Happy House Part 25

A rumble of thunder, closer and louder, startled them. Miss Milly sat bolt upright, white-faced, and reached out a hand.

"Oh--_sister_! _Not_ in the storm!"

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 sixty-year old heart; it throbbed in her voice now. She spoke slowly. "I guess the _Almighty_ sent Davy Hopworth here with this poor little young 'un! Like as not it would go hungry more'n once, and if three women here can't take care of a little baby--well, the Lord that suffered little children to come 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 baby and defiantly folded sheltering arms over it.

For the briefest of moments no one stirred. Then Miss Sabrina rose hurriedly, and, mumbling 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."

CHAPTER 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! Oh-h! It's silly for me to be afraid! It's only when it crackles!"

"I thought we could make Freedom before it broke. But I guess not.

Here comes the rain!"

It came, in a blinding deluge.

"Sit close to me, Nancy. We must get to a house _somewhere_ along this road!"

"B'lindy's bones certainly did feel right," Nancy giggled, excitedly.

"Oh-h!" at another flash. "_Pe-ter_! 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 huddle closer to him; he enjoyed the sense 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 curtains! 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 uncertainly 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," she declared, disappointedly.

"It'll be shelter, anyway. Deserted 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 s.h.a.ggy 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, unmindful 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 come 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! How wet you are!" She fussed over the fire and over her kettle and over Nancy's wet blouse. "Now, Janie, isn't it nice to have folks come here out of the storm?"

Then 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 unmindful of the storm, she was tranquilly knitting.

"Folks don't come by this road so often," she smiled back.

"Aren't you afraid--sitting there?" Nancy cried. As she spoke there came a flash of lightning followed almost simultaneously by a roar of thunder that threatened the weather-beaten walls.

The sister called Janie waited smilingly, her head c.o.c.ked on one 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 over us just like all folks?"

"And didn't He just bring you poor souls here out of the storm?" added the older woman. "This tea will steep in a minit and I'm goin' to call that boy in!"

Peter had been trying to fasten a makeshift arrangement that would 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," Saphrony 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?"

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 merrily, 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 good with our tea," Saphrony explained, apologetically.

"Aren't they the cutest pair?" Nancy whispered to Peter. "And isn't it the funniest little house?"

There seemed to be only the living room and kitchen combined and the bedroom adjoining. The furniture in it was very old and very worn, but everything was spotlessly clean. The red and white cover on the table, the braided rugs on the uneven floor; and the piece-work cushions 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 cover and spread a very worn white 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 little women, drew up some chairs.

"Now you stay right there by the fire," cried Saphrony. "We 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 over and over.

"It's just like a party," Nancy added, nibbling on the thinnest shaving of fruit cake. Her evident pleasure set both little old ladies off in a soft cackling of satisfaction.

"Do you two live here all alone?" Nancy asked, pa.s.sing 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 cheerful glow.