»———■■ ■ 1 ———————
] HAPPY HOUSE[
By Jane D. Abbott
COPYRIGHT, 1930. BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
■.. " — ■
“■Maybe it'll go around,’’ as
sured her sister with as much ten
derness as she was capable of
showing.
At that moment the door op
ened slowly and B’lindy, a
strangely softened look on her
old face tip toed in, carrying in
her arms the baby, sound asleep.
I" just brought it up for Miss
MiiTy to see, it’s that cute!" she
explained, in a whisper.
‘ The poor little thing,’’ Aunt
Milly timidly touched the moist
chubby hand. B’lindy, with the
air of having accomplished some
great, feat, laid the baby care
fully upon the couch.
“Fed its poor little stomick
and it dropped right off to sleep
—it’ll forget things now,’’ she
said proudly,
With a different feeling in
each of their hearts the three
women stared for a moment at
the sleeping baby. Miss Sabrina
spoke first. Her voice was cold
and crisp.
“Take that baby right out, of
here, B’lindy, and get Jonathan
to carry it back where it came
from.’’
A rumble ot thunder, closer
and louder, startled them. Miss
Milly sat bolt upright, white
faced, and reached out a hand.
“Oh—sister! Not in the
storm I”
B’lindy rose majestically and
towered over her mistress. When,
down behind her shut doors, that
baby had gone to sleep in
B.’lindy's arms/ something had
wakened in her 60-year old
heart; it throbbed in her voice
now. She spoke slowly. “I
guess the Almighty sent Davy
llopworth here with this poor
little young ’un! Like as not it
would go hungry more’ii once,
and if three women here can’t
take care of a little baby—well,
the Lord that suffered little chil
dren to eome unto Him like’s not
will hold us to ’count for it!
I guess Happy House would be
a heap happier if there was less
high and mightiness and more of
the human milk of kindness in
it, and doin’ for others like little
Miss Anne’s always tryin’ to do,
anyway!” And quite breathless
from her outburst B’lindy knelt
beside the lmby and defiantly
folded sheltering arms over it.
For the briefest of moments
no one stirred. Then Miss Sa
bina rose hurriedly, and, mumb
ling something incoherent, left
the room.
Across the baby B’lindy's
eyes, feverishly bright, met Miss
Milly’s anxious glance.
“Don’t know what she said,
but, Milly Leavitt, sure’s I’m
alive I saw a tear in Sabriny
Leavitt’s eye! I guess we keep
this baby.’’
! CHAPTERS XXII.
Real Leavitts and Others.
The storm overtook Peter and
Nancy on a lonely road that
Peter had taken as a short cut
home.
At. a sharp flash of lightning
Nancy clutched Peter's arm.
“Pe-ter I Oh-h! It’s silly for
me to he afraid! It's only when
it crackles I”
4 ‘ l thought vre could make
Freedom before it broke. Hut
1 guess not. Here comes the
rain!”
It. came, in a blinding deluge.
i.J'Sit. close to me, Nancy. We
musf get to a house somewhere
along this road!”
44 H’liitdy’s bones certainly did
feel right,” Nancy giggled, ex
citedly. “Oh-h!” at. another
flash. “Peterl I’m—I’m such
a coward. Don’t you think that’s
the worst!”
Peter hoped that it wasn't. He
did not. mind at all the flashes
that sent little quivers of alarm
through Nancy and made her
huddlo closer to him; he en
joyed the Bonsc of protecting
her, though his face, bent grimly
upon the puddled road ahead,
gave no hint of his real feeling.
“If this bus only had its cur
tains! Are you soaked!”
, “You are, too, Peter! Do you
suppose this is a cloudburst! Can
the car make it!” For the little
Ford was floundering uncertain
ly along the flooded road.
“What an end to our picnic,'’
declared Peter, disgustedly,
“Ha—.a house, as I live! See,
ahead there.”
Through the sheet of rain
Nancy made out a low-gabled
cottage almost hidden by the
trees.
“It looks deserted," ahe de
clared, disappointedly.
If
“It’ll be shelter, anyway. De
serted nothing—hear the dog!
When I stop make a dash for the
door.”
The dog’s bark was by way of
a welcome rather than a warning,
for, as he bounded toward the
road, his shaggy tail wagged in
a most friendly way. As Nancy,
following Peter’s command,
made a dash for shelter, the door
of the cottage opened hospitably
and a little old woman, unmind
ful of the fury of the rain,
reached out to draw Nancy in.
