Part 8
Oh! how welcome was the sight of the beds and the cheery fire to the eyes of those Spanish sailors, when they were tenderly carried into the chapel at sunset. Only a few hours before they had thought the bottom of the ocean would be the only bed they should ever know. No wonder their faces looked grateful and happy, notwithstanding every one of them was suffering more or less from the injuries he had received. When at last there was nothing more to be done, and with the exception of Sister Julia and her assistants the Moorlow folk were making ready to go home, the Spanish captain, who had regained consciousness soon after being brought ashore, beckoned to Mr. Vale. The poor fellow was quite too weak to speak, but knowing him to be a minister, he glanced round the chapel, and then, slightly raising his hand, pointed upward. Mr. Vale readily understood that the captain did not want the little company to break up till they had united in thanking God for the preservation of the crew of his vessel. Stepping into the reading desk, he easily gained the attention of everyone.
“The captain of the _Christina_,” he said, “has indicated to me that he would like us to give God thanks for the rescue of his crew. Will as many of you as are willing remain for a few moments?”
The women and children took their seats in the pews near which they were standing, and not a man went out. Never was a sweeter or more earnest service held in the little chapel, and there were tears in many eyes at its close. Every face looked tranquil and happy. For one whole day those Moorlow folk had not had so much as a thought of self, and nothing brings a happier look into the face than pure unselfishness. It had been a wonderful day for them all, and who of the number would ever forget it?
Out into the glow of the sunset and homeward went the little congregation, leaving Sister Julia and three or four women whom she had chosen as assistants in charge of the hospital. Regie and Harry and Nan, reluctant to leave, lingered in the doorway, till Sister Julia came and urged their going.
“Come, children,” she said, “hurry home. Little Nan there looks ready to drop.”
“Yes, I am tired,” Nan admitted; “it has been such a long, long day,” and without further urging the little trio trudged silently home; silently, because they had so much to think over. Two shipwrecks in one day! Regie remembered self-reproachfully that he had had his wish. For Nan, the excitement and fatigue had proved too much, and she fell asleep at the table before she had eaten a mouthful of supper, and knew nothing more till she woke late the next morning, with the sunlight streaming so brightly into her room as to make storms and shipwrecks seem the most improbable things that could ever happen.
XIV.--A PUZZLING QUESTION
ITH so many willing hearts and hands at their service, it had been an easy matter to convert the chapel into a hospital; but now that it was converted, where was the money to come from to run it? The surgeon had said he thought it would be fully two weeks before the captain, and the two men who had been most badly hurt, would be about again, and in the meantime there were medicines to be bought and food to be provided for the entire party. Sister Julia knew well enough that there was no money to spare for the purpose in Moorlow, and they could hope for no remuneration from the poor sailors. With the wreck of his vessel and his cargo the captain himself had lost everything, and he had told Sister Julia “he had not even a penny left to go toward paying off his crew.”
So it happened one afternoon, a day or two after the wreck, that Sister Julia, wrapping a shawl about her, left her patients in charge of her assistants, and went out on the beach to get a breath of fresh air, and try and think her way out of this money difficulty.
She had not gone far before she heard voices behind her, and turned to see Mr. Vale, with Regie and Harry and Nan, hurrying after her. They had hold of hands, and, stretched in one long line, looked like quite a formidable little party, as they came toward her.
“We have come to take you prisoner for neglect of duty,” said Mr. Vale, as the line formed into a circle and shut her in.
“Not exactly neglect of duty,” laughed Sister Julia; “my thoughts are all with the hospital. I have been racking my poor brain to know where the money is to come from to support our patients up yonder.”
“Yes, I knew that must be troubling you,” Mr. Vale answered; “and I came down purposely to talk matters over with you. This log looks long enough to hold five people comfortably. Suppose we sit down here a few moments.”
So they ranged themselves on the piece of timber, which had been stranded from the wreck of the _Starling_, and which two days of sunshine had thoroughly dried.
