Carolyn of the Corners Part 22

Even on this day, when Chet Gormley's ill-advised gossip had so smitten her with secret grief, she would not let the burden she carried utterly quench her spirit. She was brave.

She did not tell Aunty Rose where she was going, although she reported her return from Sunrise Cove to that good woman and explained where she had stopped for dinner.

"Well, well, with Jedidiah Parlow and his daughter! I would not tell Joseph Stagg about it, if I were you, child," was Aunty Rose's comment.

Carolyn May had no intention of speaking to Uncle Joe about her visit to the carpenter and Miss Amanda; yet, having sounded the hardware dealer on that point before, she did not think he would really mind if she called on the "pretty lady."

There was something else-something very much more important-that she desired to talk to Uncle Joe about, and she was thinking very hard over it as she trimmed the long gra.s.s about the three little baby graves in the Kennedy lot and about the longer grave of Aunty Rose's husband.

"Now I have caught the culprit," said a voice behind her, and Carolyn May looked up to see the Reverend Afton Driggs smiling down at her.

"It had begun to puzzle me why this little patch of our old graveyard looked so much better than the rest. I might have known you had something to do with it," went on the minister.

Carolyn May sighed. "I just wish I could clean up all this cemetery. I think, maybe, it would please them."

"Please whom?" asked the minister rather startled.

"Why, the folks that are buried here! I suppose they must know about it.

Their spirits, of course-the parts of 'em that keep on living. I should think it would please 'em if their graves were kept neat."

Mr. Driggs looked thoughtfully about the untidy graveyard.

"It would seem as though 'out of sight is out of mind' in many cases of old graveyards, Carolyn May. Yes, you are right. Families move away or die out entirely. The burial lots are left to the mercy of strangers.

"'Brother, keep my memory green!' And we forget the friend who has really meant much to us-or, perhaps, we beflower the grave once a year.

But that does not keep his memory green; it is only a salve to our own consciences. Perhaps Memorial Day is of doubtful value, after all."

Probably Carolyn May had not heard the clergyman's comment. Surely, she had not understood it. But she said now:

"Yes. There's Miss Wade-over yonder."

"Eh?" exclaimed the minister, turning quickly, expecting to see the person of whom Carolyn May spoke. "There's who?"

"Miss Wade. Or, I s'pose she was a miss. She's not a 'spouse,' or a 'beloved relict,' or 'wife of the above.' So, I guess, she was a maiden lady."

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the clergyman. "That old stone in the corner?"

"Yes, sir. That leany one. You know it says: 'Lydia Wade. Died of smallpox. _Anno Domini_, 1762.'

"I know what _anno Domini_ means. It's after the birth of Christ. I thought, at first, it was the name of somebody else buried in the same grave-and that he had smallpox, too.

"It must be dreadful to have smallpox and be buried off in one corner of the graveyard by one's self. Do you s'pose they did that to Miss Wade 'cause they were 'fraid of other folks here catching it?"

"It might be, my dear," said the clergyman. "But she was buried a long, long time ago. Probably before there was any church here."

"Well, I guess Miss Wade was buried-poor thing!-so long ago that there isn't any danger of catching the smallpox from her," sighed the little girl, yet with relief in her tone. "Anyway, I'm not afraid, for I've been vaccernated, and it _took_!"

The Reverend Afton Driggs thought this a rather gruesome subject for Carolyn May; but, with the latter, everything worth talking about at all could be given a cheerful atmosphere. She got to her feet with a sigh of satisfaction, and Prince awakened out of his doze in the shelter of the wall.

"There! I spect this is the last chance I'll have to clean up this place 'fore snow flies. Tim, the hackman, says it is bound to snow soon, and the frost _has_ burned 'most all the gra.s.s."

"I presume winter is almost upon us," agreed Mr. Driggs. "Does the thought of it make you unhappy?"

"Me? Oh, no, Mr. Driggs! I guess we can be just as happy in winter as in summer-or fall-or spring. All we've got to do is to look _up_, and not _down_, all the time. See how blue the sky is! And there are wild geese flying over, aren't there?" she cried.

"Why, even the wild geese must _look up_, Mr. Driggs. They're looking for where it's going to be warm weather, with the streams and ponds open, I s'pose. So, after all, I guess they're wiser than some human folks, even if they are geese. Don't you think so?"

"I believe you, Carolyn May," cried the minister, taking her little hand in his own as they walked out of the churchyard.

Tim, the hackman, was a true weather prophet. That very night the first snow flurry of the season drove against the west window panes of the big kitchen at the Stagg homestead. It was at supper time.

"I declare for't," said Mr. Stagg, "I guess winter's onto us, Aunty Rose."

"It has made an early start," agreed the housekeeper. "I trust you have made everything snug and fast for the season, Joseph Stagg."

"I reckon so," said the hardware dealer easily. "Plenty of wood in the shed and a full pork barrel," and he chuckled.

Just then Prince whined out on the cold porch and rattled his chain.

Uncle Joe never seemed to notice it!

Carolyn May went to bed that evening in a much more serious mood than usual. Before going she got a heap of old sacks from the woodshed for poor Prince to snuggle down in.

This snow did not amount to much; it was little more than a h.o.a.r-frost, as Mr. Stagg said. It frosted the brown gra.s.s, but melted away in the paths. This might be, however, the last chance for a Sunday walk in the woods for some time, and Carolyn May did not propose to miss it. It was the one thing Uncle Joe did for her that the little girl could hope was done because he loved her-"oh, a teeny, weeny mite!"

Of course, uncles and guardians just had to take little girls home and feed and clothe them-or else send them to a poorhouse. Carolyn May understood that. But going for a Sunday walk was different. Uncle Joe's yielding to her desire in this matter awoke the fluttering hope in the child's breast that she was beloved.

On this Sunday she wished particularly to get him off by himself. Her heart was filled with a great purpose. She felt that they must come to an understanding.

They walked to the very glade where they had met Miss Amanda Parlow, and Prince had killed the blacksnake. Somehow, their steps always seemed to turn that way. But they had never come upon Miss Amanda in their walks a second time.

On this particular occasion Uncle Joe sat down upon the log by the brook where Miss Amanda had once sat. Carolyn May stood before him.

"Uncle Joe," the little girl said, her blue eyes dark with trouble, "will you tell me something?"

"I reckon so, child, if I can," he responded, looking at her curiously.

"Am-am I just charity, Uncle Joe?"

"Huh? What's that, Car'lyn May?" he exclaimed, startled.

"Am I just a charity orphan? Didn't my papa leave _any_ money a-_tall_ for me? Did you take me just out of charity?"

"Bless me!" gasped the hardware dealer.

"I-I wish you'd answer me, Uncle Joe," went on Carolyn May with a brave effort to keep from crying. "Isn't there _any_ money left for me-and Princey?"

Joseph Stagg was too blunt a person to see his way clear to dodging the question. And he could not speak a falsehood.

"Hum! Well, I'll tell you, Car'lyn May. There isn't _much_ left, and that's a fact. It isn't your father's fault. He thought there was plenty. But a business he invested in got into bad hands, and the little nest egg he'd laid up for his family was lost."