Chapter 9

PRACTISING ECONOMY

It was a dull dreary day early in December. Prudence and Fairy were sewing in the bay window of the sitting-room.

"We must be sure to have all the scraps out of the way before Connie gets home," said Prudence, carefully fitting together pieces of a dark, warm, furry material. "It has been so long since father wore this coat, I am sure she will not recognize it."

"But she will ask where we got it, and what shall we say?"

"We must tell her it is goods we have had in the house for a long time. That is true. And I made this fudge on purpose to distract her attention. If she begins to ask questions, we must urge her to have more candy. Poor child!" she added very sympathetically. "Her heart is just set on a brand-new coat. I know she will be bitterly disappointed. If the members would just pay up we could get her one. November and December are such bad months for parsonage people. Coal to buy, feed for the cow and the horse and the chickens, and Carol's sickness, and Larkie's teeth! Of course, those last are not regular winter expenses, but they took a lot of money this year. Every one is getting ready for Christmas now, and forgets that parsonage people need Christmas money, too. November and December are always my bitter months, Fairy,--bitter months!"

Fairy took a pin from her mouth. "The velvet collar and cuffs will brighten it up a good bit. It's really a pretty material. I have honestly been ashamed of Connie the last few Sundays. It was so cold, and she wore only that little thin summer jacket. She must have been half frozen."

"Oh, I had her dressed warmly underneath, very warmly indeed," declared Prudence. "But no matter how warm you are underneath, you look cold if you aren't visibly prepared for winter weather. It's a fortunate thing the real cold weather was so slow in coming. I kept hoping enough money would come in to buy her a coat for once in her life."

"She has been looking forward to one long enough," put in Fairy. "This will be a bitter blow to her. And yet it is not such a bad-looking coat, after all." And she quickly ran up a seam on the machine.

"Here comes Connie!" Prudence hastily swept a pile of scraps out of sight, and turned to greet her little sister with a cheery smile.

"Come on in, Connie," she cried, with a brightness she did not feel. "Fairy and I are making you a new coat. Isn't it pretty? And so warm! See the nice velvet collar and cuffs. We want to fit it on you right away, dear."

Connie picked up a piece of the goods and examined it intently.

"Don't you want some fudge, Connie?" exclaimed Fairy, shoving the dish toward her hurriedly.

Connie took a piece from the plate, and thrust it between her teeth. Her eyes were still fastened upon the brown furry cloth.

"Where did you get this stuff?" she inquired, as soon as she was able to speak.

"Oh, we've had it in the house quite a while," said Prudence, adding swiftly, "Isn't it warm, Connie? Oh, it does look nice, doesn't it, Fairy? Do you want it a little shorter, Connie, or is that about right?"

"About right, I guess. Did you ever have a coat like this, Prudence? I don't seem to remember it.'"

"Oh, no, it wasn't mine. Take some more candy, Connie. Isn't it good?--Let's put a little more fullness in the sleeves, Fairy. It's more stylish this year.--The collar fits very nicely. The velvet gives it such a rich tone. And brown is so becoming to you."

"Thanks," said Connie patiently. "Was this something of yours, Fairy?"

"Oh, no, we've just had it in the house quite a while. It comes in very handy right now, doesn't it? It'll make you such a serviceable, stylish coat. Isn't it about time for the twins to get here, Prudence? I'm afraid they are playing along the road. Those girls get more careless every day of their lives."

"Well, if this didn't belong to one of you, whose was it?" demanded Connie. "I know the twins never had anything like this. It looks kind of familiar to me. Where did it come from?"

"Out of the trunk in the garret, Connie. Don't you want some more fudge? I put a lot of nuts in, especially on your account."

"It's good," said Connie, taking another piece. She examined the cloth very closely. "Say, Prudence, isn't this that old brown coat of father's?"

Fairy shoved her chair back from the machine, and ran to the window. "Look, Prue," she cried. "Isn't that Mrs. Adams coming this way? I wonder----"

"No, it isn't," answered Connie gravely. "It's just Miss Avery getting home from school.--Isn't it, Prudence? Father's coat, I mean?"