“Come*right in! Bless me,
you’re soaked.” She had a
cheery, piping voice and a way
of repeating, “well, well, well,”
as though everything on earth
was an exciting surprise.
“'Won’t your young man oome
in, too. Sit right over here by
the fire! I told sister Janie that
I’d light a few sticks of wood to
keep it cheery. It got so dark
like. I’ll set the kettle over and
have a cup of tea in the shake of
a dog’s tail. When it storms in
these parts it does storm,
dearie 1 How wot you are!” She
fussed over the fire and over her
Ketue ana over i\ancy s wet
blouse. “Now, Janie, isn’t it
nice to have folks come here out
of the storm!’’
Theh Nancy, through the
gloom of the storm, made out
that Janie was another little old
woman sitting in an old arm
chair in the window. Quite un
mindful of the storm, she was
tranquilly knitting.
“Folks don’t come, by this
road sfo often,” she smiled back.
“Aren’t you afraid—sitting
there?” Nancy cried. As she
spoke there came a flash of light
ning followed almost simultane
ously by a roar of thunder that
threatened the weather-beaten
walls.
The sister called Janie waited
smilingly, her head cocked on.
oivo side as though she enjoyed
the storm.
“Afraid, honey? Goodness,
no. Saphrony and I’ve lived
through too many of these storms
to be afraid! Isn’t the Lord
watching ovor us just like all
folks?”
“And didn’t lie just bring you
poor souls here out of the
storm?” added the older worn-,
an. “This tea will steep in a
miuit and I’m goin’ to call that
boy in!”
Peter had been trying to fast
en a makeshift arrangement that
wou'd keep Nancy’s seat dry.
He was glad enough to give it
up at their hostess’ call. He
looked so much like a drowned
cat with the water dripping from
his hat and shoulders that Nancy
was as concerned as Saphrony
and Janie
“You poor children,” Saph
rony cried, running around Peter
in a flutter of worry. “Take
your coat right off this minit!
Ain’t I glad I started that fire!
Fetch another stick, Janie. Well,
well, well, now ain’t it a nice
storm that brings folks here for
shelter t”
The fire did feel good against
their soaked backs and Nancy
and Peter enjoyed the chatter
of the two funny, fussy little old
women. The kettle sang merri
ly, too, and steamed invitingly.
Janie, at her sister’s bidding,
opened a treasure-chest in the
other room and brought from
it a piece of fruit cake, wrapped
in a red and white napkin.
“A bite’ll taste &ood with our
tea,” Saphrouy explained, apolo
getically.
“Am’t they the cutest pairt”
Nancy whispered to Peter. “And
isn’t it the funniest little houseT”
There seemed to be only the
living room and kitchen com
bined and the bedroom adjoin
ing. The furniture in it was very
old and very worn, but every
thing was spotlessly clean. The
red and white cover on the table,
the braided rugs on the uneven
floor and the piece work cush
ions in the armed chairs added
a homey, cosy touch that made
up for the little luxuries lacking.
Even in the storm the room was
cheery.
Nancy forgot the storm in her
enjoyment of the situation. Janie
removed the red and white cov
er and spread a very worn whits
cloth. Saphrony took from a
cupboard built in the wall a
shiny pewter sugar-bowl and
cream pitcher. Peter, amid a
storm of protest from both littls
women, drew up some chairs.
“Now you star tight there by
i the fire,” cried Saphrony. “W«
like to fuss! Janie and I don’t
have folks here often. The hot
tea’ll warm you.’”
The tea tasted very good, both
Peter and Nancy declared.
“It’s just like a party,” Nancy
added, nibbling on the thinnest
shaving of fruit cake. Her evi
dent pleasure set both little old
ladies off in a soft cackling of
satisfaction.
“I)o you two live here 'alK
alone!” Nancy asked, passing
her cup for more tea. “It seems
so lonely.”
“Lonely—not a bit! Janie
and I’ve lived here all our lives.
Not many folks come ’long this
road, but we don’t get lonesome
—not a bit! There’s always
something to do. Folks just gets
lonesome and miserable when
they’re idle, I. always tell Janie.
A little more cake, Mister——”
“Peter,” laughed Nancy.
“Well, I shall remember this
storm because it’s given us such
a jolly half-hour, as well as a
drenching! Oh, look—the sun!”
Through the mist of rain and
the purple gloom the sun burst
warm and golden, pouring
through the bare windows into
the little room, touching every
corner and cranny with a cheer
ful glow.
