Mary's Rainbow Part 7

A few days later, she and her uncle said good-bye to San Antonio and set out on the long journey to New York.

CHAPTER VII.

THROUGH STORM TO THE RAINBOW.

"And you will come out to see me every Sunday and Tuesday and Thursday, Uncle?"

"Yes, pet, unless something very important happens to prevent my doing so. In that case, we shall have a long chat over the telephone. I know that you will be very happy here, little one, with Aunt Mary to look after you, and so many, many friends among the Sisters and little girls."

But in spite of his words, the Doctor felt the hand within his own tighten its hold and saw a very wistful light in the blue eyes raised to his.

It was the first week of May. The beautiful spring day had tempted the Doctor and Mary to walk from the station, and they had just entered the big gates at the entrance to the convent grounds.

"See that orchard! Isn't it a picture? And those shrubs in blossom!

Really, I would not mind being a little girl myself if I could go to school in such a beautiful place."

"Oh, I know that I shall like to go to school here, Uncle; but I do wish I could see you every evening. Couldn't you live with Father Hartley and go into the city on the train every day?"

"That would not be possible, Goldilocks; but I shall invite myself to stay over night with the chaplain now and then since you wish it so much."

Sister Madeline had a warm welcome for the travelers. The Doctor remained for dinner and left on the early afternoon train; and Mary began her life as a boarder at Maryvale. It was the custom for children of her age to sleep in a dormitory; but Mrs. Selwyn had written to Mother Johanna, asking that Mary might have her own room fitted up with her furniture from home. And a very dainty little room it was, with pale blue-tinted walls and light woodwork, soft mull curtains looped back with pale blue ribbons, the bra.s.s bed, satin-wood dresser, writing desk, and chairs, and the little bookcase from her playroom. On the top of this stood her marble statue of our Blessed Mother and a pair of vases which Mary always kept filled with fresh flowers. Her toy box with a few sofa cus.h.i.+ons on it made a very good window seat; and all the girls agreed that Mary Selwyn's room was the very prettiest one in the house.

As a surprise to her father and mother, she was allowed to begin to study music and soon showed so much talent for it that Sister Dominic was delighted with her. She never begged to be excused from practice; for was she not "making a s'prise" for those whom she loved better than all the fun and frolics in the world? And every time she was called to the parlor to see her uncle, the same question was on her lips: "How many days is it now, Uncle, before they will be home?" until he at last brought her a large calendar and a blue pencil with which she could mark off each day before she went to bed at night. Toward the end of May, she sighed when she found that there were five whole pages of days to be marked off before the first of November.

But, somehow, the summer pa.s.sed more quickly than she had believed possible. She was glad to find that September has only thirty days; and when October came, she could scarcely wait for the letter that would tell the exact date when her dear ones would sail for home.

Toward the end of the month, the Doctor came with a letter, yes,--but the little girl was sorely disappointed; for baby Beth had been very ill, and the doctor who had attended her would not hear of her being brought back to New York just at the beginning of the long, cold winter. So the return home must be put off until the next May.

Poor little Mary! For her Uncle's sake she tried to be brave and agreed with him when he reminded her of how much better able she would be to play the piano in another six months; but the longing for her father and mother and the babies grew stronger than ever, and she studied the calendar to see whether there were more months of thirty than of thirty-one days between November and May. Looking over the pages which she had turned back when she had first hung the calendar in her room, she danced about at sight of only twenty-eight days in February, and ran to Sister Austin to ask whether the new year would bring any change in the number. But she learned that it would not be a leap year and went away somewhat consoled that there would be no extra day to put off her happiness.

Again the month of May came; but into it and the months which followed were crowded sorrows and trials which seldom fall to the lot of so young a child. The sad, sad news of her father's death in distant India was swiftly followed by word of her mother's illness which again delayed the homecoming. And when, shortly after her tenth birthday, the Doctor, pale and haggard, came to Maryvale and as gently as possible told her of the wreck of the great ocean steamer and the loss of those so dear to them, she felt that she was indeed his little Mary, and that she now belonged to our Blessed Mother in a very special way.

For some weeks her aunt and uncle were much worried about her, for she became so thin and pale and played no more with the little ones who were spending the summer vacation at the convent; but after a month with the Doctor in the mountains and another in Georgia at the home of Wilhelmina Marvin, the little daughter of old, old friends of her father, mother, and uncle, she returned to Maryvale looking more like herself.

