A Sunny Little Lass Part 12

However, these were minor troubles. The joyful fact remained that Bonny Angel had not died but was already recovered and seemed more like her own gay little self with every pa.s.sing moment. Clothes didn't matter, even if they were those of a boy. They needed considerable hitching up and pinning, for they were as minus of b.u.t.tons as all the garments seemed to be which had to pa.s.s through Mary Fogarty's hands and washtub; but a few strings would help and maybe Timothy Dowd could supply those; and if once Take-a-St.i.tch could get her fingers upon a needle and thread--my, how she would alter everything!

Summoned back to the cottage, after she had fulfilled her hostess's last demand, Glory's spirits rose to the highest. It was the first time she had entered the ranks of the seven other children which filled it to overflowing, and who were "shooed" into or out of it, according to their mother's whim.

It happened to be out, just then, and with the throng Glory, fast holding Bonny in her arms, chanced to pa.s.s close beside the s.h.i.+vering Dennis in his seat by the stove. He looked at her curiously but kindly, and his gaze moved from her now happy face to that of the child in her clasp, where it rested with such a fixed yet startled expression that Glory exclaimed, "Oh, sir, what is it? Do you see anything wrong with my precious?"

Now it was the fact that Dennis Fogarty spoke as seldom as his wife did often; and that when he was most profoundly moved he spoke not at all.

So then, though his eyes kept their astonished, perplexed expression, his lips closed firmly and to Glory's anxious inquiry, he made no reply.

Therefore, waiting but a moment longer, she hurried after the other children and in five minutes was leading them at their games just as she had always led the Elbow children in theirs. But Bonny was still too weak and too small to keep up very long with the boisterous play of these new mates, and seeing this, Take-a-St.i.tch presently made the seven group themselves around her on the gra.s.s while she told them tales.

Glory thought of all the fairy stories with which the old blind captain had beguiled their darkened evenings in that "littlest house" where gas or lamplight could not be afforded; then she went on to real stories of the Elbow children themselves; of Meg-Laundress and Posy Jane; and most of all of Nick and Billy, her chosen comrades and almost brothers. One and all the young Fogartys listened open-mouthed and delighted; but, when pressed to talk more about that "grandpa you're lookin' for," poor Glory grew silent.

It was one of the loveliest spots in the world where Glory sat that morning, with its view of field and mountain and the wonderful river winding placidly between; but the outcast child would have exchanged it all for just one glimpse of a squalid alley, and a tiny familiar doorway, wherein an old seaman should be sitting carving a bit of wood.

Thinking of him, though not talking, she became less interesting company to the Fogartys, who withdrew one by one, attracted by the odor of dinner preparing, and hungry for the sc.r.a.ps which would be tossed among them by their indulgent mother.

Bonny Angel went to sleep; and, holding her snugly, Glory herself leaned back against the tree trunk where she was sitting and closed her own eyes. She did this the better to mature her plans for the search she meant to resume that very day, if possible, and certainly by the morrow at the latest. Now that Bonny was so nearly well, she must go on; and as her head whirled with the thoughts which swarmed it, it seemed to her that she had "grown as old as old since grandpa went away."

Glory at last decided that she had best stop thinking and planning altogether, just for a moment, and go to sleep as Bonny Angel had done.

She remembered that grandpa had often said that a nap of "forty winks"

would clear his own head and set him up lively for the rest of the day.

Whatever Captain Simon Beck, in his great wisdom said was right, must be so; and though it seemed very lazy for a big girl such as she to take "forty winks" on her own account and in the daytime, she did take them and with so many repet.i.tions of the "forty" that the boarders had all come home across the fields before she roused again to know what was going on about her.

There was a hum of voices on the other side of the tree; and though they were low, as if not intended for her ear, they were also very earnest and in evident dispute over some subject which she gradually learned was none other than herself.

She had been going to call out to them, cheerily, but what she heard made her sit up and listen closely. Not very honorable, it may be, yet wholly natural, since Mistress Mary was insisting:

"There's no use talkin', Timothy Dowd, them two must pack to the first 'Asylum' will take 'em in. The sooner the better and this very day the best of all. 'Twas yourself brought 'em or sent 'em, and 'tis yourself must do the job. You can knock off work this half-day and get it settled."