“How wonderful,” Nanoy ex
claimed. “It’s the bright lining,
all right—the cloud has turned
inside out! I believe,” she
turned to Peter, “that when the
sun does shine it shines brighter
—here! You two have magic.”
Maine ana i never shut it
out,” laughed the sister Saph
rony. “We say it’s God’s way
of smiling and frowning. There’s
no storm but what passes and
we’re just mighty glad you two
children came ’long this way.
Goin’ to Freedom?”
Afterwards Nancy said to Peter
that that had been the most cur
ious thing about the two friendly
little old women—that they had
not right at first asked who they
were nor where they were going!
Peter answered from the win
dow. “Yes—we thought this
road would be shorter.” Then,
to Nancy: “Do you think we
can venture now? I guess the
storm’s passed.”
Nancy nodded. ‘‘We’d better
start. My aunts are worrying
dreadfully, I’m afraid. But
we’ve loved it-—here. May we
come again sometime? And may
we not know who it is that has
given us shelter?”
‘‘Why, yes—I never thought to
teH! Most folks know us, but
maybe you’re new in these parts.
We’re Saphrony and Janie
Leavitt.”
‘‘What!” eried Nancy with
such astonishment that Peter
turned from the door. ‘‘Why, I
—I am Anne Leavitt!” she said
in very much the same way she
had spoken in the French class,
four years before.
The two little old women
laughed. ‘‘I guess you’re one of
the Happy House Leavitts—
they're real Leavitts. Sister Janie
and I are only plain Leavitts,
Saphrony explained with a
twinkling in her eyes that seemed
to say that to confuse real Leav
itts with plain Leavitts was very,
very funny. ‘‘Are you Miss Sa
briny’s niece?”
wancy avoided the question.
“Am’t you any relation to us-—
up at Happy House t”
“Not as anybody ever knew of.
There’s Leavitts .and Leavitts all
over New England, I guess.
We’ve always been poor as Job.”
“Well, I shall always pretend
we’re related,” declared Nancy,
warmly, “because it’s been so
nice here!”
While Peter was carefully
tucking her into the seat witn
much lamenting that it had got
ten so wet, Nancy was staring re
flectively at the funny little
weather beaten cottage. From
the door smiled the two sisters.
“I wish,” she said, “that I
could take a piece of their phil
osophy back to Happy House!”
She leaned out to wave her hand
once more. 1 ‘ Hasn’t it been fun I
I'm glad now that it stormed.”
As they splashed along toward
Freedom, Nancy fell into a sud
den quiet. • Her mind was held
by an overwhelming desire to tell
Peter, in this last hour she might
have alone with him, the whole
truth—that she, like the two sis
ters they had left, was not a real
Leavitt, of that day back in col
lege, of Anne’s pleading and her
yielding. Twice she opened her
lips to speak, then shut them
quickly. There was something in
Peter’s strong profile that made
her afraid. Once he turned quick
ly and saw her eyes upon him
with a frightened, troubled ex
pression in their depths.
VWhat is it, Nancy V* he Mked ,
tenderly.
Hho couldn’t tell him—she
oouid not heat to mi his face
when he knew the truth! She
tried te speak lightly.
‘‘I was thinking how much t'd
grown to like—things—around
here and how I hate to—go away.
Peter, will you keep Nonie and
Davy doing happy things—like
other children. And, Peter—do
you hate people that act lies?”
Peter laughed—Nancy was so
deliciously childlike. Then he
suddenly colored to the very
roots of his hair.
‘‘Generally—I haven’t much
use for people that can’t stick
pretty well to the truth. But
when there may be some reason
—someone may start doing it for
someone else-” he stopped ab
ruptly. Nancy stared ahead with
startled eyes. Did he know ? But,
no, how could he! It had only
been an accident that he had so
nearly hit upon the truth.
She could not tell him—she
need not tell him; in a few days
she would say good-by and go
away and never see him again!
Theirs had been a pleasant
friendship, for awhile she would
miss it, but she’d be just plain
Nancy Leavitt again, playing
with Claire at Mcrryville or
with Daddy somewhere in the
mountains or at the seashore,
working, too—beginning life. Af
ter a while these weeks at Happy
House would seem a curious
memory—a dream!
Suddenly she shivered.
‘‘Freedom—at last!” ex
claimed Peter, increasing his
speed. Ahead they saw the
gleam of roofs through the
trees. ‘‘And it looks as though
they’d caught the storm worse
than we did!”
CHAPTER XXIII.