Many long, lonely hours did she spend. She could not talk much about her sorrows to her uncle and aunt, for she knew that they felt the terrible loss almost as deeply as she did; but she had learned where to find the comfort she so sorely needed; and when she could no longer bear the merry laughter and noisy pranks of her playmates, she would steal away to the chapel and whisper all that she wished to say to the loving Heart in the Tabernacle.

Wilhelmina and she had become fast friends; for the little Southern girl had come as a boarder to Maryvale the year before. Mary had found her the same lively, fun-loving, little romp whom the Doctor had described to her, with just one difference--she had grown more lively, more fun-loving, more full of mischief; and poor Sister Austin's nerves were sorely tried, for Wilhelmina was never happier than when swinging from the highest limbs of the very tallest trees she could find.

Sister Madeline had been made Mother Superior at Maryvale; and Wilhelmina was a frequent visitor to her office, where she was called to answer for her pranks. But she was such a truthful, generous, whole-hearted child that no one could be very hard on her. In a short time, she had Mary playing base-ball and many games which she had never heard of; and by degrees, our little girl lost some of her old-fas.h.i.+oned manner, while her gentle ways did much toward keeping Wilhelmina within bounds.

After Mary's visit to Sunnymead, as Wilhelmina's home was called, the two little girls returned to school, Wilhelmina full of good resolutions, most of which she broke the first day. She and Mary were in the same cla.s.s; for, although eight months younger than Mary, she had not missed nearly a whole year of school on account of illness, and she had been taught at home by a governess--that is, when that young woman could find her and keep her in the schoolroom long enough to teach her anything. She, too, took music lessons; and poor Sister Dominic had her hands full with her. Wilhelmina's favorite tunes were _Yankee Doodle, The Wearing of the Green, Oh, Dem Golden Slippers_, and several others which she had picked out for herself on the piano at home, and which she faithfully practiced instead of the lesson which her teacher expected her to prepare.

"But, Sister, I can't play scales and exercises for folks. The boys would chase me out of the house if I tried it. You don't know what it means to have eight brothers. They want tunes with lots of swing and go to them."

"The lively things will come later, Wilhelmina, after you have mastered these very important scales and exercises. How can you expect to play runs and trills and such things unless you learn to do it properly?"

"This is the easiest way to play a run, Sister." And the young lady drew her thumb quickly across the length of the keyboard.

Sister Dominic sighed. So did Wilhelmina.

And still, between this harum-scarum little girl and Mary there sprang up a warm friends.h.i.+p, which grew stronger and stronger as the years went on, each of the children gaining much from the good traits she found in the other.

During the fall and winter, many things which Mary had heard about the wreck pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed through her busy little brain; and at last she made up her mind that the stories did not agree, and that there must be a mistake somewhere. She spoke of the matter to her uncle; but he insisted that everything possible had been done at the time of the wreck to make sure that there was no mistake. Mary was not convinced and began praying to our Blessed Mother to obtain for her light and guidance. Many a half hour she spent in the chapel, besides denying herself candy and other goodies; and her belief that her dear ones had not been lost in the wreck grew stronger and stronger as the bright spring days went by. Where they were, why they had sent no word of their rescue, she had no idea; but she felt sure that our Lady would in some way make it known to her. So she prayed and trusted and made hundreds of little acts of self-denial.

And then----_then_ things began to happen so quickly as almost to take her breath away.

One night in the early part of June, she went to bed wondering how many more prayers she would have to say before her uncle would begin to feel as she did; and the very next morning, she noticed a marked change in him. She did not ask what had caused it. It was enough for her to know that her prayers had at last been partly answered. And beyond asking a few questions and showing unusual restlessness, the Doctor said nothing of the story he had heard from a boy who had been saved from the wreck, and who insisted that Mrs. Selwyn had been in the same lifeboat and had reached Bordeaux, France, very ill, but still alive.

But the fact that she had sent no word of her rescue made the Doctor fear that she had died before she was able to do so; and he made up his mind not to arouse Mary's hopes until he was perfectly sure that there was no danger of her being again cruelly disappointed. He at once began to make use of every means in his power to follow up the slight clue the boy had given him; but it was not through notices in the newspapers, nor through his visits to all the hospitals and orphan asylums in Bordeaux, nor through the efforts of the many detectives employed on the case that Mary's trusting prayer was answered. An errand of pure charity brought the Doctor face to face with his loved sister. The sight of him and the sound of his voice restored her memory, which she had completely lost as a result of the shock of the wreck.