“Now,” said Mr. Vale, “let us proceed to business. Suppose we have these men on our hands for two weeks, how much do you think it is going to cost us?”
“That is what I have been trying to get at,” replied Sister Julia; “all the bedding and things must be paid for, and there is the coal, which we are burning at a lively rate the whole twenty-four hours. These women who help me can't afford to work without wages, though they would be willing enough to, and Bromley the sexton must have something, for he's up a dozen times a night tending to the fires in the two stoves. It seems to me ten dollars a day might be made to cover our running expenses, but I do not see how we can manage to do with less.”
“That will be seventy dollars a week,” said Harry, having worked out the difficult sum on the firm wet sand at his feet; “whew! but that's a lot, and for two weeks it would be twice that.”
“Yes, a hundred and forty dollars,” said Sister Julia; “it is a pretty large sum.”
“And your own services ought not to go unremunerated,” Mr. Vale suggested.
“Indeed they ought! I only wish my pocket were long enough to pay all the bills myself.”
“I've wished mine was, a hundred times over, since the wreck.”
“There's one thing I want to ask you, Mr. Vale,” said Sister Julia, “and that is, if, after all, you think even my time is my own to give. You see while Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax are abroad I am employed by them to care for Reginald. To be sure he is so nearly well now that he does not need me, and Mrs. Murray is like a mother to him, but his lessons will have to be interrupted, and I wondered if Mr. Fairfax would feel I was doing quite right to neglect them.”
“And who would care for the poor men then?” cried Nan, with real distress. “Nobody knows just how to do for 'em but you, Sister Julia.”
“You need have no fears on the score of Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax,” said Mr. Vale, decidedly; “I know them well enough to assure you that they will thoroughly approve of and admire your course, and Nan is quite right. You know that no one here could care for them properly but just yourself.”
“But how about the money?” urged Regie, who was anxious to know what they were going to do about it.
“Well, I have thought of two or three schemes,” Mr. Vale replied. “You know we could write to Washington, and doubtless get an appropriation from some fund or other, but I would take a sort of pride in not bothering the Government at all about it; at any rate, not until we find it impossible to raise the sum ourselves.”
“Say! Mr. Vale,” said Rex, familiarly, “I'll tell you the very thing--take up a collection in your church next Sunday.”
“Well, I hadn't thought of that, Rex,” laughed Mr. Vale; “but, do you know, some of the good people there grumble already, thinking we have too many collections as it is. No, it seems to me it would be best to raise the money here if we could.”
“But you can't,” said Harry, emphatically, “there isn't any money here. I guess father has more than anyone in Moorlow, and yet I know he couldn't give much.”
“Your father, Harry, has given his share, in the work he has done,” Mr. Vale answered. “What I have to propose is this: suppose you and Reginald and Nan start out, say two days before Thanksgiving--that will be a week from next Tuesday--and take the village cart and Pet, and drive over to the Rumson Road. You know there are some well-to-do people living over there, who do not go back to town much before Christmas. Now they have every one heard by this time of the wreck of the _Christina_, and of the injuries her crew sustained, and I believe that every one of them would be glad to contribute, if you three little folks were to call upon them and tell them you were trying to raise two hundred dollars, which, you see, would cover all expenses. You know, at Thanksgiving time, people who have a great deal to be thankful for themselves often feel like helping other people who have not fared so well. It seems to me the plan is worth trying.”
The children's faces plainly showed their delight in it.
“But how will we know where to go?” asked Nan.
“I will give you a list of half-a-dozen names,” Mr. Vale replied. “I happen to have a little blank book in my pocket that is just what you need;” and, opening it, he wrote upon the first page, “Collection in Aid of the Crew of the _Christina_, wrecked off the Moorlow coast, November 12th, 18----.”
Then underneath he wrote the words, “A Friend, $20.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Regie.
“I mean that I will give you twenty dollars to start the fund. Then, after you have been to all the other places, you must not forget to call upon my sister up at Mr. Avery's. She will be glad to give you something, I know, and Mr. Avery will, too, for that matter.”
