CHAPTER XV

SUE GETS A DIVORCE

After breakfast Sue wandered out and found Doris upon the lawn. The youngest of the Darings was now nearly twelve years old and had associated so constantly with her elders that she considered herself quite “grown up” and in no way inferior to Doris Randolph, who, having an advantage in years, assumed toward Sue the airs of a young lady.

Since she had tipped over the punch bowl and taken a lemonade bath a good deal of fun had been poked at poor Sue, which she deeply resented. It was bad enough to have lost all the joy of the party, without being twitted afterward about her misfortune.

Doris was surely too sedate and practical minded to wish to tease Sue, so her greeting was wholly innocent when she said:

“Good morning. Is that the lemonade dress which you are wearing?”

“No,” retorted Sue, flushing; “is that the hypocrite’s dress which you are wearing, Miss Religion?”

Doris was provoked, and with good reason, for she was sincere enough in her religious sentiments. Also, she was still worldly minded to the extent of becoming angry. After a cold, stony look at Sue, she said:

“I have submitted to the insolence of you Darings long enough, and hereafter I forbid you to address me, for I shall not recognize you as an acquaintance.”

At this instant Cousin Judith appeared upon the scene and hearing Doris’ speech stopped short in surprise.

“Why, what is the trouble, my dears?” she asked.

“This child, madam,” returned Doris, stiffly, “is still a barbarian, and unfit to associate with civilized beings.”

“I called her a hypocrite,” flashed Sue, defiantly; “and she is one.”

Miss Eliot was shocked.

“I am surprised, Sue dear; surprised and grieved. You have treated Doris very badly, and I want you to apologize to her for your rudeness.”

“I won’t!” said Sue, stamping her foot. “I’ll _die_ rather than beg pardon of Miss Nancy Hypocrite!”

Judith looked at her in amazement.

“Go into the house, my dear,” she said, rather sternly; “I’ll join you there presently.”

Sue raised her long lashes and swept one rebellious look at the Little Mother. Doris’ face had a slight sneer upon it, and the angry child noted it. Turning squarely about she ignored Cousin Judith’s command and marched down the street toward the village.

Doris gave a little laugh.

“A pleasant mannered young lady, I must say, Miss Eliot,” she tittered. “But, I assure you I meant what I said. I shall never speak to her again, unless she apologizes.”

“An apology is your due, I think,” Miss Eliot said soberly, and then without further remark she continued on her way to the Randolph house to see Marion, with whom she had an engagement.

At noon Sue did not return to dinner. She had called upon Nannette Bennett, who was about her own age, and driven with her to a farm out on the Exeter road.

“Can you stay here to dinner?” asked Nannette.

“Of course,” replied Sue, readily. “There’s no one at home who has the right to give me orders.”

Nannette did not understand this strange speech, but let it pass without remark. The two girls spent all day at the farm, although I am not sure Sue was enjoying herself for a single moment. She did not reach home until the family was seated at the supper table.

Phil had inquired anxiously for his sister, and Judith quietly explained that Sue had called Doris bad names and refused to apologize.

“When I asked her to return to the house, where I hoped to be able to reason with her,” she added, “Sue refused to obey my request and walked down the street instead. I do not know where she is, now.”

Phil was worried, and even Don looked grave.

“I had intended to practice this evening with the boat crew,” said the elder brother, “but I think I ought to hunt for Sue instead. She has been bad and rebellious, I know; but she’s our little sister, just the same, and I’m afraid something has happened to her.”

Cousin Judith made no reply and the meal was progressing in gloomy silence when Sue walked in, threw down her hat and quietly took her seat at the table. She did not look at the Little Mother, nor at anyone else directly, but helped herself to food and with an assumption of composure began to eat.

No one spoke. The others had glanced inquiringly at Cousin Judith, whose face was pale and unrelenting. She did not ask Sue where she had been, nor chide her for disobedience; but she passed the plate of cold meat to her and asked Auntie to bring in Miss Sue’s chocolate.

