Chicken Little Jane on the Big John Part 49

"Isn't it dainty? That must be the filigree work we read about."

Sherm was staring thoughtfully at the contents of the drawer. "One thing sure," he muttered, "he must have thought a heap of her."

Chicken Little had continued exploring. "Here's a photograph and two locks of hair in a little frame. Oh, Sherm, it's her! Yes, it must be, this is the same baby. I wonder why he doesn't have this on his bureau, too."

Sherm took the picture and stared at it so long that Jane grew impatient.

"What is it, Sherm? What's the matter?"

Sherm started, pa.s.sing his hand over his forehead and eyes as if he were dazed.

"Funny, the face seems sort of familiar. I had such a queer feeling about it for a minute."

"I know why it looks familiar--there's a tiny bit of resemblance to you--not as much as in the pictures of the baby. I suppose the baby got it from the mother. Still, I think it looks like Captain Clarke, too, don't you?"

"Let's put these things back, Chicken Little. Poor little lady, I wonder what happened to her." Sherm laid the picture gently back in the bottom of the drawer and helped Jane fold and lay away the other things. They had both forgotten the Roman sash which still adorned her dark hair.

Captain Clarke, coming in soon after, started when he saw her and glanced at the cabinet.

"Dressing up, Chicken Little? That gew gaw was evidently intended by Providence for you. Won't you accept it as a present to keep that autograph alb.u.m company?"

Chicken Little put her hand to her head in dismay. Captain Clarke must have thought she wanted it. She stammered awkwardly:

"Oh, Captain Clarke--I--couldn't take it. I oughtn't to have put it on."

Sherm calmly took the matter out of her hands.

"She didn't put it on, Captain Clarke. I'm the guilty party. I thought it would be so becoming to Chicken Little--her dark hair and eyes--you know. I didn't realize till we came across the picture that it belonged to your wife--and--you might not like to have us handle it."

"It was never Mrs. Clarke's," the Captain said evenly. "I bought it for her, but she"--he hesitated an instant--"she--died before my return. I told you to rummage the drawers, and that scarf is entirely too becoming to Chicken Little's bright eyes to be wasted in a drawer any longer. You will be doing me a favor, my dear.

"You seem to have an eye for color, Sherm. Juanita loved color, too, that is why I picked up so many gay things for her." Captain Clarke seemed to have formed a sudden resolution. He plunged his hand down among the rustling silks and brought up the picture. His hand trembled a little as he handed it to Chicken Little. "I have never shown you her picture before. She had eyes something like yours."

Chicken Little took the picture and tried to look as if nothing had happened. She described the scene to Marian afterwards. "O Marian, I felt as if I were standing in a story book. The Captain's face was as white, but he went on talking just as if I knew all about his wife, and--I do wonder! I felt so sorry for him. Sherm said he wanted to kick himself for being so thoughtless."

"Don't worry about it, Jane, and don't be trying to make a mystery out of what was merely a big sorrow. It must have been an awful blow to him to come home and find wife and baby both dead, but it happened years ago. I expect it did him good to talk to you and Sherm about it."

Chicken Little forgot about it after a few days, except when she went to the box where she kept the scarf. She always thought of the picture of the young mother and baby whenever she saw it.

"I don't believe I ever can wear it," she told Sherm.

"Oh, yes, you will, some of these days; the Captain would be hurt if you didn't."

Sherm hadn't heard from his mother for over a week when a neighbor came one evening and handed Dr. Morton a yellow envelope. "No bad news, I hope," he said.

It was addressed to Dr. Morton and read: "My husband died this morning.

Break news to Sherm--he must await letter."

Sherm, too, was older than he had been a year before. He was coming up the lane whistling, swinging his supple young body along at a good pace, as if he enjoyed being alive. Dr. Morton watched him, dreading to have to tell him the bad news and wondering how he would take it. "It's a pity," he thought, "Sherm's a fine manly fellow and ought to have his education and a chance at life, and I am afraid this means more than losing his father."

He waited until the boy came up to him. He was still holding the telegram in his hand, but Sherm did not notice it until he spoke.

Dr. Morton's voice was very kind. "My boy, I am--afraid----" He got no farther. Sherm saw the telegram and understood. "Father?" he questioned.

Dr. Morton nodded.

Sherm stood motionless, as if he were trying to realize that the blow he had so long dreaded, had fallen. Presently he looked up at the Doctor.

"There isn't any train before to-morrow, is there?"

"No, Sherm, and I don't think your mother expects--here, read the message."

Sherm's hand shook. He read the meager words through twice, then crushed the paper in his fist.

"I am going home to-morrow," he said doggedly. "I've got enough saved up for the railroad fare. He was my father--I haven't seen him for a year.

They might have told me! I am not a child any longer!"

Dr. Morton laid his hand on his shoulder. "Don't, Sherm--don't add bitterness to grief. Your mother may not have known in time. Death often comes suddenly at the last in such cases. And, my boy, I would think twice before setting out rashly. Your mother asks you to wait for her letter--she must have some good reason. The message was sent this morning. There will probably be a letter to-morrow."

"I don't care whether there's a letter or not, I'm going." There was a hard look on the boy's face.

Chicken Little came running up, with Jilly panting alongside. "My, we had a good race, didn't we, Jilly Dilly? Why--what's----" She stopped short at sight of their grave faces.

Dr. Morton told her.

She stood a moment awestruck; Chicken Little had never had death come so near her before. Then she turned to Sherm, her face so full of tender pity that his face softened a trifle.

"Don't worry about me, Chicken Little," he said gruffly, "I am all right. If you'll help me knock my things together after a while, I'll be grateful. I guess I'll take a--walk--now." His voice broke a little at the last.

He did not wait for an answer, but walked hurriedly away. Jane gazed after him, undecided whether to follow or not. Dr. Morton divined her thought. "I wouldn't, dear. Let him have it out alone first--you can comfort him later on. I want you to help me persuade him not to rush off before he receives his mother's letter. I must say I don't blame Sherm for resenting his mother's att.i.tude. I think she is making a big mistake."

Dusk came and the darkness closed round while Chicken Little strained her eyes in vain for Sherm. It was almost ten before he came back. She was standing at the gate watching for him. The rest of the family had gone to bed. "Chicken Little can comfort him better than any of us," Dr.

Morton had told his wife. "He will be glad not to have to face any of the rest of the family to-night."

"You shouldn't have stayed up, Chicken Little," Sherm called, as soon as he caught sight of her. "I forgot I asked you to help me--I'd have come home sooner if I'd remembered. The duds can wait till morning--I can get up early." He spoke quietly.

"Do you think you ought to go, Sherm?"

Sherm's eyes smouldered. Jane could not see him very distinctly, but she could fairly feel his determination.

"It's no use talking, I'm going!"

They went up the walk in silence. The lilacs and the white syringia in the borders were in bloom. She hoped Sherm did not notice the heavy fragrance--it was so like a funeral. He did not say anything till they got to the foot of the stairs.

"Thank you, Jane, for--for waiting." His voice broke pitifully.

When Dr. Morton discovered the next morning that Sherm was not to be moved from his purpose, he decided to go into town early and see if by any chance there might be another telegram or a letter. Letters from the east sometimes came down by a branch line from the north. There was nothing, and he finally resolved to telegraph Mrs. Dart as to Sherm's state of mind. Sherm was to come later in the day with Frank in time to catch the evening train, which was the only one that made close connections at Kansas City. It was late afternoon before he received a reply. The message was emphatic. "Sherm _must_ await letter."