Chapter 12

Mr. Bracken found one morning, when he had reached his office, that he had forgotten some important papers. He went home at noon to get them. He let himself into the apartment and walked directly into the living-room. He stopped with an exclamation of surprise for on the broad davenport was a little girl fast asleep. One of her arms was thrown protectingly about a brass cage in which a bird swung lazily.

"Well, upon my word!" muttered Mr. Bracken. He looked about to be sure he was in the right apartment. He had been away from home and had not met Mary Rose.

The words, low as they were uttered, reached Mary Rose's ear and she opened her eyes. When she saw a tall man staring somewhat frowningly at her she sat up suddenly.

"I--I hope you're Mr. Bracken, Mrs. Bracken's husband?" she said. There was a tremble in her voice as she slipped from the davenport and bobbed a curtsy. There was a shake in her knees, also. Suppose this strange man should be a burglar? The thought was enough to make the voice and knees of any little girl tremble and shake. But the strange man nodded curtly and Mary Rose laughed tremulously. "I thought perhaps you were a burglar," she confessed at once. "I never knew a real burglar but I see now you don't look a bit like one. If I hadn't been so sleepy I'd have seen it at once for I've the right kind of an eye, the kind that can see the good in people. I think you have, too, because your eyes are just the same color my daddy's were and he had the right kind. Gracious! I should just think he had!"

"Never mind about eyes," Mr. Bracken said impatiently. "What are you doing here?"

"I'll tell you," she blushed. "I came up to wash the dishes, as I do every morning for Mrs. Bracken, and I left the key on the outside and the wind slammed the door shut. I couldn't open it. I thought I'd have to wait until Mrs. Bracken came home to let me out. I didn't dare make a noise for fear I'd disturb Mr. Wells. I must have gone to sleep for I never heard you come in. I live in the cellar with my Aunt Kate and Uncle Larry. At first I felt like a green cucumber pickle because in Mifflin, where I used to live, there wasn't anything in our cellar but a swinging shelf for pickles and jellies and a person couldn't ever feel like a glass of plum jelly, could they? So I felt like a cucumber pickle but now I don't mind it at all. I love to live in the cellar. There's everything in getting used to things, isn't there? I like it here now pretty well for I've lots of friends. Mrs. Schuneman and Germania and Mrs. Johnson, the grandma one. We go to the park every day and feed her pet squirrel. The Lord keeps it there because she can't have any pets but canary birds in houses like this. There's a law against it, Uncle Larry said. And there's Miss Thorley, the enchanted princess, who's painting my picture for Mr. Bingham Henderson's jam to tell people how good it is. She gave me some once, apricot. We only had strawberry and raspberry and plum and grape and apple butter in Mifflin. I used to stir the apple butter for Lena. You have to stir it all the time or it burns. It makes your arm awful tired but it's good for the muscle. Feel mine!" She clenched her small arm and held it out so that Mr. Bracken could feel her muscles.

He murmured: "I'll be darned!" in a dazed sort of a way as he felt her muscle, and Mary Rose went on sociably.

"And there's Mrs. Bracken. She said I washed her dishes better than a full-sized girl. And now there's you. Have you had any lunch?" she demanded suddenly. "Shall I get you some?" she wanted to know when he had admitted that he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. "Mrs. Bracken wouldn't like it if I let you go away hungry. It won't take a minute. You just keep an eye on Jenny Lind." And she put Jenny Lind on the table at his elbow before she flew to the kitchen.

Mr. Bracken stood and stared at Jenny Lind and then at the door through which Mary Rose had disappeared. "Well, I'll be darned!" he said again. He went to his desk and found his important papers. He did not intend to stay for lunch but when Mary Rose flew back to demand hurriedly whether he liked his eggs fried or boiled he told her boiled.

A postponed meeting brought Mrs. Bracken home that day several hours before she had planned. She stopped on the threshold in astonishment when she heard voices and laughter in the rear of her apartment. She hurried back with pursed lips and frowning face for both laugh and voice had sounded young. If Mary Rose were making free with her things she would give Mary Rose a good big piece of her mind and then she would present Mrs. Donovan with an equal portion.

She went through the dining-room and into the kitchen to find Joseph Bracken--_Joseph Bracken_--sitting at the kitchen table eating boiled eggs and drinking tea. Mary Rose was perched on a chair across from him and was telling him of Mifflin. Jenny Lind's cage was between them.

