Chapter 14

_From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

_Dearest Aunt Jennie_:

I am writing again so soon because I don't think I can sleep, to-night. I know that some people can't possibly slumber off when they are over-tired. That must be the matter with me, though I never realized it.

We had no more hunting after we killed that caribou. That night we camped, and I heard stories, from two poor, humble men, that made my head just whirl, for they were really Odysseys, or sagas, or any of the big tales one ever heard of. It would seem, Aunt Jennie, dear, as if the world is not at all the prosy thing some people take it to be. I suppose that the great knights and warriors are altogether out of it now, but I find that it is running over with men one usually never hears of, who accomplish tremendous things without the slightest accompaniment of drums or clarions.

We started back after a night during which I slept like a dead thing, but naturally I was the most alive girl you ever saw when I awoke. The men went away to where we had left the dead stag and returned with big haunches and other butcher-shop things, which they packed up in huge loads. It appears that my lucky shot has contributed considerably to the provisionment of Sweetapple Cove.

By the way, this place, which I once rather despised, looked most attractive when we came down towards it from the hills. I could see the beautiful, white _Snowbird_ at anchor, looking very small, and the sunlight played on the brass binnacle which shone like a burning light. Near it, very lowly and humble, rode the poor little fishing smacks that are far more important to the world's welfare than our expensive plaything. The crop of drying cod was spread out on the flakes, as usual, and tiny specks of women and children were bending over them, turning the fish, piling them up, bearing some of them away on hand-barrows, and bringing fresh loads to scatter in the sun.

When we reached the house we found Daddy lying on the steamer chair. He was engaged in deep converse with our skipper, who left at once. The doctor only remained a few minutes, and then Susie appeared, her rubicund face framed in the mighty antlers of my quarry. Daddy laughed heartily.

"The two Dianas of Sweetapple Cove!" he exclaimed. "My dear, you ought to bear the bow and quiver and to sport the crescent on your queenly brow. Now tell me all about it! How are you, and what kind of a time have you had? I need not ask about the sport for you have brought the evidence with you. Isn't it a wonderful head? I call it rather cruel to be parading such things before a poor cripple."

"I'm sure glad enough ter get rid o' he," quoth Susie, with a sigh of relief. "It lugs fair clumsy. I'll be goin' over ter Sammy's house now. He've got the tenderlines in th' pack of he and ter-morrer ye's goin' ter feed on something worth bitin' inter. Ef yer doesn't say so I'll be awful fooled. And yer better shift yer stockin's right now, ma'am, 'cause walkin' all day in the mash is bound ter soak yer feet spite o' good boots. I'll be back in a minnut."

The good creature dashed away on her errand, and we were left to tell our tales.

"It was perfectly splendid, Daddy," I told him. "I hope they have taken good care of you and you were a dear to let me go. I have had such a wonderful time!"

"I am delighted, my dear," he said, "but now you had better run away and follow Susie's advice."

"Just a moment, Daddy," I pleaded. "I have had wet feet for two days and a minute more won't hurt me. Indeed I killed the big caribou, and Dr. Grant was ever so kind, as he always is. He said he would try to come in for supper. Oh! You ought to have seen that big stag, and how proudly he stepped out into that brook, all alert, and how he started to run. And then I shot, and the doctor found him for me. It was wonderful!"

"That doctor is a fine fellow," said Dad.

Of course I agreed with him. It is quite amazing how Daddy has taken to Dr. Grant, but then I don't see how one could help it. The doctor is a very quiet man, excepting when he gets enthusiastic or mad about things, and one thinks at first that he is rather distant in his manner. But when you know him much better he comes right out and shows just as much red blood as those boys at home. I wonder why he keeps on living at Sweetapple Cove?

So I went off to change my shoes and stockings, which were quite soaked through, and then I sat again with Daddy and told him a lot more about our trip. I wish I could have explained everything to him, but of course I couldn't make him see the color of those far-away hills and the perfect beauty of those great marshes. I told him all about the camp by the little lake, and the winding distant river, and the cries of the ptarmigans and the loons, and the finding of the stag.

"Helen dear," said Daddy, who had been looking at me in that keen way of his, "I don't think I ever saw you so enthusiastic before. Your mind has been fully opened to the charm of the wilderness, and that is something that city people seldom understand. You were never so earnest before. What is it? Are you developing new traits?"

