The Wall Between Part 15

Before Lucy thought, she stepped forward and exclaimed impulsively:

"Do let me help you! They must be dreadfully heavy."

"'Tain't so much that they're heavy," Jane answered, smiling, "as that they're full. I'm afraid I'll spill some."

"Give me one pail."

"Do you really mean it?"

"Of course. I'd be glad to take it."

"All right," replied Jane simply. "I'm sure I'd be only too thankful if you would. After trampin' miles to pick raspberries, you ain't so keen on losin' 'em when you're within sight of home."

"Indeed you're not," Lucy a.s.sented. "These are beauties. Where did you go for them?"

"Most up to the pine ridge you see yonder. I took my lunch an' have been gone since mornin'."

"How I wish I could have gone with you!"

"Would you have liked to?" queried Jane incredulously. "Then I wish you might have. It was just the sort of a day to walk. I don't s'pose, though, your aunt would have spared you for an all-day picnic."

There was a hint of scorn in the words.

"I don't often have time to go far from the house," replied Lucy gently, ignoring Miss Howe's challenge. "There is so much to do."

"So there is," agreed Jane hastily. "Certainly we manage to keep busy all the time. When it ain't one thing, it's another. There never seems to be any end to it. But I did steal off to-day. The berries were really an excuse. Of course we can make 'em into jam. Still, what I really wanted was to get out in the air."

"I've stolen off too," said Lucy, with a smile. "My aunt and Tony have gone over to the Crossing for lumber and won't be back until dark, so I am having a holiday."

Jane was silent a moment.

"Why shouldn't you come over and have tea with us then?" she asked abruptly. "We're all alone, too. My brother's gone to the County Fair an'

ain't comin' back 'til to-morrow."

Lucy's eyes lighted with pleasure.

"You're very kind," she cried, a tremor of happiness in her tone. "I'd love to come."

They walked along, balancing their burden of berries and chatting of garden, weather, and housework.

As they turned in at the Howe gate, Jane motioned proudly toward three rows of flouris.h.i.+ng vines that were clambering up a network of sustaining brush.

"Those are our sweet peas," she remarked. "The first row is Mary's; they're white. Then come Eliza's--pink ones. Mine are purple. Martin won't plant his over here. He has 'em longside of the barn, an' they're all colors mixed together. We don't like 'em that way, but he does. He's awful fond of flowers, an' he has great luck with 'em, too. He seems to have a great way with flowers. But he never cuts one blossom he raises. Ain't that queer? He says he likes to see 'em growin'."

They were nearing the house.

"I reckon Mary an' 'Liza will be surprised enough to have me come bringin'

you home," observed Jane a trifle consciously. "We ain't done much neighboring, have we?"

"No," returned Lucy quickly, "and I've been sorry. It seems a pity we shouldn't be friends even if----" she stopped, embarra.s.sed.

"Even if your aunt an' Martin do act like a pair of fools," interrupted Jane. "Senseless, ain't it! Besides, it ain't Christian livin' at odds with people. I never did approve of it."

"I'm sure I don't."

Jane nodded.

"We imagined you were like that," she said. "I told Mary an' 'Liza so the day you come for the eggs. 'She ain't like her aunt,' I says to Mary, 'not a mite; an' you can be pretty sure she won't be in sympathy with all this squabblin' an' back-bitin'.'"

"Indeed I'm not."

"We ain't either, not one of us. We'd like nothin' better'n to be neighborly an' run in. It's the only decent way of doin' when folks live side by side. But Martin wouldn't listen to our doin' it, even if your aunt would--which I know she wouldn't. He's awful set against the Websters."

"How silly it seems!"

"That's what I tell him," Jane declared. "Of course your aunt's an old woman, an' 'tain't surprisin' she should harbor a grudge against us. But Martin's younger, an' had oughter be more forgivin'. It's nonsensical feelin' you've got to be just as sour an' crabbed as your grandfather was.

I don't humor him in it--at least not more'n I have to to keep the peace.

But Mary an' 'Liza hang on to every word Martin utters. If he was to say blue was green, they'd say so too. They'd no more do a thing he wouldn't like 'em to than they'd cut off their heads. They wouldn't dare. I 'spect they'll have a spasm when they see you come walkin' in to-night."

"Maybe I ought not to come," Lucy murmured in a disappointed voice.

"Yes, you ought," Jane said with decision. "Why should we keep up a quarrel none of us approve of? Martin ain't home. It's nothin' to him."

"Well, if you're sure you want me," Lucy laughed and dimpled.

"If I hadn't wanted you, you may be pretty sure I shouldn't have asked you," retorted Jane bluntly. "Mary an' 'Liza will likely be scat to death at first, but they'll get over it an' thaw out. Don't pay no attention to 'em."

Jane had ascended the steps and her hand was on the latch.

"I feel like a child playing truant," said Lucy, a flush of excitement tinting her cheek. "You see, my aunt wouldn't like my being here any more than Mar--than your brother would."

"What they don't know won't hurt 'em," was Jane's brief answer.

"Oh, I shall tell Aunt Ellen."

"I shan't tell Martin. He'd rage somethin' awful."

She threw open the door. Lucy saw her stiffen with resolution.

"I picked up Miss Lucy Webster on the road an' brought her home to tea!"

she called from the threshold.

Mary and Eliza were busy at the kitchen table. At the words they turned and automatically gasped the one phrase that always sprang to their lips in every emergency:

"Oh, Jane!"

"Martin's away an' so's Ellen Webster," went on Jane recklessly. "Why shouldn't we do a bit of neighborin' together, now we've got the chance?"