This condition of affairs was so unusual with the Darings that they were uncertain how to act. Even Becky looked askance at her small sister, as if she were some strange, untamed animal, and Don told himself this escapade deserved a worse punishment than fighting in the mud. He had “taken his own medicine” with frank courage, knowing he deserved the Little Mother’s rebuke and telling her he was truly sorry he had hurt her feelings. But here was little Sue developing a spirit of defiance hitherto unknown in the Daring family circle. Phil was hurt and Phœbe distressed, but both voluntarily left the matter in Miss Eliot’s hands for adjustment.

After supper Cousin Judith said to the culprit in a kindly tone: “Come to my room, Sue. I wish to have a little talk with you.”

“I’ve nothing to talk about,” replied Sue, sullenly.

Phil went away to his practice on the river and Sue followed her sisters out upon the porch. Cousin Judith, perhaps hoping the girl would change her mind, had gone directly to her room.

“You’re acting like a little fool, Sue,” observed Becky. “I’m surprised at you.”

Sue colored, but did not reply. Presently she went to her room and shut herself in until bedtime.

At breakfast next morning Cousin Judith said, addressing all the five Darings, impartially:

“Our contract, the Articles of Adoption, states that if any one of you proves rebellious to my authority the rebel is to be tried by a committee of two, and must abide by the committee’s decision. Is it not so?”

“That’s a fact, Little Mother,” replied Phil, seriously.

“In the case we have now to consider, Sue has disobeyed me more than once,” continued Miss Eliot. “I, therefore charge her with rebellion, and it becomes proper for her to select two of you to try her case. If I am found to be wrong I will ask her pardon and try to make amends. If she is wrong she must ask my pardon and submit to any penalty I may impose.”

Sue paled and then flushed. She cast a furtive glance around the table and then said, in a hard, unyielding tone:

“I’m willing. I choose Phœbe and Don.”

“Very well,” returned Cousin Judith. “The trial shall take place at once.”

None of them saw anything humorous in the situation. As a rule the Darings were merry hearted boys and girls, full of fun and good spirits; but, these Articles of Adoption were regarded by them all as sacred. Each realized to an extent what a blessing the Little Mother had already been to them, and was determined to uphold her authority. For her coming had virtually revolutionized the household and given them a happy home and a sympathetic, generous friend.

Sue, however, marched into the parlor with her stubborn spirit unconquered by any feeling of gratitude, and Phœbe and Donald gravely followed her.

“Tell us the beginning of the trouble, dear,” urged the elder sister.

Sue related her conversation with Doris.

“I’ve put up with her slurs ’n’ sarcasms long enough,” she said. “If she’s so blessed religious as she tries to make out, why does she pick on me ev’ry minute? I’m glad I called her a hypocrite, an’ I won’t take it back--not for a second!”

“Perhaps she did not mean to offend you by speaking of the ‘lemonade dress’,” suggested Phœbe. “I’ve always found her a good-hearted girl and quite ladylike.”

“That’s what I object to,” was the answer. “I won’t stand for her ladylike airs, Phœbe, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

“Sometimes our judgment proves to be wrong,” said Phœbe. “Anyhow, Cousin Judith knows best.”

“There’s another thing that makes me mad,” cried Sue. “Cousin Judith takes Doris’ part against me. Isn’t she supposed to stand up for her own adopted children?”

“Not when they’re wrong, sis,” said Don stoutly.

“Who’s to say whether they’re wrong or not?” Sue demanded.

“She is, of course. She’s older, and knows more.”

“Cousin Judith,” added Phœbe, “tries to be always right and just. She thought you were impudent to Doris, who is our neighbor and has been kind to us all, and so she asked you to apologize.”

“I _won’t_ apologize to that stuck-up thing--anyhow, not till she apologizes for speaking of my lemonade dress.”