"Yes, Connie, it is," said Prudence, very, very gently. "But no one here has seen it, and it is such nice cloth,--just exactly what girls are wearing now."

"But I wanted a new coat!" Connie did not cry. She stood looking at Prudence with her wide hurt eyes.

"Oh, Connie, I'm just as sorry as you are," cried Prudence, with starting tears. "I know just how you feel about it, dearest. But the people didn't pay father up last month, and nothing has come in for this month yet, and we've had so much extra expense.--I will have to wear my old shoes, too, Connie, and you know how they look! The shoemaker says they aren't worth fixing, so I must wear them as they are.--But maybe after Christmas we can get you a coat. They pay up better then."

"I think I'd rather wear my summer coat until then," said Connie soberly.

"Oh, but you can't, dearest. It is too cold. Won't you be a good girl now, and not make sister feel badly about it? It really is becoming to you, and it is nice and warm. You know parsonage people just have to practise economy, Connie,--it can't be helped. Take some more fudge, dear, and run out-of-doors a while. You'll feel better about it presently, I'm sure."

Connie stood solemnly beside the table, her eyes still fastened on the coat, cut down from her father's. "Can I go and take a walk?" she asked finally.

"May I, you mean," suggested Fairy.

"Yes, may I? Maybe I can reconcile myself to it."

"Yes, do go and take a walk," urged Prudence promptly, eager to get the small sober face beyond her range of vision.

"If I am not back when the twins get home, go right on and eat without me. I'll come back when I get things straightened out in my mind."

When Connie was quite beyond hearing, Prudence dropped her head on the table and wept. "Oh, Fairy, if the members just knew how such things hurt, maybe they'd pay up a little better. How do they expect parsonage people to keep up appearances when they haven't any money?"

"Oh, now, Prue, you're worse than Connie! There's no use to cry about it. Parsonage people have to find happiness in spite of financial misery. Money isn't the first thing with folks like us."

"No, but they have pledged it," protested Prudence, lifting her tear-stained face. "They must know we are counting on the money. Why don't they keep their pledges? They pay their meat bills, and grocery bills, and house rent! Why don't they pay for their religion?"

"Now, Prue, you know how things go. Mrs. Adams is having a lot of Christmas expense, and she thinks her four dollars a month won't really be missed. She thinks she will make it up along in February, when Christmas is over. But she forgets that Mrs. Barnaby with two dollars, and Mrs. Scott with five, and Mr. Walter with seven, and Mr. Holmes with three, and about thirty others with one dollar each, are thinking the same thing! Each member thinks for himself, and takes no account of the others. That's how it happens."

Prudence squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. "I wish you wouldn't mention names, Fairy," she begged. "I do not object to lumping them in a body and wondering about them. But I can't feel right about calling them out by name, and criticizing them.--Besides, we do not really know which ones they are who did not pay."

"I was just giving names for illustrative purposes," said Fairy quickly. "Like as not, the very ones I named are the ones who did pay."

"Well, get this stuff out of the way, and let's set the table. Somehow I can't bear to touch it any more. Poor little Connie! If she had cried about it, I wouldn't have cared so much. But she looked so--heartsick, didn't she, Fairy?"

Connie certainly was heartsick. More than that, she was a little disgusted. She felt herself aroused to take action. Things had gone too far! Go to church in her father's coat she could not! But they hadn't the money. If Connie's father had been at home, perhaps they might have reasoned it out together. But he had left town that morning, and would not be home until Saturday evening,--too late to get a coat in time for Sunday, and Prudence had said that Connie must be coated by Sunday! She walked sturdily down the street toward the "city,"--ironically so called. Her face was stony, her hands were clenched. But finally she brightened. Her lagging steps quickened. She skipped along quite cheerfully. She turned westward as she reached the corner of the Square, and walked along that business street with shining eyes. In front of the First National Bank she paused, but after a few seconds she passed by. On the opposite corner was another bank. When she reached it, she walked in without pausing, and the massive door swung behind her. Standing on tiptoe, she confronted the cashier with a grave face.

"Is Mr. Harold in?" she asked politely.

Mr. Harold was the president of the bank! It was a little unusual.

