him, daughter? Do you remember?"

"His daughter and her family, Bert is the oldest; he is off fis.h.i.+ng in Captain Eli Brown's boat, then there is Louberta, but she's married.

Amelia comes next, and then there's little Si, and Kitty is the youngest. They haven't any father, for he was lost at sea two years ago."

"I remember, I remember. It is all very sad. I must go over as soon as I have had some breakfast and we will see what is to be done."

As one after another came down the news of the fire was told, and Mrs.

Ramsey declared she must go with her husband to find out all about it.

So they started off in the automobile as soon as breakfast was over, leaving three deeply interested little girls. There was no talk of calling Cap'n Si that morning, for he would not be looking for the flag to be run up, instead he was lying helpless on a cot, his hands swathed in cotton, and his stubbly beard singed by the fire he had vainly tried to put out.

It was two hours before Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey returned, and then it was to tell a sorrowful tale. A lamp burning in one of the two little upper rooms had been overturned by one of the children very early in the morning, and before the full danger was realized the house was in flames. Fortunately no one was very seriously hurt, Cap'n Si was badly scorched, and his hands showed some bad burns, but the doctor had p.r.o.nounced these not so very deep. Everything in the house was consumed, however, and the family were dest.i.tute and homeless.

The children gathered around Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey listening with absorbed interest. "What will they do, Papa?" asked Jennie. "They have nowhere to go and no clothes and no furniture. Oh, dear, isn't it dreadful?"

"Some of their neighbors have taken them in temporarily, and as soon as needs be we shall gather up whatever can be spared in the way of clothing for them. Then there is a plan on foot to get up a bazar in order to collect money for their furniture when they shall have another house."

"How will they be able to build a house? I know they are very poor."

"We hope enough money will be subscribed for that. Everyone respects Cap'n Si, and we think there will be enough forthcoming to build a house sufficiently large for their needs."

"Has papa subscribed?"

"Yes, dear; it was he who started the subscription paper."

"Were none of the children hurt at all?" asked Edna.

"One of them, the youngest was slightly burned, for she was asleep when the fire broke out. It was in saving her that Cap'n Si was burned."

"Are they going to ask those young men on the yacht to give something?"

asked Edna. "They are not going off till this afternoon, you know."

"We didn't think of them, did we?" said Mrs. Ramsey to her husband.

"That is true, we didn't and most of them can well afford to make a contribution. I will see McAllister myself."

"What can we do?" asked Dorothy wistfully.

"Oh, yes, we want to help, of course," chimed in Jennie. "I will give all the money I have left of my allowance, Mother, and all that is coming to me for the rest of the time we are here."

"I think you'd better allow yourself a little, dear child, but I am sure papa will advance you whatever he thinks is right for you to give."

"I think I could give a dollar," said Edna after a pause. "I have that much, and I am sure I don't have to spend it for I have six postage stamps, that will make two a week till I get back home. Would a dollar do any good, Mrs. Ramsey?"

"It would do a great deal of good, but instead of giving the money outright how would you children like to buy materials to make fancy articles for the bazar? In that way I haven't a doubt but you would get a better return."

"I think that would be a fine plan," said Dorothy, for, to tell the truth, her savings were of small account, and as she calculated she told herself that thirty-five cents would be the very limit. Money always burned a hole in Dorothy's pocket, and it was hard for her to pa.s.s a candy shop without spending her pennies. Mrs. Ramsey knew this and knew also that while Dorothy was quite as generous as the other two she would have less to offer.

Both Jennie and Edna agreed with Dorothy that it was a very good plan to spend the money in this way and they at once began to plan what they should buy.

"I think we all might make a trip to Boston in a day or two," said Mrs.

Ramsey. "How would you like that? I think we might spend our money to better advantage there."

"That would be simply perfect," cried one and another.