“I wish we could do it to-morrow,” said Nan, whose enthusiasm always found it hard to brook delays of any sort.
“Oh, no, indeed!” Mr. Vale exclaimed, “you will get twice the money by waiting. Thanksgiving and Christmas have a magical way of letting down the bars to people's hearts, and making them more generous.”
Of course Sister Julia entered into this fine plan as heartily as the children, and after they had talked a long while about it she bade them good-bye, and went back to her duties in the hospital a much cheerier woman than she had left it. The week that followed proved a long but happy one to the children. Long, because they were continually counting the days and the hours till the time should come when they could set out on that wonderful collecting tour; happy, in the unexpected holidays, which came to them through Sister Julia's inability to keep up their lessons. Surely every little scholar knows the peculiar charm of unlooked-for holidays.
By the common consent of the body-guard, the collecting-book had been placed in the keeping of his little Royal Highness, who had placed it for safety in the top drawer of his bureau. On the evening before they were to start on this momentous expedition, Regie had taken it out, handled it for several moments thoughtfully, and then put it back in its place, with an abstracted air, as though he was thinking very hard about something. Late that night, when the house was quiet, and every one asleep, he had crept noiselessly from bed, leaned out of the window to strike a match, for fear of waking Sister Julia in the next room, and lit his candle. Then, trying to keep a look out on all sides at once, as guiltily as any little thief, he went to the drawer, took out the little book, crossed to the table where the candle was standing, put a new pen in the holder, and then, with all the customary twists and twirls of his funny little mouth, wrote on a line, directly underneath Mr. Vale's,
“A Friend.....................................$20.”
Then he sat, gazing proudly at it for fully five minutes before he put out the light and crept back to bed.
XV.--THE QUESTION ANSWERED
T was a bracing morning. Of course it was a November morning, for to-morrow would be Thanksgiving, and Mr. Vale stood looking out of his study window. It was a beautiful window in the spring and summer time, when the afternoon sun came streaming in through the Virginia creeper trained across it. Mr. Vale, who had the happiest way of looking at things, thought it a beautiful window, even in November. It might have opened on a blank wall, or a dull row of houses, as so many city windows do. Instead of that, it overlooked an old-fashioned garden, with little box-bordered flower-beds of every conceivable shape, and narrow gravel paths running between them. In some of the sunniest beds a few hardy chrysanthemums were still blooming, in brilliant reds and yellows. A fine western breeze was whistling through the leafless branches of the vine, and Mr. Vale drew in a long breath of the invigorating air. No doubt he would have drawn a still longer breath of the salt air he revelled in if he had been where his thoughts were, for they were down by the sea, where at this very moment a little party was crowding into a village cart, about to start out on a long-talked-of expedition. If he could have looked into their earnest, rosy faces, and into their eyes brimming over with delight and expectation, I think he would have felt assured of the success of their undertaking. How could anyone resist such a winning troop of little beggars?
At last he closed the windows went back to his study table, and wrote out his Thanksgiving sermon, which he had been turning over in his mind for many a day,--a glorious, invigorating sermon, as any member of the large congregation who heard it next day would have told you; but they could not have told you that it had won much of its inspiration from a little maiden who a few days before had looked up to him and said, with loving admiration, “I like your preaching; I like it very much indeed.” Well, the children were off at last, and they bowled along the hard boulevard road in the highest spirits. They crossed the Sea Bright Bridge, and Pet, who had not been over it since that September morning when they went for the peaches, started to take the road that led to Burchard's orchard.
“No, sir-reel” cried Regie, jerking him back, “we won't go there any more,” and then the children laughed heartily over that eventful day's adventures, when the little red skirt had done such good service. Before long they found themselves in front of Mr. Allan's place, and his name came first on the list. It had been agreed between them that Regie should be spokesman for the party.
“You see, Harry,” Nan had said, when they were discussing the matter in Regie's absence, “Regie has a kind of city way with him that is more taking, you know.”