"Oh, but Mary, me cousin, by marriage that is. I hate it. I hate it worse nor ever was. Sure, it was bad enough touchin' a match to them neat little clothes o' theirs but forcin' themselves away----Ah! Mary, mother o' seven, think! What if 'twas one o' your own, now?" wheedled Tim.

But Mary was not to be moved. Indeed, she dared not be. As Glory had already learned, Dennis Fogarty was the now useless gardener of the rich family which lived in the great house on the hill beyond, and to whom the abused Queen Anne cottage and all the other red outbuildings visible belonged.

The rich people were very particular to have all things on their estate kept in perfect order; and though they had no fault to find with Dennis himself, whenever he was well enough to work, they did find much fault with his s.h.i.+ftless or careless wife, while the brood of noisy children was a constant annoyance to them, whenever they occupied Broadacres.

It was for this reason that during the family's stay at the great house, Mary so seldom allowed her children out of the house; nor had Dennis ever permitted her to visit the place in person when there was any chance of her being seen by his employers. He felt that he held his own position merely by their generosity; nor did he approve of her boarding the workmen of the near-by railway. Still, he knew that his children must be fed, and, without the money she earned, how could they be?

Mary's argument, then, against taking into her home two more children, to make bad matters worse, was a good one, and Timothy could find no real word to say against it. Yet he was all in sympathy with Glory's search for the missing seaman, and how could he be the instrument of shutting her up in any inst.i.tution, no matter how good, where she could not continue that search?

Having heard thus much, and recalling even then Posy Jane's saying about "listeners hearin' no good o' theirselves," Take-a-St.i.tch quietly rose and went around the tree till she stood before her troubled friends.

"Why, I thought you was asleep!" cried poor Timothy, rather awkwardly and very red in the face.

"So I was, part of the time. Part I wasn't and I listened. I shouldn't ought, I know, an' grandpa would say so, but I'm glad I did, 'cause you needn't worry no more 'bout Bonny Angel an' me. I will start right off.

I was going to, to-morrow, anyway, if she didn't get sick again; an'

Mis' Fogarty will have to leave us these clothes till--till--I can some time--some day--maybe earn some for myself. Then I'll get 'em sent back, somehow, an'----"

By this time, Mary was also upon her feet, tearful and compa.s.sionate and fain to turn her eyes away from the sad, brave little face that confronted her. Yet not even her pity could fathom the longing of this vagrant "Queen" for her dirty Lane and her loyal subjects; nor how she shrank in terror from the lonely search she knew she must yet continue, thinking, "'Cause grandpa would never have give me up if I was lost and I never will him, never, never, never! But if only Billy, er Nick, er----"

Mrs. Fogarty interrupted the little girl's thoughts with the remark, "Now them 'Asylums' is just beautiful, honey darlin'--an' you'll be as happy as the day is long. You'll----"

It was Glory's turn to interrupt the cooing voice, which, indeed, she had scarcely heard, because of another sound which had come to her ear; and it was now a countenance glorified in truth by unlooked-for happiness that they saw, as with uplifted hand and parted lips, she strove to catch the distant strains of music which seemed sent to check her grief.

"Hark! Hark! Listen! Sh-h-h!" cried the girl.

"Bless us, colleen! Have ye lost your seventy senses, laughin' an'

cryin' to onct, like a daft creatur'?" demanded Timothy, amazed.

She did not stop to answer him but gently placing Bonny Angel in his arms, sped away down the road, crying ecstatically, "Luigi! Luigi!"

CHAPTER XII

News From The Lane

"Hmm, hmm, indeed! An' what is 'Loo-ee-gy' anyhow? An' what is the noise I hear save one them wore-out hurdy-gurdies, that do be roamin' the country over, soon's ever the town gets too hot to hold 'em? Wouldn't 'pear that a nice spoken little girl as yon would be takin' up with no Eyetalian organ-grinder," grumbled Timothy, a trifle jealously. Already he felt a sort of proprietors.h.i.+p in Glory and the "Angel" and had revolved in his mind for several nights--that is when he could keep awake--what he could do to help her. He was as reluctant to place her in any inst.i.tution against her will as she was to have him, but he had not known what else to propose to Mary's common sense suggestion.

