Jane Lends A Hand Part 31

"Now, tell me how to send this away."

Mr. Wheelock took a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles out of the pocket of his grey alpaca coat, and put them on. Then he picked up the barrel top and looked at it in an astonishment that gave way presently to something like profound admiration.

"Well, I declare! If it ain't Mrs. Lambert! And its a mighty fine thing, too. How did you come by this?"

"_Do_ you think it's good, Mr. Wheelock?" cried Jane, eagerly, her face glowing.

"It's fine," said Mr. Wheelock, in a tone that indicated that he considered his opinion quite final. "And on the top of an old flour barrel, too!" he went on, turning the picture over. "Ain't that quaint?

Well, now, where did you want it sent?"

Jane sat down and copied out the address for him.

"And you'll wrap it up _carefully_, Mr. Wheelock?"

"Sure thing. And send it by express, too."

"And you won't tell a living soul?"

"Nary a breath. Here, hadn't you better write your address on the back of this here pitcher-or somewheres, case it might get lost."

Jane had nearly forgotten this item. She took a post card, and wrote on it boldly, "Paul Winkler, Frederickstown, N. C."

"There, Mr. Wheelock, will you paste that on the back?"

Mr. Wheelock was inspecting the card.

"Paul Winkler! That young feller I seen around here a lot with you folks? Did he make this pitcher?"

"Yes," said Jane proudly.

"I declare! Now I call that right smart. If it ain't Mrs. Lambert to the life I'll eat my hat." And he set it up on his desk again, leaning against the wall. Jane looked at it intently. If only she knew just _how_ good it was. She did not feel that Mr. Wheelock was exactly an authoritative critic-then she remembered again that Paul had said it wasn't "so bad," and that settled her doubts.

It was, in fact, in spite of the crudities of which Paul had been very well aware, a piece of work that might have done credit to many a more experienced painter; and there were things in it that neither Jane nor Mr. Wheelock saw, vigor and harmony and beauty, over and above the superficial likeness to Mrs. Lambert that Mr. Wheelock found so amazing.

"You'll send it off right away, Mr. Wheelock? And-and let me know how much it costs. I can't pay before Sat.u.r.day."

He laughed.

"I'll try to get along 'til then. Don't you bother your head, child."

Satisfied, though full of hope and fear, Jane went home.

The family gathered for its noonday meal, Mr. Lambert taking his seat at the head of the table, grave and pompous as always in his well-brushed black coat. The difference of one place seemed to make the table unnaturally small, and yet no one seemed to notice it. Mr. Lambert talked about some man that had been in to see him, about the prospects of the new courthouse being finished, about the harvests. His family docilely listened to him, interpolating the proper question or remark here and there. Paul's name was not mentioned, it being tacitly understood that such were the wishes of the master of the house.

CHAPTER XV-AN UNSUSPECTED HERO

Paul's departure left the old problem still unsolved. Well, there was no help for it; if the family tradition was to be destroyed at last, so it must be. The time was coming when the ancient name of Winkler should be erased from the gla.s.s window of the Bakeshop, and a stranger's name put in its place. Even Granny, usually so little troubled from her serenity by the vicissitudes of earthly things, seemed to brood over the prospect with melancholy. But the subject was not discussed so frequently as of yore, partly because there was little to be gained from such discussion, and partly because it reminded Mr. Lambert of his nephew's delinquency and put him in a bad humor.

As September was always a hot month in that part of the country, school never began until early in October.

Jane felt utterly lost. Usually so resourceful, so capable of finding something to amuse her or interest her every minute of the day, she now went about her tasks indolently, and spent the rest of her time wandering around listlessly. Several times, she went down to call on Mr.

Sheridan, who trotted her down to see his new Leghorn hens and his six Jersey cows. He had gone in for farming with his whole soul. He also discussed the changes he was making in the old house. Yes, he had decided to live in Frederickstown for good, as his grandfather had done before him, and his uncle, the Major, had done for many years. No, he didn't think so much of solitude as he once had-but then there were reasons. Yes, he might travel now and then, but that didn't count. No, he had not planned to settle permanently in Frederickstown, when he had first come, but things had happened since then that had changed his mind. Of course Janey had heard the news. Yes, he was the happiest man in the world. No, he had never been _really_ in love before. No, he didn't think Peterson would ever get married. Jane listened to him with the half-disdainful interest that one, who has been hardly dealt with by fate, pays to the cheerful talk of the fortunate. Their positions were reversed.