"Yes, he is in," said the cashier doubtfully, "but he is very busy."

"Will you tell him that Constance Starr wishes to speak to him, privately, and that it is very important?"

The cashier smiled. "The Methodist minister's little girl, isn't it? Yes, I will tell him."

Mr. Harold looked up impatiently at the interruption.

"It's the Methodist minister's little daughter, and she says it is important for her to speak to you privately."

"Oh! Probably a message from her father. Bring her in."

Mr. Harold was one of the trustees of the Methodist church, and prominent among them. His keen eyes were intent upon Connie as she walked in, but she did not falter.

"How do you do, Mr. Harold?" she said, and shook hands with him in the good old Methodist way.

His eyes twinkled, but he spoke briskly. "Did your father send you on an errand?"

"No, father is out of town. I came on business,--personal business, Mr. Harold. It is my own affair."

"Oh, I see," and he smiled at the earnest little face. "Well, what can I do for you, Miss Constance?"

"I want to borrow five dollars from the bank, Mr. Harold?"

"You--did Prudence send you?"

"Oh, no, it is my own affair as I told you. I came on my own account. I thought of stopping at the other bank as I passed, but then I remembered that parsonage people must always do business with their own members if possible. And of course, I would rather come to you than to a perfect stranger."

"Thank you,--thank you very much. Five dollars you say you want?"

"I suppose I had better tell you all about it. You see, I need a winter coat, very badly. Oh, very badly, indeed! The girls were ashamed of me last Sunday, I looked so cold outside, though I was dressed plenty warm enough inside. I've been looking forward to a new coat, Mr. Harold. I've never had one yet. There was always something to cut down for me, from Prudence, or Fairy, or the twins. But this time there wasn't anything to hand down, and so I just naturally counted on a new one." Connie paused, and looked embarrassed.

"Yes?" His voice was encouraging.

"Well, I'll tell you the rest, but I hope you won't say anything about it, for I'd feel pretty cheap if I thought all the Sunday-school folks knew about it.--You see, the members need such a lot of money now just before Christmas, and so they didn't pay us up last month, and they haven't paid anything this month. And we had to get coal, and feed, and Larkie's teeth had to be fixed, and Carol was sick, you remember. Seems to me Lark's teeth might have been put off until after Christmas, but Prudence says not.--And so there isn't any money left, and I can't have a coat. But Prudence and Fairy are making me one,--out of an old coat of father's!"

Constance paused dramatically. Mr. Harold never even smiled. He just nodded understandingly. "I don't think I could wear a coat of father's to church,--it's cut down of course, but--there's something painful about the idea. I wouldn't expect father to wear any of my clothes! You can see how it is, Mr. Harold. Just imagine how you would feel wearing your wife's coat!--I don't think I could listen to the sermons. I don't believe I could be thankful for the mercy of wearing father's coat! I don't see anything merciful about it. Do you?"

Mr. Harold did not speak. He gazed at Connie sympathetically, and shook his head.

"It's too much, that's what it is. And so I thought I'd just have to take things into my own hands and borrow the money. I can get a good coat for five dollars. But if the bank is a little short right now, I can get along with four, or even three. I'd rather have the cheapest coat in town, than one made out of father's. Do you think you can let me have it?"

"Yes, indeed we can." He seemed to find his voice with an effort. "Of course we can. We are very glad to lend our money to responsible people. We are proud to have your trade."

"But I must tell you, that it may take me quite a while to pay it back. Father gives me a nickel a week, and I generally spend it for candy. There's another nickel, but it has to go in the collection, so I can't really count that. I don't believe father would let me neglect the heathen, even to pay for a winter coat! But I will give you the nickel every week, and at that rate I can pay it back in a couple of years easy enough. But I'd rather give the nickels as fast as I get them. It's so hard to keep money when you can get your hand on it, you know. Sometimes I have quite a lot of money,--as much as a quarter at a time, from doing errands for the neighbors and things like that. I'll pay you as fast as I can. Will that be all right? And the interest, too, of course. How much will the interest be on five dollars?"

"Well, that depends on how soon you repay the money, Connie. But I'll figure it out, and tell you later."

