Judith Lynn Part 6

At five mother came hurrying down to find Judith. The scale-strewn beach and the scale-strewn children, the barrels in orderly rows waiting to be rolled to the little landing-place of the steamer, the heap of clumsy wet netting--all told her the whole astonis.h.i.+ng story.

And what they did not tell, Judith supplemented eagerly.

"I declare! I declare!" gasped mother in mingled pride and pity, "you two poor things, putting in like this! You'll be tired to death--you'll be sick abed!"

"Guess we'll weather it," nodded Jemmy Three, working steadily. "But if you think we ain't hungry enough to eat a pine s.h.i.+ng--"

"I'll go right home and boil some coffee and eggs and bring 'em down, and then I'll go to work, too," cried mother energetically. "You poor starved things!"

After a salt toilet in the surf, they ate a hurried breakfast with keen relish. Judith had forgotten her aching joints and lame muscles, and Jemmy Three had forgotten his sleepless night. Victory lay just ahead of them, and who cared for muscles or sleep!

"This is the best bread 'n' b.u.t.ter I ever ate," said Judith between bites.

There proved to be the "good eight" barrels, when they were done, and they were done by six o'clock, or a very little after. By half-past six, the barrels had been rolled down the slope of the beach to the little wharf not far away. Then the tired two rested, and remembered muscles and sleep.

They dropped in the soft, moist sand and rubbed their aching arms.

"I'm proud o' _you_, Jemmy!" Judith said shyly, and looked away over the water. Her repentance had come back and lay heavily on her heart.

She longed unutterably to recall those evil thoughts--to have another chance out there beyond to summon Jemmy Three with the little shrill old signal. How she would send it shrilling forth now!

"Jemmy," she said slowly, as they waited, "you know our signal, don't you? The one we used to practice so much."

For answer Jemmy Three pursed his lips and sent out a clear "carrying" cry.

"Well, I wish--don't you know what I wish?"

"'Twas Christmas," Jemmy said flippantly, but he knew. He dug his bare toes in the sand--a sign of embarra.s.sment.

"I wish I'd called you out there at the school!" lamented Judith, "even if you couldn't have heard. I wish--I wish--I _wish_ I'd called!

If I ever strike another school--Jemmy, I'd give you half o' this one if I dared to. But I'm afraid to have Blossom wait--I don't _dare_ to!"

"O' course not," agreed Jem Three vaguely. He did not at all know what Judith meant. Girls had queer ways of beginnin' things in the middle like that. No knowin' what a girl was drivin' at, half the time!

"Jemmy--say--"

"What say? Ain't that smoke out there?"

"No, it's a cloud. Jemmy Three, I'm going to tell you something. I _want_ to. I'm going to tell you what that money's going to do--you're listening, aren't you?"

"With both ears--go ahead."

"Well--oh, it's going to be something so _beautiful_, Jemmy! I never knew till day before yesterday that you _could_ do anything so beautiful--I mean that anybody could. I never dreamed it! But you can--somebody can! There's a man can, Jemmy! All you need is money to take you across to him and--there's the money!" waving her hand toward the rows of barrels. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning like twin stars. She had forgotten aches and lameness again.

"I told Uncle Jem," she went on rapidly, while Jem Three gazed at her in puzzled wonder and thought more things about girls. "He told me to go down to the hotel and ask that other little girl's mother, and I meant to go last night! But I went to sleep last night! So I'm going to-day--I'm going to ask her to tell me just exactly how to do it."

"Do what?" inquired Jem Three quietly. That was the only way to do with girls--pull 'em up smart, like that!

"Mercy! Haven't I told you?" cried Judith. "Well, then--Jemmy, if you were a little mite of a thing--a Blossom, say--and a fairy came to you and said, 'Wish a wish, my dear; what would you rather have in all the world?' what would you answer, Jemmy? Remember, if you were a little mite of a Blossom with a--with a--little broken stem." Judith's voice sank to a tender softness. She didn't know she was "making poetry."

The boy with his toes deep in the sand was visibly embarra.s.sed.

Whatever poetry lay soul-deep within him, there was none he could call to his lips.

"Wouldn't you answer her, 'Legs to walk with'?" went on the girl beside him softly. "You know you would, Jemmy! _I_ would--everybody would. You'd say, 'The beautifulest thing in the world would be to _walk_--dear fairy, I want to walk so much!' And then supposing--are you supposing?--the fairy waved her wand over you and you--_walked!_ Do you know what you'd say then? _I_ know--you'd say, 'See me! Judy, see me! Jemmy, everybody, see me!'"

Judith laughed to herself under her breath. The twin stars in her eyes shone even a little brighter.

"The fairy's a great doctor--he's across there, 'way, 'way out of sight. He's going to wave his wand over Blossom. He waved it over another little broken girl, _and she walked_. I saw her. _She_ said, 'See me!'--I heard her. That's what the money is going to do, Jemmy."

"Gee!" breathed Jemmy softly. It was his way of making poetry.

"And you see, I don't dare to wait--I'm afraid something might happen to that doctor."

"O' course!--you go down there all flyin' an' see that woman, Jude."

And that afternoon Judith went. It was to Mrs. Ben she went first; she felt acquainted with Mrs. Ben.

"Can I see--I'd like to see that mother whose little girl can walk,"

Judith said eagerly.

"Land!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Ben.

"I mean," explained Judith, smiling, "whose little girl was lame and a doctor made her walk by waving his wa--I mean by--by curing her. I heard her telling another mother. I'd like to see--do you suppose I could see that lady?"

"I guess I know who you mean--there ain't been but one little girl here lately," Mrs. Ben said. "But there ain't any now. They've gone away."

Chapter V.

Judith went straight to Uncle Jem, sobbing all the way unconsciously; she was not conscious of anything but what Mrs. Ben had said.

"They've gone away!--they've gone away!--they've gone away!" It reiterated itself to her in dull monotony, keeping slow time with the throbbing pain of her disappointment.

Uncle Jem heard her coming--in some surprise, she came so fast. What was the child hurrying like that for? What had happened?

"I hear ye, child!" he called cheerily. The time-worn little pleasantry did him service as usual. "I'm layin' low for ye!"

She crossed the outer threshold and the little box of a kitchen without slackening her excited pace, and appeared in the old man's doorway, breathless and flushed.

"It's too late!" she gasped, briefly. Then, because she needed comforting and Uncle Jem was her comforter of old, her head went down on the patchwork quilt that covered his twisted old frame, and she cried like a grief-struck little child.

"There, there, deary!" he crooned, his twisted fingers traveling across her hair, "jest you lay there an' cry it all out--don't ye hurry any. When ye get all done an' good an' ready, tell Uncle Jem what it's all about. But take your time, little un--take your time."

The child was worn out in every thread of the over-strained young body. The excitement and nervous rack of the last twenty-four hours was having sway now, and would not be put aside. And the keen disappointment that Mrs. Ben's words had brought, added to all the rest, had proved too much even for Judith Lynn. She cried on, taking her time.

"There now! that's right, storm's clearin'!" said Uncle Jem, as at length the brown head lifted slowly. "Now we'll pull out o' harbor and get to work." Which meant that now explanations were in order.

Judith understood.