Both Timothy and Mrs. Fogarty watched the open gateway, through which Take-a-St.i.tch had vanished, for her to reappear, since the brick wall at the foot of the slope fully hid the road beyond.

The music had soon ceased, but not until all the seven had swarmed out of the house, excited over even so trifling a "show" to break the monotony of their lives. All seven now began to exercise themselves in the wildest antics, leaping over one another's shoulders, turning somersaults, each fisticuffing his neighbor, and finally emitting a series of deafening whoops as Glory actually turned back into the grounds, her hands clinging to the arm of a swarthy little man, who carried a hand-organ on his back and a monkey on his shoulder. The hand-organ was of the poorest type and the monkey looked as though he had been "upon the road" for many, many years--so ancient and wrinkled was his visage. His jaunty red coat had faded from its original tint to a dirty brown; and the funny little cap which he pulled from his head was full of holes, so that it was a wonder he did not lose from it the few cents he was able to collect in it for his master.

But the vagrant pair might have been some wonderful grandees, so proudly did Goober Glory convey them up the slope to the very tree where Mary and her brood awaited them, crying joyfully:

"'Tis Luigi! Luigi Salvatore, Antonio's brother! He knows me, he knows us all and he's come straight from Elbow Lane. I mean, quite straight, 'cause he was there after I was. Wasn't you, Luigi?"

Luigi stood bareheaded now, resting his organ-pole upon the ground and glancing from Glory's eager face to the curious faces of these others.

He understood but little of "United States language," having come to that country but a short time before, and having hitherto relied upon his brother Toni to interpret for him when necessary. He was waiting permission to grind out his next tune, and not as surprised as Timothy was that the little girl should have recognized his organ from a mult.i.tude of others, which to the railroader sounded exactly the same.

Take-a-St.i.tch nodded her head, also freshly cropped like Bonny's, and he began. For a time all went well. The seven young Fogartys were in ecstasies, and even their elders beamed with delight, forgetting that the one would be "docked" for his wasted time and the other that the cat and her kittens were at that moment helping to "clear the table" she had left standing. Even Bonny Angel gravely nodded approval from her perch in Timothy's arms, save when the too solicitous monkey held his cap to her. Then she frowned and buried her pretty face on Timothy's shoulder and raised it only when Jocko had hopped another way.

But suddenly out of his selections, Luigi began that ancient tune, "A Life on the Ocean Wave, A Home on the Rolling Deep"--and then disaster!

Almost as distinctly as if he stood there before her in the flesh, forsaken Glory saw her grandfather's beloved form; clad in his well-kept old uniform, b.u.t.tons s.h.i.+ning, head thrown back, gilt-trimmed cap held easily in his wrinkled hand, with Bos'n sitting gravely upright beside him. There he stood, in her fancy; and the vision well-nigh broke her heart. Then down upon the gra.s.s she flung herself and all her brave self-repression gave way before the flood of homesick longing which besieged her.

n.o.body quite understood what ailed her, though from having heard the captain sing that melody he had just ground out, Luigi dimly guessed.

But the effect upon all was that there had been quite music enough for the time being, and Mary showed her wisdom by drawing the company away, counseling:

"Let her have her cry out. She's kep' in brave an' 'twill do her good.

More good'n a lickin'!" she finished, with a lunge at her eldest son, who was fast changing his playful cuffs of a twin into blows which were not playful; and all because between Jocko and that twin was already developing considerable interest, which the bigger boy wished to fix upon himself.

"Well now, ma! What for? 'Tain't every day a monkey comes a visitin'

here an' he's had him long enough. My turn next, an' that's fair,"

protested Dennis, junior, namesake of the gardener.

"No more it isn't, an' me forgettin' my manners after the fine music he's give us. Look up, Glory, an' ask the gentleman, Looeegy yon, would he like a bite to eat."