"All right. I know I can trust you not to cheat me, since you're a trustee. So I won't worry about that."

Mr. Harold drew out a bulky book from his pocket, and handed Connie a crisp new bill. Her eyes sparkled as she received it.

"But, Connie," he continued, "I feel that I ought to give you this. We Methodists have done a wicked thing in forgetting our November payments, and I will just give you this bill to make up for it."

But Connie shook her head decidedly. "Oh, no! I'll have to give it back, then. Father would not stand that,--not for one minute. Of course, parsonage people get things given to them, quite a lot. And it's a good thing, too, I must say! But we don't hint for them, Mr. Harold. That wouldn't be right." She held out the bill toward him, with very manifest reluctance.

"Keep it,--we'll call it a loan then, Connie," he said. "And you may pay me back, five cents at a time, just as is most convenient."

The four older girls were at the table when Connie arrived. She exhaled quiet satisfaction from every pore. Prudence glanced at her once, and then looked away again. "She has reconciled herself," she thought. Dinner was half over before Constance burst her bomb. She had intended waiting until they were quite through, but it was more than flesh and blood could keep!

"Are you going to be busy this afternoon, Prudence?" she asked quietly.

"We are going to sew a little," said Prudence. "Why?"

"I wanted you to go down-town with me after school."

"Well, perhaps I can do that. Fairy will be able to finish the coat alone."

"You needn't finish the coat!--I can't wear father's coat to church, Prudence. It's a--it's a--physical impossibility."

The twins laughed. Fairy smiled, but Prudence gazed at "the baby" with tender pity.

"I'm so sorry, dearest, but we haven't the money to buy one now."

"Will five dollars be enough?" inquired Connie, and she placed her crisp new bill beside her plate. The twins gasped! They gazed at Connie with new respect. They were just wishing they could handle five-dollar bills so recklessly.

"Will you loan me twenty dollars until after Christmas, Connie?" queried Fairy.

But Prudence asked, "Where did you get this money, Connie?"

"I borrowed it,--from the bank," Connie replied with proper gravity. "I have two years to pay it back. Mr. Harold says they are proud to have my trade."

Prudence was silent for several long seconds. Then she inquired in a low voice, "Did you tell him why you wanted it?"

"Yes, I explained the whole situation."

"What did he say?"

"He said he knew just how I felt, because he knew he couldn't go to church in his wife's coat.--No, I said that myself, but he agreed with me. He did not say very much, but he looked sympathetic. He said he anticipated great pleasure in seeing me in my new coat at church next Sunday."

"Go on with your luncheon, twins," said Prudence sternly. "You'll be late to school.--We'll see about going down-town when you get home to-night, Connie. Now, eat your luncheon, and don't talk about coats any more."

When Connie had gone back to school, Prudence went straight to Mr. Harold's bank. Flushed and embarrassed, she explained the situation frankly. "My sympathies are all with Connie," she said candidly. "But I am afraid father would not like it. We are dead set against borrowing. After--our mother was taken, we were crowded pretty close for money. So we had to go in debt. It took us two years to get it paid. Father and Fairy and I talked it over then, and decided we would starve rather than borrow again. Even the twins understood it, but Connie was too little. She doesn't know how heartbreaking it is to keep handing over every cent for debt, when one is just yearning for other things.--I do wish she might have the coat, but I'm afraid father would not like it. She gave me the five dollars for safekeeping, and I have brought it back."

Mr. Harold shook his head. "No, Connie must have her coat. This will be a good lesson for her. It will teach her the bitterness of living under debt! Besides, Prudence, I think in my heart that she is right this time. This is a case where borrowing is justified. Get her the coat, and I'll square the account with your father." Then he added, "And I'll look after this salary business myself after this. I'll arrange with the trustees that I am to pay your father his full salary the first of every month, and that the church receipts are to be turned in to me. And if they do not pay up, my lawyer can do a little investigating! Little Connie earned that five dollars, for she taught one trustee a sorry lesson. And he will have to pass it on to the others in self-defense! Now, run along and get the coat, and if five dollars isn't enough you can have as much more as you need. Your father will get his salary after this, my dear, if we have to mortgage the parsonage!"