“I don't know anything of the kind,” Harry had answered. “You're just gone over Regie. It's a pity you could not have had him for a brother instead of me.”
“Now, Harry Murray,” Nan replied, earnestly, “you know I would not exchange you for any brother in the world,” which was pretty good of Nan, considering how large a share of teasing she had to undergo from this same Harry. The discussion had occurred several days previous to the expedition, and now that they had actually set out Harry was only too thankful that he did not have to play the principal part on the programme.
They drove up to the big house and tied Pet to a tree. No one was to be seen, and for a moment their hearts misgave them but it was too late to retrace their steps, and, with the air of a major domo, Harry marched proudly on to the piazza and pulled the bell, which was the special duty allotted to him. A coloured man in unpretentious livery opened the door.
“Does Mr. Allan live here?” asked Rex.
He hoped that the man did not notice that his voice trembled a little.
“Yes; would you like to see him?”
Before Rex could answer, “Yes, if you please,” someone called from the back part of the house, “Is it three little children, Jackson?”
“Yes, sah, it is.”
“Show them right in here, then,” called the voice, and closing the door after them Jackson ushered them into a spacious diningroom, where an old gentleman sat toasting his feet and reading his morning paper before a crackling wood fire.
“Well, my little friends, I'm right glad to see you,” he said, cordially. “You'll excuse my not getting up to meet you, I am such an old fellow, you know. Here, Jackson, put that little rocking-chair here near the fire for the young lady.”
Nan looked about the room to see who the young lady might be.
“Oh! if you mean me,” she said, laughing, taking her seat on a sofa, “I'm too warm to go near the fire, thank you.”
“Pray be seated, gentlemen, and tell me what I can do for you,” said Mr. Allan, turning to the boys.
“I guess you knew we were coming,” Regie answered, sitting down in the nearest chair.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you called to your man there as we came in to ask if it was not three little children, as though you were sort of expecting us.”
“Oh, to be sure! but couldn't I have seen you as you drove up!”
“Not if you were sitting where you are now, sir,” said honest Harry.
“Well, I guess I shall have to own up, then, that I did know you were coming. This is how I received my information,” and Mr. Allan drew a little case from his pocket and began looking through the papers it contained. Nan gazed at the case in silent admiration. It was made of alligator skin, and had Mr. Allan's initials, R. T. A., in silver letters on the back.
“I wonder,” she thought, “if two dollars would buy one like that for Regie when he goes home at Christmas time?”
And then she remembered with satisfaction that Regie had only two initials, which would probably make it come a little cheaper. Mr. Allan finally found a postal card, and handed it to Regie, who read aloud:--
“'New York, November 21st, 18----.
“'Dear Mr. Allan,--Three little friends of mine will call on you to-morrow. I hope they will be none the less welcome when they have told you their errand.
“'Yours in haste,
“'F. F. Vale.'”
“Then you do not know what we have come for,” and Regie produced his collecting book with a most business like air. Mr. Allan put on his spectacles and examined it carefully. “Oh, I see,” he said at last, “you are collecting for the poor sailors who were saved from the wreck. I hear you turned the church into a hospital. You could not have done a better thing.”
“Yes, we did,” said Nan, proudly, “and the sailors are all very nice men indeed, and if it had not been for Sister Julia's care, two of them would have died.”
“And who is Sister Julia?”
“Don't you know who Sister Julia is?” she asked, incredulously; “why, I thought everyone in New York knew about her. She's----”
“Let Regie tell,” Harry interrupted. “You see he has a kind of city way with him that is more taking, you know,” he added, with a sly wink and in tones too low for Mr. Allan's ear.
Nan immediately relapsed into silence, and Regie came to the front.
“Sister Julia is a nurse, but she's a lady too, and she came to Moorlow to take care of me when I broke my leg last June. She lives in a great hospital in New York, and takes care of sick people, mostly children.”
“But how does she happen to be here now?” asked Mr. Allan. “Those two legs of yours seem to be as strong as anybody's.”
