Mary's Rainbow Part 3

Leaving Mary in the library, the Doctor returned to the hall, where Gene was waiting at the foot of the stairs for the little girl.

"You may see something to-day, Gene, that will take your fancy as a Christmas gift for the home folks; so I am going to pay my debts a little ahead of time."

"Really, Doctor, I do not feel that you owe me anything. I have been treated as a guest--no, as a member of the family; and you have no idea what it has meant to me."

"And you have no idea how much all that you have done for my little niece has meant to me. If any one had told me that she could be so happy and contented without her parents and little sisters, I would not have believed it. Of course, I know that she has her lonely hours.

Such things are to be expected."

"Yes, Doctor, there have been times when I was tempted to telephone for you. It seemed to me that she needed someone of her very own to comfort her. But even at her worst, she has always been so sweet and gentle--so different from the children that I have usually dealt with."

"She is a winsome little la.s.sie, and for that very reason I appreciate anything that is done to make her happy. Sister Julia gave me no idea of your powers in that line, so I do not feel bound by the bargain I made with you and have taken it upon myself to do what I think common justice requires. Even then, I shall be in your debt; for there are things which mere money can never repay."

He placed an envelope in her hand and was gone before she could do more than thank him. On the sidewalk he turned to wave at Mary, who always stood at the window until he had pa.s.sed out of sight; but a cry from Gene had called the little girl into the hall, and the Doctor chuckled as he pictured the two examining the contents of the envelope.

"Oh, it is a mistake--a mistake! Look at this, Mary!" And Gene sank on the lowest step of the stairs and burst into tears.

"But, Gene,--oh, don't, _don't_ cry, Gene!" Mary threw her arms about the sobbing girl. "Isn't it good money? O Gene! Uncle didn't mean to give you bad money, you know. Here, I shall throw it right into the fire, and he will give you the good kind the very minute he comes home." The child seized the two crisp bills lying in Gene's lap and ran toward the library.

"Mary, Mary, don't! No, no!" Gene hurried after her. "It is good money! Too good to be true! Look at it! Two one hundred dollar bills! And it isn't a mistake, either. Your Uncle meant to give them to me. He said so himself; but I was too much surprised to remember.

Think of it, Mary! _Two hundred dollars_ for the very loveliest time I have ever had in my life."

"Is that very much money, Gene? I don't know much about money."

"It is ever so much more than I have ever handled at one time. Oh, you little darling! You have no idea what this means to me. My father is an invalid. He injured his back two years ago and has not been able to walk since. But wait until he gets the comfortable wheel chair that this money will buy for him. I shall not buy it to-day, though, for I should like to ask your uncle about the best place to get such a thing.

So you see, dearie, why I am so, so happy over my two hundred dollars.

But come! The minutes are flying, and I must dress to go out."

When Mary had seen the carriage drive down the street with Gene safe inside it, she flew out to the kitchen to ask Susie to make her some paste.

"Gwine to papah yo' doll house agin, honey?"

"No, Susie, I have to make Gene's Christmas present while she is down town, and I have used every speck of paste in the bottle she bought for me. I really think the kind you make sticks better."

"Co'se it do, Miss May-ree. Homemade t'ings am alwuz de bestest dey is. Yo' run 'long an' git de res' ob yo' fixin's ready, an' Liza'll fotch dis up to yo' when it gits cool. 'Tain't no good hot, nohow."

"And will you come up to see the gift when it is finished, Susie? I would like your 'pinion about it. You see, this is the only one I have tried to make all by myself."

"I sho'ly will, honey; but I reckon ma 'pinion ain't wuf much, nohow."

"Indeed it is, Susie. I shall call you the very minute the gift is finished."

Mary knew exactly what she intended to make for Gene, so lost no time in planning it. She began at once to cut a circular piece of cardboard, but found it hard work for her little hands. In the center of it, she pasted a photograph of herself, which she knew Gene liked very much; and then she cut strips of crepe paper, pink and dark green, and carefully pulled out the edges to make ruffles. Beginning at the edge of the cardboard, she pasted the green paper, circle within circle, singing all the while; and her sweet little voice reached the ears of Liza and Susie, who stole up the back stairs and peeped in at her as she cut and clipped and snipped and pasted and patted.