And six weeks later Mary's cup of happiness was filled to overflowing by the sudden return of her father, who had been captured, but not killed as was reported, by a savage tribe in India.

On the eighth of September, our Blessed Mother's birthday, there was a wonderful family gathering in the big east parlor at Maryvale, where Mother Madeline listened, her eyes filled with grateful tears, to the story which Mr. Selwyn told.

And the twins! the dear, mischief-loving, four-year-old twins were hugged and kissed and petted until, if their little curly heads had not been so filled with "s'prises" which they were planning for everyone present, they would have been badly spoiled that day.

Then, to Mary's delight, the whole family walked across the lawn and through the orchard to the little gate in the low stone wall which separated Maryvale from Bird-a-Lea, a beautiful place east of the convent. Here Mother Madeline left them to continue their way over the velvety lawn to the big, homey-looking, gray stone house with its roof of warm red tiles. On the wide porch, which ran all the way around the house, sat Mrs. Elliot, a dear old lady who owned this beautiful home.

The Doctor had met her once before, and Mary knew her quite well, for she and Wilhelmina had often been sent to her with messages from Mother Madeline. She wished to sell Bird-a-Lea; and while Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn and the Doctor talked matters over with her, Mary took the little ones to see the big bird cage around near the barn. It was built so as to enclose two small trees in which rare birds sang and flitted about.

Next to it stood a small house where these birds lived during the winter; for they had been brought from warm countries and would die if left out in the cold. Besides these beautiful birds, there were peac.o.c.ks strutting about under the great old trees; while robins, bluebirds, orioles, and other birds which the children had often seen before came quite close to them, and frisky gray squirrels peeped around the trunks of the trees at them.

Returning to the front porch, the children learned that Bird-a-Lea was to be their new home; and the twins were much disappointed because they could not take off their hats and begin to live there at once.

CHAPTER VIII.

THAT MOVING WEEK--MONDAY.

"Mary, will you see what is keeping the little folks? Perhaps Aunt Mandy does not find it an easy matter to get both Berta and Beth ready in time for breakfast."

"Yes, Father; but the twinnies ran past my room and down the stairs some time ago. Maybe they are in the yard."

"I think that is where you will find them, Mary," said Mrs. Marvin.

"d.i.c.k spied them from the window and could hardly wait until I had finished brus.h.i.+ng his hair. He said Jack was needed, too."

Mr. and Mrs. Marvin with Wilhelmina and their eight boys had arrived in New York a few days before the landing of the steamer on which the Selwyns returned from Europe. They had come all the way from Georgia to welcome these old friends whom they had never expected to see again in this world; and there had been great rejoicing at the dock when the steamer landed. Mr. Marvin had planned to start for home with his six eldest boys that same evening, leaving his wife with four-year-old d.i.c.k and baby Jack as company for Wilhelmina until school should reopen at Maryvale. But Mr. Selwyn and Doctor Carlton would not listen to such a plan; and at last Mr. Marvin had to promise that his whole family should be their guests until it was time for his two eldest boys to return to college. But when he learned of the purchase of Bird-a-Lea, he declared that he could not be held to his promise, because it would be out of the question for the Selwyns to begin moving with so many children in the house. So on Sunday evening he left with Phil, Harry, Joe, Frank, Bob and Freddie for Sunnymead, their beautiful plantation home.

And now, Monday morning, the four little ones were missing from the breakfast table.

"'Making a s'prise,' I'll be bound," laughed the Doctor. "I hope it will turn out more happily than most of those that the twins plan."

As Mary neared the door leading to the side porch, she heard the little ones giggling; but at her call that breakfast was ready, there was a chorus of, "Oh! oh! don't come, Mary!" "Jes' a minute!" "No fair peeking!" "We's making a most beauty, grand s'prise for ev'ybody, and it's 'most ready!"

Mary, laughing, returned to the dining-room, and a few minutes later, the screen door banged. All at the table paused, smiling at the loud whispers and smothered giggles coming from the hall. Then they heard d.i.c.k say, "But Father always says, 'Ladies first.'"

"But we isn't ladies, d.i.c.k," gurgled Beth. "We's jes' little folkses."

To which Berta agreed, "Yes, nennybody didn't ever call us ladies, d.i.c.k, not ever, ever at all."

"Not ever, ever at all," echoed her sister.