“Now, that’s the real question before the board,” asserted Don. “You’re under trial, Sue, and if we decide you’re in the wrong, and you don’t apologize to Doris and do as Cousin Judith says, you’ll be divorced from our Articles of Adoption.”

Sue was white and frightened, but she held her ground.

“All right,” she said. “It’s up to you. I don’t want any adoption by anyone who won’t stand by me in a fight. And I’ll never--_never_--beg Doris’ pardon!”

They tried to argue with her, and explained the disgrace of being divorced and having no Little Mother. The divorce would separate her not only from association with Cousin Judith, but from that of her brothers and sisters, who would all hold strictly to the letter of the agreement they had signed.

Sue listened to it all and remained obstinate.

“It’s for you to say whether I’m right or wrong,” she avowed at the last, “and if I’m divorced I don’t care a rap. I won’t stand for any adoption that makes me apologize to a silly fool like Doris Randolph.”

Donald and Phœbe withdrew from the conference and talked it over between themselves. They decided that Sue, having defied Cousin Judith’s authority and broken the signed agreement, must submit to the penalty of divorce.

Phœbe drew up the paper and made an imposing looking copy on her typewriter. It read as follows:

“Whereas Sue Daring signed, under date of June 14th, 1908, a document known as the ARTICLES OF ADOPTION, whereby she promised and covenanted to support and acknowledge the authority of MISS JUDITH ELIOT and to Adopt her as a Mother, and Whereas the said Sue Daring has broken that covenant and agreement and refuses longer to abide by it, THEREFORE the undersigned, chosen by her as a Committee to decide her case, hereby declares the said Sue Daring has been guilty of a violation of the terms of the said signed agreement and is therefore released from all its pledges and DIVORCED from any further participation in its benefits. Signed this 12th day of July, 1908.

PHŒBE DARING, DONALD DARING, _Committee_.”

This paper was made out in duplicate and a copy given to Sue and one to Cousin Judith. Sue promptly tore up her paper and scattered the pieces over the hall floor. Then she left the house and went away to play with some of her girl friends.

Cousin Judith asked the others not to taunt or reproach the girl, but to treat her as pleasantly and cordially as before. After supper that evening, they all strolled down to the river to watch the boat crew practice; but Sue was not asked to accompany them. On their return Don told the divorced one of the jolly time they had had, and how Cousin Judith bought them each an ice cream soda at the drug store; but Sue made no reply. When she went to bed she did not, like the others, go to the Little Mother for a good night kiss. In her room she noticed that the covers of her bed had not been turned down, as usual, or her night robe laid out. Becky’s bed, across the room, had been remembered with loving care by Judith, but Sue was no longer her adopted daughter.

This little lack of attention sent the first real pang to the girl’s heart. Silently, she got down her gown from the closet and turned back the covers of her own bed. In the morning she was about to call to Cousin Judith to ask what dress to put on, but remembered in time that she must now choose for herself.

The dressmaker still came to the house every day to sew busily for the needy family. Judith was paying for all the new things with her own money, which she had saved from the sale of her pictures, and therefore Sue was not surprised when her pretty pink challis was laid aside and put into a drawer unfinished, while a gown of Becky’s was brought out and given the dressmaker to work upon. Sue told herself she must expect such things to happen under the new order of things; only--only she _would_ have liked that pink dress; it was so soft and pretty.

The divorced one made no complaint, however she might feel the difference between her position and that of her brothers and sisters. Sue was old enough to understand that she must pay the penalty for her rebellion, and if at times she repented her stubbornness it was in secret and no word of regret passed her lips. Judith spoke to her with uniform kindliness and so did the other members of the family; yet Sue realized she was an outcast, and no longer entitled to a place in the inner circle.

This ostracism was more acutely defined when the Little Mother one morning called her flock into her room for a conference. Sue stayed away, being an outsider, and listened to the merry laughter that at times penetrated the closed doors and saluted her ears. Undoubtedly it was a trial to the younger girl to be debarred from such good fellowship, and as she sat in her lonely corner she sadly recalled the jolly times she had once had in Cousin Judith’s pleasant room.