What the Chimney Held.
The storm, sweeping down the
valley, had reached the heighth
of its fury over Freedom.
As the flashes of lightning
grew sharper and more frequent,
B’lindy bade Miss Milly watch
the baby while she made things
fast around the house. Both
women had been hanging over
the sleeping child with something
like awe. “Poor little mite—like
as not right this minit Sarah
Hopkins is watchin’ us,” B’lindy
had whispered, “little bit of a
thing, goin’ to grow into a big,
big man some dayl Ain’t it just
wonderful, Milly Leavitt?”
Milly’s awe of the baby had
been mixed with alarm at the in
creasing intensity of the storm.
So that, as B’lindy moved to go,
she held out an imploring hand.
“Now you just hold yourself
together. Milly Leavitt—that
storm ain’t goin’ to hurt you!
Anyways, it’s lots more likely to
if I don’t see that everything’s
shut up tight, so’s the lightnin’
can’t get ini Ouch!” Even
B’lindy covered her eves from a
blinking flash. “You hold on to
that baby, Milly Leavitt,” she
commanded, bolting from the
room.
But each flash, each roar of
thunder, poor Miss Milly’s cour
age ebbed. Her cry—rising above
the noise of the storm brought
Miss Sabrina and B’lindy to her.
“I can’t — help — it!” she
sobbed, covering her face. “It’s
so—so dreadful! And where’s
—Nancy! Oh—oh! ’ ’
Even Miss Sabrina’s face was
pale with alarm.
You two women are like so
many children," cried B'lindy,
taking command. "Milly Leav
itt, you’ll work yourself into fits.
Nancy’s all right somewheres! I
guess Peter Hyde’s man enough
to take care of her—mebbe they
ain’t where this storm is, any
ways! Sabrina—you take that
baby where Milly’s yellin’ won’t
wake it. Goodness knows the
crashin’s bad enough! Now Mil
ly, you just hide your poor head
in my lap," with grand tender
ness, "I ain’t afraid a bit."
Sabrina had no choice—
B'lindy had put the baby into
her arms and almost showed her
to the door.
She carried it to her own room
and sat down very carefully.
Never in her whole life had she
held a little baby. What would
she do if it wakened suddenly!
And if it kieked and squirmed,
might she not drop it!
(To bo continued next week.)
Life is very good to uo. Ono nood
novor grow old. Ono con only die
one*. Why begin to die before ono '
mult? Life io alwoyo now—ie alwayo
gay. Ufa la good, life la like a danc
ing flame.—Sarah Bernhardt.
Senator Calder, of New York, la
said to favor a federal monopoly In
the manufacture of firearms as a
means to reduce violent crime.
Should he introduce^ into tbe Senate
a bill embodying the Idea It would be
sure of popular support.
Remember thia-rthat there le a
proper dignity and proportion to be
observed In the performance of every
aot ef Ufor—Mercue Aurelius.
“—and we are a healthy,
happy family now",
~ Louis Gingru
' V 'INGLING with abundant energy, appetites hearty, nerves
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HAD TO HAVE CONSERVATORY
Most Parents of Six Marriageable
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This Homo Seeker.
Charles M. Schwab said at a recep
tion In New York:
“The world is hankering after dis
armament and universal peace as the
househunter hankered after a conserv
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“A_ househunter was looking for a
cheap, smallish house with a large con
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Why, man, It ain’t to be found. What’s
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“ ‘Well, confidentially,’ said the
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Self-Supporting.
An attorney for Los Angeles adver
tised for a chauffeur. Some twenty
odd responded and were being ques
tioned as to qualifications, efficiency
and whether married or single. Final
ly, turning to a negro chap, he said:
“How about you, George; are you
mnrrled?”
“Naw-slr, boss, naw-slr. Ah makes
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Representative of New York Is the
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Is It Progress?
“It may be progress or It ruay ba
another form of motion,” said Old Man
Doodle, “but It Is apparent that nows
adays the loss of a reputation fof
probity and virtue Is not so much of
a handicap as It was a few years ago.
In fact, I have, heard some handclap
ping on the technical acquittal of self
confessed notorious crooks."—Chicago
Dally News.
Catch as Catch Can.
“Don’t rush away, old man.”
“I’must. My wife is sitting up anij
If I miss the last train I shall catch it,
but If I catch It I shall miss it; that Is,
what I would catch if I didn't catch It,
therefore I don’t want to miss It be
cause I don’t want to catch it. Catch'
on?" _.