Of course I laughed at this, and yet it seemed to me also as if something were changed. I didn't quite know what Daddy meant, because it is sometimes difficult to know whether he is jesting or in earnest. He once told me that this was a rather good business asset.

"Well, Daddy," I finally said. "I am afraid you will have to take me away, or I shall be falling so much in love with Sweetapple Cove that I will never want to leave it again."

"We will leave to-morrow, if you want to," he said, in a rather abrupt way.

Do you know, Aunt Jennie, that when he said that I just gasped a little. It suddenly seemed so strange that we would have to go away soon, and that I might never see Sweetapple Cove again, and those dear Barnetts, and all the people, for the whole lot of them appear to have a way of stealing into one's heart.

"I don't really want to go at once, Daddy," I told him. "It will take a few days to get used to the idea, and to get everything ready. And Dr. Grant says that very soon you will be able to walk without a cane. Do let us put it off for another week."

Daddy smiled vaguely, and finally nodded his consent. He is always so good about trying to please me. So I went and got my knitting and sat down at the foot of the big chair.

"I'm afraid I'll never finish it before we leave," I said, "and I doubt whether I will ever quite solve the mystery of turning heels."

"That's too bad," said Daddy. "I expected to wear those things in Virginia this fall, after quail, or on the Chesapeake when the canvas-backs are flying."

"I am afraid you will have to buy some, Daddy," I answered.

So I sat beside him, at his feet, and I think my mood had changed a little. Perhaps it was fatigue, which I didn't really feel. I suppose that people can have things the matter with them without knowing anything about it. Daddy's dear old hand rested for a moment on my head, and I had to stop knitting. I don't think I ever felt so queerly before, and I had to look over Sweetapple Cove and follow the flight of the gulls, until the shadows grew quite long and the clouds became tinted with rose, and Daddy asked me to get him a cigar, and I was glad he interrupted my silly thoughts. I must have been really very tired.

* * * * *

I could only write a little while, last night. We had some caribou steak which Daddy became quite enthusiastic over, but I didn't feel hungry, and I went to bed early, but somehow I slept poorly. It is funny that one can be tired for several days at a time. And to-day, Aunt Jennie, some queer things have happened, and the life that has so often felt like dreams has become very serious, and I have seen some of the inner working of events such as make one feel that existence has cruel sides to it.

All this morning I dawdled about the house. I had expected Dr. Grant to call and see Daddy, but he had been sent for, a short distance away, in the boat.

Rather late this afternoon he returned, and I strolled over towards the cove when I saw the tiny schooner come in. It is a poor enough little ship, but it is wonderful to think how it bears with it such comfort and help to so many suffering people.

I was within a few yards of him, and he was lifting his cap when a fisherman rushed up to him.

"Ye're wanted ter Atkins'," said the man. "They is a child there as is awful sick. They brung 'un over from Edward's Bay, this mornin', an' th' mother she be prayin' fer ye to come."

"All right," he answered. "Sammy, bring my bag up with you and I'll hurry up at once."

He only smiled at me, in his pleasant way, for he rushed by me, running up the rough path in great strides, and of course I could only go back to our house, where I sat with Daddy on the porch.

From where I sat I could see Atkins' house. It is only a little way from us, up the hill. There were a number of people assembled in front of it, because whenever any one is hurt or very ill they are apt to gather around, as people do sometimes in New York before a house where an ambulance has stopped. Then I saw the doctor sprinting out towards Sammy's house, whence he returned carrying another bag. Of course I have several times helped him a little, in the last month, when Mrs. Barnett didn't get in ahead of me, so I rose.

"I am going up to Atkins'," I told Dad. "I wonder what is the matter. I shall only be gone a few minutes."

So I ran away, bare-headed, and rushed to the place, but before I reached it Mrs. Barnett arrived there, all out of breath.

When I passed through the waiting people I heard Dr. Grant's voice, and he spoke very angrily. I had never thought before that he could get quite so mad. There was a swarm of women in the house, some of them with babies in their arms, and a few children, among whom was Frenchy's little boy, had also slipped in.

"Get out of here!" he was shouting, roughly. "All of you but the child's mother and Mrs. Atkins. Haven't I told you it is dangerous? Do you want to spread this thing about and kill off all your children? And you, Mrs. Barnett, must give the example. I won't have you running chances with those babies of yours. Do get out, like a dear woman, and chevy these other ones out with you."