“Oh, yes, it's all right now,” and Regie regarded his right leg rather affectionately; “but Sister Julia stayed on to look after me, because Papa and Mamma Fairfax have gone to Europe.”
“Then you are Curtis Fairfax's adopted boy?'' Mr. Allan exclaimed with some surprise; and readjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles he looked Regie over rather critically.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Rex replied, for almost the first time in his life hearing that word “adopted” without wincing.
“You'll do well then if you make as good a man as your father. He's one of the whitest men in the trade.”
Regie did not quite know what he meant by that, but hesitated to ask.
“Just how are you going to use this money?” asked Mr. Allan.
“For the hospital, sir. It costs seventy dollars a week to run it. The brig was wrecked last week, Wednesday you know, and Sister Julia says they will not be able to go before the middle of next week, so we need a hundred and forty dollars, and sixty dollars more for beds and other things.”
Mr. Allan re-opened the little book.
“I see,” he said, “that you have forty dollars promised already. I recognise Mr. Vale's hand in this first twenty. Are you free to tell who contributes the other?”
“The other twenty!” exclaimed Harry, looking over Mr. Allan's shoulder; “why, that is Regie's writing!”
Rex coloured up to the roots of his brown hair, as though he had been the most guilty of little culprits.
“I have ten dollars now of my own,” he stammered, “and I know of a way I can surely earn ten more when I get back to town, so I am going to ask Mr. Vale to lend me the money.”
“Good for you!” said Mr. Allan, “I call that downright generous, and as I happen to know of a way I can earn sixty dollars when I get back to town, I suppose I ought to put myself down for forty at any rate. I guess I had better draw a check to your order, as you seem to be chairman of the committee,” and crossing the room he sat down at a little oak desk. Nan stared at Rex in mute amazement. She had never dreamed he was such a wealthy personage. Harry's respect was wonderfully increased too, by the way. To think that a boy no older than he actually knew of a way by which he could earn ten dollars! He stowed that piece of information away in his mind as a matter to be inquired into more particularly at a later date, and was so ungracious as to have some doubts as to the perfect truthfulness of the statement.
Just at this moment Jackson came again into the room, bearing a tray laden with cider and doughnuts; clear, amber-coloured cider, in a cut-glass pitcher, and doughnuts generously sprinkled with powdered sugar, and fried that morning.
“I thought dese yere children might enjoy a little sumfin to eat arter their long ride this breezy morning,” said Jackson, setting the tray on the table.
“A happy thought, Jackson,” answered Mr. Allan, smiling; “and now suppose we draw up to the table and be comfortable.”
The children needed no urging, and Jackson, placing a plate in front of each of them, passed the doughnuts, and then filled four tempting little tumblers to the brim.
“Let us drink to the health of Sister Julia,” said Mr. Allan, and he was greatly amused at the easy grace with which the children complied.
Captain Murray had once taken Nan and Harry to a “Rip Van Winkle” _matinee_, and so they chanced to know what was the proper thing to do when a health was proposed. Afterward, Harry proposed the health of Mr. Vale, because, as he put it, “he was such a brick at the time of the wreck;” and then Regie proposed Captain Murray's. Altogether it was a very merry party, and the children finally bade Mr. Allan a reluctant goodbye, when Rex decided that “they really ought to go on to the next place, for if they kept on at this rate they wouldn't get home till morning.”
They had still four names on their list, and already had half the money.
Feeling sure that Mr. Vale had in each place heralded their coming by a postal, they entered the other houses with an air of childish confidence which seemed to say, “We have called for that money, please.”
Everywhere they were received with more than cordial kindness, and when Pet turned his head homeward the whole amount had been subscribed.
“Oh, dear me!” Nan suddenly exclaimed, quite overcome by a thought that had occurred to her.
“What is it, goosie?” And it is not necessary to mention who asked that.
“Why, we have all the money we need, and we have not called on Miss Vale yet.”
“That's so, by cracky!” said Harry.
“Well, we'll just have to go there and explain,” Rex volunteered.