Jane was almost sorry that everything had gone so smoothly with Lily and Mr. Sheridan-she would have liked to have some complications to work on.

It also seemed to her hardly dignified in Mr. Sheridan to have abandoned his pessimism so readily-whatever the cause of it might have been. And now that he was so cheerful and full of plans, he seemed to her less interesting than he had been before.

She was on pins and needles waiting for news of what had befallen Paul's picture. She had allowed no one to share this secret which was absolutely her own, and her restless eagerness to hear was increased by not having anyone with whom to speculate on the chances of its success or failure.

No word had come from Paul. Where he was, what he was doing, how he was living were unknown to the family.

One fine, sunny day Aunt Gertrude declared that she was going to shut up shop and take a holiday.

"Come, we'll take Dinah and the old wagon, and go out to the country.

Elise, you and Jane can make up sandwiches. Granny doesn't want to go, but Anna will be here to take care of her. Father is going over to Allenboro, so there doesn't have to be any lunch cooked here, and Anna can get Granny's."

The prospect of this unexpected spree put everyone, including Jane into high spirits. Aunt Gertrude roasted two chickens, to be eaten cold, baked a chocolate cake with marshmallow filling, and boiled eggs, while Elise and Jane cut and spread enough sandwiches to stay the appet.i.te of a small army.

At noonday they set out in the old wagon that had made the trip to Allenboro, Carl driving, with Aunt Gertrude and the twins beside him, Jane and Elise in the back with the luncheon hamper, books, embroidery and games.

And away they rumbled. Aunt Gertrude who actually had not been into the open country lying around Frederickstown in years, had set her heart on picnicking in one particular spot.

"I remember it from the time when I was a girl," she said, blus.h.i.+ng as she did so easily. "Long ago we had a picnic there-it's about a mile below the Webster's farm, Carl-I'll show you-Nellie Webster, and Sam (she was referring to Dolly's father and mother) and poor Nannie Muller and Ben McAllister-just think, they're all old folk like me, now! And it was there that I met your father! Think of that now!"

Jane, finding this interesting, moved so that she could kneel behind the seat, with her elbows on the back.

"Is that really true, Mummy? And did you like him right away? Was he handsome?"

"Certainly he was handsome-and your father is still a _remarkably_ handsome man, my dear!" said Mrs. Lambert, rather aggressively; and indeed she firmly believed that her husband was a perfect model of masculine good looks.

"Yes. Well, go on, Mummy. What did you wear?"

"What did I wear? Well, it's very queer but I _do_ remember that quite plainly. I wore a green muslin dress-that very dress, Lisa, that you found in my old trunk the other day-and a white leghorn hat, with little pink roses. Lisa, have you any idea what ever became of that hat? No-I remember now, I trimmed it up again and gave it to you when you were a little girl-and how sweet you looked in it!"

"I want a hat with pink rothes," murmured Lottie.

"Don't interrupt, Lottie. Go on, Mummy. What was Daddy like?"

"Your father," said Mrs. Lambert complacently, "was a _great_ catch. He was older than the rest of us, and so dignified. At that time, I remember, he wore a big moustache-and such a lovely brown. I was quite afraid of him, and I was sure that he thought me a very frivolous girl, as I certainly was. But-he didn't seem to mind. And that night, there was a lovely big moon, and the hay had just been cut-and he took me home."

That seemed to be the end of the story; Mrs. Lambert stopped, and a thoroughly sentimental smile spread over her youthful face. Lisa sighed.

She was, if possible, even more sentimental than her mother, and in the hours that her flaxen head was bent over her incessant handiwork, it was filled with imaginings of romantic scenes, and das.h.i.+ng young gentlemen like Walter Scott's heroes. She liked the portion of her mother's artlessly told romance that touched on the moon and the new-mown hay, but for herself she would have preferred a smooth-shaven hero to one with the dragoon's moustache that her mother so greatly admired.

"Now, Carl, you drive along this road to the left," said Mrs. Lambert.

"It's all changed very little. I remember that rock, _perfectly!_ And we can lead Dinah off from the road and hitch her to a tree. And here we all get out."