He was bustling them all out like a lot of hens, in his effective, energetic way, and then he saw me.

"I want you to get out too, Miss Jelliffe," he ordered me. "This is a bad case of diphtheria. The child is choking and I must relieve it at once."

I took a few steps back, rather resentfully, because I had never been spoken to in that way before, and I thought it very rude of him, but I did not leave the place. The doctor was very busy with some instruments and perhaps had forgotten my presence.

He made the woman sit on a stool, with the little girl wrapped in a sheet and sitting on her lap. I saw him take up a shiny instrument, which he fastened in the baby's mouth, notwithstanding her struggles.

"Now hold her firmly," he ordered, "and you, Mrs. Atkins, get behind her and take her head. Hold it steady, just this way. Never mind her crying."

But the little one wrenched herself away from the woman's grasp. The breath entered its lungs with an awful long hoarse sound and the poor little lips were very blue.

"For God's sake, hold her better," he cried again.

"I'm all of a tremble," said Mrs. Atkins, weeping. "She's sure goin' ter die. I kin never hold her, she do be fightin' me so."

Of course there was only one thing to do. I ran out of the corner to which I had retreated and pushed the foolish woman away and seized the baby's head so that it could not move.

Dr. Grant stared at me, shaking his head, but I suppose I looked at him defiantly, for I was really angry with him.

"This is all wrong, Miss Jelliffe," he said. "You should not expose yourself to this infection."

He spoke so quietly that I became rather sorry I had been provoked at him, but he paid no more heed to me. Once he placed a hand on one of mine, to show me exactly how to hold the head, and then he took a long handle to which something was fastened at right angles. The child's mouth was widely opened by the gag he had inserted, and his left finger went swiftly down into the child's throat and the instrument, pushed by his right hand, followed, incredibly quick. There was just a rapid motion, I heard the release of a catch, and then, suddenly, there was a terrifying attack of violent coughing. But in a moment this ceased, the child lay back quietly in her mother's arms, the color began to return to her lips, and she was breathing quietly. Then we watched, in silence, and finally the little head turned to one side and the baby closed her eyes, while the poor woman's tears streamed down and even fell on the tiny face.

"She is all right for the time being," said Dr. Grant, in that quiet voice of his, which I have heard change so quickly. "If she can only resist until the antitoxine acts upon her we may pull her through. I am greatly obliged to you, Miss Jelliffe. I am afraid your father will scold us both for taking such chances with your health."

But by this time my eyes were full of tears also, I don't know why. I was unsteady on my feet and held on to the back of a chair.

"I never saw anything like this before," I said. "I didn't quite realize that it ever happened. The poor little thing was dying, and you did it all so quickly! That thing went in like a flash, and then she coughed so and I thought she was lost. And now she sleeps, and I am sure you have saved her, and she must get well. How dreadful it was, at first, and how wonderfully beautiful it is to be able to do such things! I am so glad!"

Wasn't it silly of me to get so excited, Aunt Jennie. But I suppose one can't understand such happenings until one has witnessed them. I know that I had taken the doctor's arm, without realizing what I was doing, and found myself patting it, stupidly, like a silly, hysterical thing.

His face was very serious, just then, and he looked at me as if he had been studying another patient. Then came that little smile of his, very kindly, which made me feel better.

"I think you had better go now, Miss Jelliffe," he advised. "I beg you not to expose yourself further. It is a duty you owe your good old father and any one who cares for you."

Then I was myself again. The excitement of those tense moments had passed away and I knew I had been a little foolish and that he spoke ever so gently.

"I will go since you wish me to," I answered. "But I am ever so glad that I was able to help you. You will come to supper, won't you?"

"I am afraid you will have to excuse me," he said. "I can hardly do so now, for I must remain here and watch this child for some time. You will please change all your clothing and have it hung out on the line, and you will gargle your throat with something I will send you. I'll call to-morrow and see your father, and give you the latest news of this little patient."

"I didn't know that you ever got so angry," I said, now prompted by some spirit of mischief. "You were in a dreadful temper when I came in."

