Sunshine Jane Part 10

Jane gave a little start. "I wonder what for," she said.

"What for!" Susan's tone was full of deep meaning; "why, he's fallen dead in love with you, Jane, that's what it means, and I don't wonder, for you're the nicest girl I ever saw."

"Oh, Auntie!" said Jane, quite red. "The very idea!"

CHAPTER VI

LORENZO RATH

IT wasn't to be supposed for a minute that Lorenzo Rath, a real live young man and an artist, shouldn't take first place in the town talk.

Jane's remarkable religion might attract the attention of a few who were sufficiently religious themselves to be naturally shocked over the waffles and depressed over the invalid's recovery, but Lorenzo was of interest to every one.

"If he ain't took already, there's a fine chance for Emily," Mr.

Cattermole said benevolently to his daughter. Being a man, he naturally supposed that Mrs. Mead would never have come by such an idea if she hadn't had a bright old father to point it out to her.

"Emily doesn't want to marry," said Mrs. Mead, compressing her lips and expanding her dignity simultaneously; "she wouldn't marry an artist, anyway."

"Maybe he ain't much of an artist," said Mr. Cattermole, with a tendency to look on the bright side. "Why don't Emily want to marry? I thought girls always wanted to marry. They did when I was young."

"It's different nowadays," said Mrs. Mead, with condescending reserve.

"You don't understand, Father, but nothing is like it used to be. The world is getting all changed. When Emily was an only child, she was looked upon as very odd, but most women have an only child nowadays.

Life is quite different."

"I'd like to see Emily married," said Mr. Cattermole, thoughtfully.

"Emily has had plenty of chances," said her mother, waving the brave, tattered mother-lie that seems to cover over such cruel wounds.

"Has she really?" said Mr. Cattermole, in genuine surprise. "I didn't know that. And she wouldn't have 'em! Laws sakes! Who, for instance?"

"No one you knew," said his daughter, telling the truth then.

"Sarah knew 'em, I suppose?" (Sarah was Mrs. Cowmull.)

"No, no one Sarah knew."

"Think of that now! Why, I s'posed there wasn't nothing Sarah didn't know."

In voicing this opinion Mr. Cattermole voiced the town opinion, too. It was popularly supposed that Sarah Cowmull always knew everything. But she didn't know the status of Lorenzo Rath's heart, and Lorenzo Rath himself puzzled her not a little.

Lorenzo puzzled everybody, mainly because he was so open and simple that even a child must have suspected him of keeping something back. Such frankness was unthinkable, such innocence incredible.

"Why, he's gallivanting all over with Madeleine, and yet she's gotten another man's picture on her table!" said Miss Debby to Katie Croft.

"And he's skipping in Mrs. Ralston's gate at all hours," said Katie Croft--"no kind of ceremony to him. The other day he see mother in the window, and he waved his hat at her and give her an awful turn. She don't see well, and thought he threw a stone at her. She ain't used to city ways; she's used to country ways. I had to let her smell camphor for a good hour, and while she was smelling, the kitchen fire went out.

I wish he'd keep his hat on his head another time. My life's hard enough without having a artist suddenly set to, to cheer up mother."

"What do you think of Mrs. Ralston's niece? Think she's nice?"

"Nice! With Susan Ralston about as lively as a cricket! I don't think much of such new ways. I don't know whatever Matilda will say. She's just got life all systematized, and now here's Susan up and out of bed.

I'm so scared the girl'll come over and go at mother, I don't know what to do."

"My, suppose Mrs. Croft was to be up and about!" said Miss Debby, opening her eyes widely. "Whatever would you do?"

"Do! I know what I'd do." Young Mrs. Croft looked dark and mysterious.

"I know just exactly what I'll do. And I'm all ready to do it, and if I'm interfered with, I will do it,--good and quick, too."

"How is old Mrs. Croft now?" Miss Debby asked.

"Oh, she's grabbin' as ever. I never see such a disposition. She's always catching at me or the cat or something. Seems to consider it a way of attracting attention. Crazy folks has such crazy ideas, and she's crazy,--crazy as a loon."

Katie Croft took up her market basket and went on up the street. Miss Debby stayed behind to wait for the noon mail. "Katie's so bitter," she said to herself, shaking her head; "she ought to be more grateful for being supported."

Miss Debby forgot that there are few things so irritating in this world as being supported. It is a situation which has become especially unpopular lately, particularly with women and political motives.

But no old worn-out aphorism held for one minute in the breezy bloom of the House Where Jane Lived.

"Oh, I'm so happy," Susan exclaimed many times daily, "I'm so happy. I never felt nothing like your suns.h.i.+ning in all my life before, you Suns.h.i.+ne Jane, you! I feel like my own cupboards, all unlocked and aired and nice and used again."

Jane stopped caroling as she kneaded bread and laughed--which sounded equally pleasant.

"I'm as happy as you are, Auntie; it's so nice to be in heaven."

"I used to think maybe I'd die suddenly and find myself there some day,"

said Susan. "I'm glad I didn't."

"It's better to live suddenly than to die suddenly," said Jane, merrily; "when people are awfully bothered sometimes, I've heard their friends say: 'But if you died suddenly, it would work out somehow,' and I wanted to say: 'Why not live suddenly instead of dying suddenly, and then everything's bound to come out splendidly.'"

"Oh, Jane, what a grand idea,--to live suddenly! That's what I've done, surely."

"Yes," said Jane, "that's what I did, too. Instead of fading out of life, we just bloomed into life. It's just as easy, and a million times more fun."

"And it's all so awfully agreeable," said Susan. "My things look so nice, all set different, and it's so pleasant having folks coming in, and I like it all, and we haven't to fuss with the garden."

"I attend to the garden!" cried a voice outside, and a mysterious hand shoved a basket of peas over the window-ledge.

"I know who that is," said Susan; "it's that boy, and he's smelt cinnamon rolls and come to lunch. How do you do?"

Lorenzo, brown and merry, was getting in at the window.

"Why, you've really been weeding!" exclaimed Susan.

"Of course! I've tended the garden ever since you gave it up."

"I declare! Well, I never. Jane, we must give him a bite of something."