"Now, I am ready for the pink paper. There's the clock striking--one--two--three. I wonder when Gene will be home. Liza!

Li--za--a--a! Li--i--i--za!"

The two women in the hall fled on tiptoe; and after a few moments, Liza entered from the next room. "Wuz yo' callin', honey?"

"Yes, Liza. What time do you think Gene will be home?"

"Don't know'm, Miss May-ree. 'Bout five, I reckon."

"That's exactly what I think. Then I have only two hours. But I shall have this finished unless she comes earlier. It won't take so long to paste the pink ruffles on, because the nearer I come to the center, the smaller the circles are. How do you think it's going to look, Liza?"

"Scrumptious, honey, scrumptious! An' when yo's ready fo' to tie dem ribbings, jes' yo' call me agin."

Mary thought over every word Gene had said that afternoon.

"I am going to tell Uncle all about her poor, sick father. If anyone can make him well, he can. And about the chair--that one has been up in the attic for years and years. There, my frame is finished all but the ribbons to hang it up by. I shall have to ask Liza to punch the holes for me. Liza! Li--za! Li--za--a!"

"Yas'm, Miss May-ree, yas'm! Wal, ain't dat de mos' bu'ful present I ebah did see! Wait, honey, twell I calls ole Susie."

The cook was as loud as Liza in her praise of the little girl's work.

"And now I am going to put it in Uncle's room so Gene won't see it."

What matter that the crepe paper was not cut very evenly, or that the paste showed through in several places? The love that was worked into every inch of that picture frame and the dear little face peeping out of the very heart of the flower brightened many a sad day in Gene's after life.

"Oh, oh! Liza! there's the door bell!" Mary stopped short at the door of her uncle's room.

"Dat's all right, honey. I'se gwine turn out de light in heah, an'

ef'n it's Miss Gene, yo' come 'long down right aftah me an' tek her in de liberry an' keep her dah talkin' while I comes back up heah an'

cleahs away de sc.r.a.ps."

Mary was half way down the stairs when Liza opened the door to admit Gene, who was followed by Jim with his arms piled high with boxes.

"There is so much delay about sending things these days that I thought I had better bring them since I had the carriage," explained the young girl.

"Liza will show Jim where to put the boxes, Gene. Come in here and warm yourself by the fire. Do tell me what you bought--every single thing. Did you see about that nice chair for your father?" Though Mary tried to ask the question in her usual tone, there was an anxious note in her voice, which did not escape Gene; neither did the child's little sigh of relief when she answered, "No, Mary, I wish to ask your uncle's advice about that."

After dinner, the Doctor went upstairs with them to see Gene's purchases. The young girl spread the pretty little dresses on Mary's bed. There was a soft, white, cloth one braided with pale blue; a dark blue cashmere trimmed with tiny, white pearl b.u.t.tons; several dainty white frocks of summer material, besides ginghams, lawns, and dimities in blue and white plaids, checks, and stripes.

"They are just lovely, Gene, lovely!" cried Mary.

"Yes, indeed, Gene, you have shown very good taste in making your choice."

"Thank you, Doctor. I was not sure whether you and Mary would care for the little dark blue dress, as she seems to have nothing but white and pale blue ones. It may be worn with a white guimpe as a change from the blue silk one that goes with it."

Gene began to return the things to their boxes, and the Doctor, in response to a sign from Mary, followed the child into the hall and to his own room.

"You don't mean to tell me you made that, Goldilocks!"

"I did! I did! All except tying the ribbons. The edges of the ruffles are not very even, so will you please trim them a little?"

"Leave them just as they are. The whole frame looks like a big hollyhock, and the uneven places make it more natural. The petals of a flower are not all exactly even, you know."

"Then let us wrap it up and put it away. Where can we hide it so Gene won't see it?"

"How about the bottom drawer of my dresser? There is a large flat box in there that we shall lay it in."