"Of course I was," he readily admitted. "But do you realize that this is the continuation of an old story. This woman was in St. John's last week, with the child, and I suppose they may have brought the disease from there. Then the child became ill, the night before last, and she waits until this morning to bring it over to me. When she reaches here she finds me away, but of course every woman in the place strolls in, with children in arms, to look on and give advice. We may be in for a fine epidemic. I shall have to send to St. John's at once for a new supply of antitoxine. I have only a little, and it is not very fresh. Atkins is away with his schooner but he is expected to-morrow. I hope he turns up. Thank you ever so much, Miss Jelliffe. Now please run away and follow my directions."

So I left him and returned to the house and obeyed his orders. We soon had supper, but when I told Daddy all about it, it was his turn to be angry.

"That's all very well," he said, "but after all he could have found some one else to help him and you had no business to disobey. When the time comes for you to have babies of your own you can risk your life for them as much as you please, but you have no right to run into danger now. You are my only child, and I have no one else to love since your poor mother died. Please don't do such things again. Grant was perfectly right in trying to chase you away. He should have taken a stick to you."

Daddy's ruffled tempers are never proof against my method of smoothing the raging seas. My arm around his neck and a kiss will make him eat out of my hand, as Harry Lawrence puts it. Naturally he succumbed again and in a minute was just as nice as ever.

We had only just finished our supper when Frenchy came in, leading his little boy by the hand. He bore a letter which he gravely handed to Daddy who, as usual, had to look into three or four pockets before he found his glasses. Then he read, and his face became serious, as it always does when he takes sudden decisions.

"Yves," he said, "will you oblige me by going down to the cove at once and hailing the schooner. I want my captain to come over here."

Frenchy departed, after saluting as usual, his little fellow trotting beside him, and Daddy, without a word, handed the letter to me. I read as follows:

_Dear Mr. Jelliffe_:

I had intended to see you to-morrow morning, and expect to do so, but I believe it might be best for you to obtain my advice at once. Miss Jelliffe has doubtless told you how she helped me with a case of diphtheria, although I am sure she omitted to say how brave and helpful she was. The danger to her is comparatively slight, I am sure, yet we must not forget that such a danger exists. If you were to start to-morrow morning you could be in St. John's before night. From there two days would find you in Halifax and two more in New York, so that you would be always near good care and advice.

With a little care and prudence in regard to your leg I am sure that you can reach home quite safely.

With kindest regards, Very sincerely yours, JOHN GRANT.

I stared at Daddy, hardly knowing what to say.

"That boy has a lot of good sound horse-sense!" he exclaimed. "I am just going to follow his advice. Bring me my check-book. I am going to make out something for that little parson. He needs a place to give the folks what he calls readings, and other things. He told me that two-fifty would give him unutterable joy. I'll make it five hundred so that he can shout. Now in regard to Dr. Grant...."

"Are we really going to-morrow, Daddy?" I interrupted.

"You bet we are going to-morrow, always providing that yacht of ours is ready. I gave orders yesterday to have something done and...."

But I didn't listen any more. I went to the window and drew aside the little curtain. Down below, in the cove, I could see the _Snowbird's_ anchor light, gleaming brilliantly. The windows of some of the houses shed a sickly pale radiance, but beyond this everything was in darkness, with just the faintest suggestion of enormous masses representing the jagged cliffs. There was not a single star in the heavens, and all at once everything seemed to be plunged in desolation. It felt as when one awakes in the darkness from some beautiful dream. I knew then that I would be actually home-sick for Sweetapple Cove when I returned to New York.

Please don't laugh at me, Aunt Jennie dear, you know I have had no one but you to confide in since I have grown out of short skirts. Perhaps it was this thing I saw in Atkins' house that has upset me so, and I suppose that my life has always been too easy, and that I have not been prepared to meet some of the grim horrors it can reveal to one.

I could not think of leaving without saying good-by to Mrs. Barnett. My hand shook as I pushed a hatpin through my cap. Then I told Daddy where I was going and ran out into the darkness.

When I reached the poor little house they insist on calling the rectory the dear woman opened her arms to greet me, and I saw that her beautiful eyes were filled with tears.

"What is the matter, dear?" I asked.

"I was a coward to-day," she cried. "Such an awful coward! I had no business to leave when Dr. Grant told me to. I should have stayed and helped. But when he spoke of diphtheria I couldn't help it and thought of my little chaps. I have already seen that dreadful thing come and sweep little lives away, just in a day or two. It took the one we buried on the other side of the cove, and we saw it suffocating, helpless to aid. And that's why I ran out, terror-stricken. But I hear that you held the baby for him. You don't know what it is to have babies of your own, and were not afraid. It is dreadful, you know, that fear that comes in a mother's heart!"

