Miss Theodosia's Heartstrings Part 12

"Yes, you may have her on your side," conceded Miss Theodosia generously. It was rather in the way of a relief to shift the responsibility for Evangeline. Miss Theodosia suddenly bubbled into low laughter.

"She is going to be a plumber."

"Evangeline a plumber?"

"Yes, because she's got to be rich, she says. She's 'sick 'n' tired' of being poor, and you can make such _darlin_', roary, snappy fires in a tin pail! Plumberin' will be fun."

He laughed a little, too, enjoyingly, but returned to his arguings. Said he:

"_Be_ a plumber, not marry one, you see. What did I tell you? Oh, you have no monopoly on Evangelines! The woods are full of tame Evangelines, anyway. You will have to come over to my side."

"Not at all. I haven't given up my own side. I shall hold on a little while longer. I am not going to admit _yet_ that all sentiment is dead and buried. And, anyhow, I don't see what it's being dead or alive has to do with your story. I thought authors were creators. Can't you create a little sentiment--romance? To my order?" she added demurely.

Replied the Story Man with grave eyes: "I shall do my best. We are a good deal at the mercy of our heroines. But I will do all that I can to win mine over, dear lady. Heaven knows I want to!"

"Then you are on my side now; you have changed your mind!" she cried tauntingly. "Woman, thy name is not Fickleness, it is thy husband's name! Well, I am glad it is going to be my kind of a story. How did I know but it was to be a historical novel or a problem story--ugh! And, instead, you're going to make love to your heroine in the dear old thrilly way."

He stirred in his seat, and his eyes sought his hostess. But Miss Theodosia's eyes were cheerfully following the infinitesimal st.i.tches with which she was r.i.m.m.i.n.g an infinitesimal round hole in the bit of linen in her hand.

"How far have you got?" she questioned over a new st.i.tch.

"Not very far," sadly; "I think I am a little afraid of my heroine."

"Mercy gracious! Well, I think I'd take her by the ear and march her round to suit myself! If I wanted her to say '_yes_'--do you want her to say 'yes'?"

Did he want her to say yes!

"I'm trying to lead her up to it," he said gently. Miss Theodosia bit off her thread.

"March her up to it, march her! You're too gentle with her. What is the use of being a Story Man? Might as well be a plumber like Evangeline!"

It was at this moment that Evangeline appeared on the little Flagg horizon. They saw her coming their way, loaded as usual with Elly Precious. The sag of her wiry little figure on the Elly Precious side appealed strongly to Miss Theodosia. She dropped her foolish bit of linen and hurried to meet that little sag. When she came back with Elly Precious in her own arms, the Story Man was wandering away. He waved his hat to them smilingly.

"Please drop him--drop Elly Precious," Evangeline said, "anywheres _soft_. I don't want him to distrack your mind. You play with your dolly an' be a darlin' dear, Elly Precious, while we talk."

Very gently Evangeline subtracted Elly Precious from Miss Theodosia and removed him to an undisturbing distance. Then she returned and stood before Miss Theodosia.

"Stefana was born to-morrow," Evangeline stated gravely. "You didn't know, of course, nor neither did I till it kind of came out. I told him," nodding in the direction taken by the Story Man. "We plotted up a hatch--I mean we hatched up a plot. He said to talk it over with you. I don't know what he's goin' to do, but he'll do it--he said he would. An'

I thought--I thought--" Unwonted hesitations disturbed Evangeline's smooth flow of speech. She sat down suddenly.

"I guess I can say it easier sittin' than I could standin'. It's some hard to say--it's so kind of _bareheaded_. But I don't know what else to do. You see, Stefana'd hear me beatin' the eggs an' stirrin', if I did 'em at home. An' besides, it would fall--oh, mercy gracious, I know it would! I thought if I could do it over here--"

"Evangeline," Miss Theodosia said gently, "drop your voice at a period and begin all over with a capital letter. Take your time, dear."

Said Evangeline with a sigh: "I'll try standin' up. I guess I kind of mixed you up, didn't I? You see, what I _meant_ was, could I make Stefana's birthday cake over here to your house where she can't hear me stirrin'?"