“So you’s a orfin ag’in, is yo’?” remarked Aunt Hyacinth, coming upon her as Sue sat nursing her gloomy thoughts. “Ain’t yo’ got no sense a’tall, Miss Sue, to go a-flyin’ in de face o’ Prov’dence dis a-way?”

“You mind your own business, Aunt Hy.”

“Dat’s what I’m doin’, honey. Mah bus’ness is to see you all happy, an’ here yo’ goes an’ makes yo’se’f a outcast an’ a orfin, when yo’ had a good Li’l Motheh to tek care o’ yo’. Ain’ dere no way to divohce dat divohce, an’ git back in de sunshine ag’in’?”

Sue sulked and did not reply. That suggestion of getting back into the fold again had already occurred to her, but the Articles of Adoption had made no provision for such a thing. Much of the child’s stubborn mood had vanished by this time, but there seemed no way of retreat open. She began to wonder if she must pass all her life an “outcast an’ a orfin,” as Aunty had tersely described it.

Judith, who had a shrewd idea of what was passing in the girl’s mind, was content to let matters take their course. Often she longed to take Sue in her arms and comfort her, but dared not. Judith Eliot was only a young girl herself, loving and tender hearted, but she was rarely sagacious in her understanding of human nature and believed that Sue’s divorce would tend to benefit all her charges, and finally strengthen her own position. One gains experience not only personally, but from the experiences of others, and it was noticeable that both Becky and Don had been unusually meek and circumspect since Sue’s rebellion.

Becky, indeed, did a queer thing. Going to the Little Mother privately she said in her earnest way:

“I’d like to get halter-broke, Cousin Judith, and I wish you’d help me. Whenever I buck the rules of propriety and cease to be a lady, you just step on my corns an’ yell ‘time.’ I know I’m awful slangy sometimes, but by jooks I’ll cure myself of the habit if I bu’st a surcingle!”

Judith smiled and kissed her.

“I wonder where you pick up such expressions,” she said. “But I assure you, Becky dear, it won’t be at all difficult to cultivate a choicer language, if you make the attempt. Pay attention to the conversation of Phœbe and Marion, and listen to your Little Mother’s mode of speech. I assure you there is nothing either winning or clever in the use of slang phrases. A street gamin is able to employ them as readily as you do, yet may never aspire to refined speech. To cast your lot with the ignorant and uncultured, rather than with those of your own class, is to abandon the advantages of birth and refined associations.”

“I used to think it was smart,” admitted Becky, gloomily; “but now I see I was off my base and shinning up the wrong tree. But I’ll be careful, after this, Cousin Judith; see if I’m not. And I hope you’ll call me down if I forget I’m a lady and talk like a female she.”

It was well-nigh impossible to cure herself of vulgar expressions all at once; but Becky sincerely tried to improve, and met with a measure of success. Judith never reproached her if at times she lapsed unwittingly into slang, for Becky was quick to realize her fault and a sudden flush of shame would often suffuse her face before the unseemly words were well out of her mouth.

Don and Allerton had now become fast friends, being together much of the time. Don, as well as Becky, had softened perceptibly since the advent of Cousin Judith, and having acquired a hearty respect for Allerton, who had proved no “mollycoddle,” the boys became congenial associates.

The coming boat race had by this time begun to excite the good people of Riverdale and was a general topic of conversation among the villagers. Nearly every town on the river bank had a boat crew, and a sharp rivalry had for some years been maintained between Bayport, nine miles away, and Riverdale. For many seasons Bayport had won the prize, being practically invincible, but for the last two years fortune had deserted them and their crew lost to Riverdale. Bayport was naturally eager to regain its lost prestige, and its adversary was equally anxious to retain the honors so hardily won. Therefore, an exciting race was in prospect.