She looked quite weak when she sat down, in a poor, worn, upholstered chair that was among the things they brought from England, and I sat on the arm of it, beside her.

"I have changed all my clothes," I told her, "and I don't think I'm dangerous. Now Daddy insists that we must leave to-morrow, and I'm just broken-hearted about it. Dr. Grant wrote him that it would be better for us to leave, but I don't want to go."

"Did the doctor write that?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, because there might be danger in my staying longer. Why can't I share it with all the others who will have to stay here? I shall never forgive him!"

I suppose that we were both rather excited, and I know I had to dab my eyes with my handkerchief. Then Mrs. Barnett forgot all about her own worries, for she was patting me on the arm, looking at me intently all the time, just as Daddy has been doing, in a queer way that I can't understand.

"I daresay it will be best for both of you," she said, in that sweetest voice of hers.

"Yes, I think Daddy wants to get back," I said, and she stared at me again, as I rose and bade her good-by.

"Don't say it yet, dear," she told me, "I will certainly come down to see you off in the morning. It has been so delightful to have had you here all these weeks, and I shall miss you dreadfully when you are gone. I can hardly bear to think of it."

So I kissed her and had to tear myself away. Like a pair of silly women we were on the verge of tears once more, and there was nothing left for me to do but to run.

It was perhaps some unusual effect of the night air, but I was quite husky when I spoke to Daddy again.

"You will be glad to get back, won't you. Daddy?" I asked him. "It will be so nice for you to go to the club again, and see all your old friends."

He looked at me, and only nodded in a noncommittal way.

"I will leave you now," I said. "There is a lot of packing to do, and that poor silly Susie is perfectly useless, since she heard we were going. She is sitting on a stool in the kitchen and weeping herself into a fit. Her nose is the reddest thing you ever saw. But you and I are old travelers, aren't we, and used to quick changes? You remember, in Europe, how we used to get to little towns and decide in a moment whether we would stay or not, when we were tired of all those old museums and cathedrals?"

But Daddy only patted my hand, and I have decided that he is a wonderfully clever man. I am sure he understood that I was just forcing myself to talk, and that he could say nothing that would make me feel better.

Then there was a knock at the door, and Stefansson came in with one of his long faces.

"Good evening," said Daddy. "Have a cigar? The box is there on the table. I have good news for you, since I know you don't enjoy this place much. Too far from Long Island Sound, isn't it? I want to sail to-morrow morning."

Our skipper's long Swedish face lengthened out a bit more, and he looked a very picture of distress.

"But you told me yesterday that you were going to stay at least another week, Mr. Jelliffe," he objected. "So to-day when the engineer he tells me about bearings needing new packing, and about a connecting rod being a bit loose, I told him to get busy."

"I'd like to know what you fellows were doing all the time in St. John's?" asked Daddy, angrily.

"Engines always need looking after, Mr. Jelliffe," replied the skipper in an injured tone that was not particularly convincing. "Of course I can make him work all night, and to-morrow, with his helper, so that maybe we can start day after to-morrow early. Everything is all apart now. If you say so we can start under sail, but I know you don't like bucking against contrary winds without a bit of steam to help, and this is a forsaken coast to be knocking about, Mr. Jelliffe, and I'll be glad to get away from it."

"Well, I suppose that a day or so won't make much difference," said Daddy. "How's your coal?"

"Plenty coal, sir."

"All right, get those fellows at work in the engine room, Stefansson. They haven't had much to do of late."

Our skipper departed and I was so happy that I wanted to dance. In the kitchen Susie was washing dishes and assisting her work by intoning the most doleful hymn. I turned up the lamp a little, and things seemed ever so much more cheerful.

So I suppose that I have been ever so foolish. Just now I can hear Daddy and Mr. Barnett saying good night, and I know that they have been fighting tooth and nail over that chess board. And I hear Mr. Barnett thanking Daddy, in a voice that is all choked up with emotion. I am so glad to think the dear little man is happy. Isn't it too bad, Aunt Jennie, that we can't all be happy all the time?

Your loving HELEN.