"Why--why," gasped Mrs. Bracken. She could not say another word. She forgot all about the big piece of her mind that she was going to give Mary Rose and stood there staring with bulging eyes.

Mary Rose jumped to the floor. "Here's Mrs. Bracken!" she cried in delight. "Isn't it a pity we didn't know she was coming? I could just as well have boiled another egg. But there's plenty of tea. It's like a party, isn't it? Except that we haven't any birthday candles. In Mifflin I always had candles on my birthday cake because daddy said a birthday should be like a candle, a light to guide you into the new year. Shall I boil an egg for you, Mrs. Bracken?"

Mrs. Bracken sat down suddenly in the chair Mary Rose had vacated and murmured helplessly: "Well, upon my word!"

"That's what I said," smiled Mr. Bracken, which wasn't exactly true although the words he had used meant the same thing, "when I came home and found a girl and a bird on the davenport."

"I locked myself in," Mary Rose explained with a shamed face. "I was careless and left the key on the outside. Mr. Bracken should have scolded me but he didn't. We've been the best friends and had the nicest time together and now it's going to be nicer because you're here."

She beamed on first one and then the other as she bustled about finding a plate and a knife and fork, making the toast that Mrs. Bracken thought she would prefer to bread and all the time talking in a friendly fashion. She never doubted that what interested her would interest others.

At first Mrs. Bracken regarded her helplessly, as Mr. Bracken had done, but gradually the look of irritation disappeared and at last a smile took its place. It was strange to share a lunch of boiled eggs and tea on the kitchen table with Joseph Bracken. She had not done that since they were first married and were moving into their first home. She hadn't thought of it for years but now it was oddly pleasant to remember the little details of a time before she had been absorbed by clubs and he by business. Neither she nor Mr. Bracken had much to say but Mary Rose talked enough for three. She waited on them with a solicitude that forced them to eat and when they had finished she sent them into the other room.

"I'll wash up. It won't take me a minute."

So, because she told them to, Mr. and Mrs. Bracken drifted into the other room and left her alone with Jenny Lind. Mr. Bracken did not take his hat and mutter that he would be back for dinner. He walked over to the window and stood looking down the street. At last he turned around and looked at his wife who was sitting on the davenport as if she were tired.

"Elsie," he said abruptly, "what ever became of your niece?"

She looked up in surprise. "You mean Harriet White? She's living with the Norrises in Prairieville."

"Wouldn't you like to have her here?" he asked suddenly. "It doesn't seem just right--decent--to let strangers look after your own relations."

Her eyes opened wider. He had never seemed to think whether it was decent or not until now. "But we can't have her here. That was the trouble after her mother died. Children aren't allowed in the house and we didn't want to move."

"How old is she?"

"Thirteen or fourteen. I'm not just sure which."

"A girl of thirteen isn't a child. Send for her, Elsie, and if anyone objects, we can move. But I guess a tenant means something to a landlord and there won't be any objections. We need her, Elsie, as much as she needs us. We need someone young with us. That kid," he nodded toward the kitchen where Mary Rose was lustily singing the many verses of "Where Have You Been, Billy Boy?" "has made me realize what we are missing. Why she fussed around me as if--as if," he colored slightly, "as if I were her father. No, it isn't anything new. I've been thinking for some time that we aren't getting all we should out of life. You give your time and strength to clubs and I give mine to business and what does it amount to? What are we working for? Abstract people aren't the same as your own flesh and blood. What we need is something to bring us together and if Hattie White is anything like that kid she'll keep us good and busy."

Mrs. Bracken slipped across the room and put her hand on his arm. "I'll be glad to send for her, Joe. I haven't felt just right to leave her with the Whites but I thought you didn't want her and I told myself that my first duty was to you. I'll write today. No, I'll go for her, if you don't mind."

"That's a good girl." His arm slipped around her waist.

Out in the kitchen Mary Rose brought her song to an abrupt close. She thrust her head in the doorway. "I'm all through. Didn't I say it wouldn't take a jiffy? It's been very pleasant but Aunt Kate'll be wondering where I am and so will Grandma Johnson. Good-by."

"Good-by," they chorused. "Come again," they added, as if they couldn't help but speak the hospitable words.

"I shall," Mary Rose called back. "Sure, I'll come again."