"Oh, Stefana's birthday! That is why she was 'born to-morrow.'"

"Yes'm, in a thunder storm. I've heard Mother tellin'. It will have to be a graham cake."

"A--what kind of cake, Evangeline? Maybe you'd better try sitting down; I don't think I just understand."

"No'm, no'm, I guess you wouldn't, because you probably can always 'ford white flour. I thought if I frosted it over real white, it would hide the grahamness. I've got two eggs."

Understanding came to Miss Theodosia, though a little slowly. Was she growing stupid?

"Evangeline, we'll make Stefana's cake together; we'll take turns 'stirrin''! We'll do it over here and keep it a beautiful secret."

The child was standing up now certainly, her wiry little body a-tilt with excitement, a-quiver with it. Evangeline's eyes shone.

"Oh, I knew you would! I knew you would! You're such a _nangel!_ If you was a kind of folks that liked to be kissed--"

The soft pink of Miss Theodosia's cheeks! She lifted her head and sat very still.

"Come and try me, dear. Maybe I am that kind of folks." And in a little whirlwind of tender grat.i.tude descended Evangeline upon her. It was a whole-souled kiss, the only brand possible to Evangeline.

"I--I am that kind!" gasped Miss Theodosia, emerging laughing but tender-eyed. "Now let's begin the cake."

"Oh, yes, mercy gracious, yes! I'll go get the eggs 'n' graham flour, an'--an' mola.s.ses. Could we sweeten it with mola.s.ses, Miss Theodosia?

It'll take all o' my sugar for the frostin'. We are pretty used to bein'

sweetened with mola.s.ses--"

Miss Theodosia had a swift mental taste on her tongue of Stefana's graham birthday cake, mola.s.ses-sweet. There were her heartstrings at their odd little twitching again!

"You won't have to go home at all, Evangeline. I've got all the materials--" but at sight of the child's face, a little fallen and troubled, she hastily appended--"except the eggs. I guess you'd better go home and get those."

"Two!" sang Evangeline joyously, already on her way; "I've got two.

Two's a lot of eggs, isn't it?"

They mixed and beat and stirred together, and Evangeline never knew how many more eggs than two went into the rich golden batter. Elly Precious, tied for safety-first into one of Miss Theodosia's chairs, looked on with an interest more or less intermittent; when Evangeline's offerings of "teeny speckles" of toothsome batter were delayed, the interest flagged. The baking time was for Evangeline a period of utmost anxiety--there were so many direful things that might happen to Stefana's cake. If it fell down or burned up--

"Oh!" she breathed with infinite relief when the strain was over, and only lovely things had happened to the cake, "I'm so happy I could sing if I had any vocal strings! That's queer about me, isn't it? I don't have any trouble with my _talkin'_ strings."

"Not a bit," agreed Miss Theodosia gayly. "What makes you think you couldn't sing?"

"Because once I tried to sing Elly Precious to sleep an' it woke him up, awfully up. He was scared. So I always talk him to sleep. Miss Theodosia, don't birthday cakes sometimes have candles round the edge of 'em? I don't mean Stefana's, of course, but rich folks' birthday cakes."

"_I_ mean Stefana's. Evangeline, we'll have thirteen candles!" but inwardly she was wondering if forty would not fit better round the edge of aged little Stefana's birthday cake. "And we'll decorate it--write something on the top, you know. We'll make the Story Man do it for us."

Evangeline was awed into near-silence. "You mean--poetry? Mercy gracious, poetry!"

"Something lovely," nodded Miss Theodosia a little vaguely. If it be poetry, the Story Man must do that part, too. A little later, when Evangeline had shouldered Elly Precious and departed and the Story Man had sauntered again into sight, she hailed him with relief. Displaying the snowy little cake, she explained the situation.

"You must do the rest. We want a 'sentiment' on it, Evangeline and I.

What is the use of being a literary person if you cannot inscribe a birthday cake?"

He groaned a little, reminiscently. He remembered the autograph alb.u.ms of his bashful youth. How much better than an autograph alb.u.m was a frosted cake?