Mostly Mary Part 11

"To-day is Sat.u.r.day. Aunt Mary, Uncle?"

"Exactly. She and Sister Dominic are in town doing some shopping, and she called me up at the office to know at what hour they might see my patient. I told them to come about three o'clock. That will give you plenty of time for a little rest."

"Uncle--please put your head down." Her little arms clasped his neck, and she whispered close to his ear, "I love to be with you, but--but I just can't help wishing that I could go----"

"I know, dear, I know. I, too, wish that you were able to go--that we might both go; but you have no idea what it is going to mean to me to have you with me. I have so many lovely plans that I fear we shall never have time to carry them all out. One is about the pony you will learn to ride when we go South after Christmas to a beautiful, warm place where we shall almost live outdoors under such a bright blue sky that you may have to wear black spectacles. Green ones might be more to your taste, or those new style amber-colored ones."

"What is amber color, Uncle?"

"A deep, golden yellow. Oh, I _beg_ your pardon! Yellow is not your favorite color, nor green, either."

"Nor black, _either_. If I _must_ wear gla.s.ses, they will have to be clear ones like Aunt Mandy's or blue ones."

"But black is not a color. It is the absence of all color. Do you know, it seems to me strange that your hair has escaped----"

"My hair escaped!" Mary felt her head. "Why, Uncle, it is on my head just as tight as ever. You frightened me. I thought it was flying away.

I s'pose _escaped_ has more than one meaning just as so many words have.

When I forgot to close the door of d.i.c.k's cage, and he flew out, Mother said he had escaped."

"In this case, I mean that I am surprised that you have not dyed your hair blue or bleached it white."

"Now, Uncle, you are just teasing me. Have _you_ ever seen anyone with blue hair?"

"I must admit that I have not. Such a person would soon make her fortune in a dime museum or in a side-show at a circus."

"You know very well, sir, that the promise doesn't mean that a person has to change the color of her hair and lips. Why, no one's face is pure white; and who ever heard of blue lips?"

"Two weeks ago, the lips of a certain person, not a thousand miles away, were as blue as I should ever care to see anyone's, and her face looked as white as the pillow. But I am glad to know that you do not intend to blue your hair. It brightens things up as a sudden burst of sunshine does on a gloomy day. Let me punch up that pillow for you, and then go to sleep just as fast as you can so as to be ready for Aunt Mary and Sister Dominic."

When Mary opened her eyes two hours later, the sound of voices in the next room told her that her visitors had arrived. Presently, her mother peeped in, and finding the little girl awake, propped her up against the pillows and put a fluffy white shawl about her shoulders.

This was Sister Madeline's first visit since Mary had begun to recover.

"I'm so sorry that I didn't know you were here those other times, Aunt Mary. Mother told me afterwards when the bad dreams went away. It seems strange that I had them nearly all the time then, and they never bother me now."

"That is a very good sign that you are much better. You will soon be able to spend the day with us at Maryvale. By the way, Elizabeth, where did you put that famous black bag at which you are always poking fun?

Mary will have greater respect for it than you have when she sees what there is in it for her. Now," and Sister Madeline drew from her cloth bag a large oblong package, "can you guess what this is?"

"Some of Sister Wilfred's cookies?"

"Oh, dear, no! But remember that, Sister Dominic, for our next visit.

You are so 'cold,' Mary, that I am sure you can never guess. Just see how your little friends spent their library hour last evening."

"Letters! and such a pile of them!"

"Yes, it will take you some time to read them. I was so afraid that the postman might object to bringing such a number to one little girl that I thought I had better carry them myself. Some of the children feared that they would not look like real letters; so they took the stamps from old envelopes to paste on theirs and made circles with spools for postmarks and asked some of the larger girls to print in them the names and dates.

I am very sure that no little girl has ever received so many letters from distant lands. Here is one with the Cuban stamp, one from Brazil, several from Canada, one from China, one from Italy----"

"Oh, please let me look at that stamp, Aunt Mary--Now I shall know which letters are from Father and Mother the very minute the postman brings them," Mary murmured wistfully.

"Do you think, Sister, that the boy with our suit-case is lost? We had something else for Mary packed in a black suit-case, Elizabeth; and as we did not care to carry it about town with us, we sent a boy out here with it."

"It is safe in Sister Julia's room. The boy handed it to Liza with the message, 'For the Sister;' and as Sister Julia has returned to her convent for a few hours, we thought, of course, that she had sent back some clothing by him. I shall get it."

"Perhaps you will make a warmer guess this time, Mary," said Sister Dominic, placing the suit-case on a chair beside the bed. "I a.s.sure you that it is nothing Sister Julia would think of wearing."

"I guess books, Sister."

"The suit-case is not heavy enough for books, dear. Indeed," laughed Mrs. Selwyn, "I rather think that Aunt Mary is playing a joke on you."

"Not at all!" and Sister Madeline threw back the cover.

"Oh, oh! what beauties!"

Mary's eyes shone with delight at sight of the great ma.s.s of chrysanthemums--big, ragged yellow ones; fluffy pink ones; curly white ones; "and see, Mother, see the long sprays of little baby ones!"

"Dan has had great success with his chrysanthemums this year," explained Sister Madeline. "I tell him that they would win the prize at the flower show; but he insists that he raises his flowers for the altar, not for prizes."

"I think that is where these ought to be, Aunt Mary. Do you think Mr.

Daniel would mind if Mother sends the big ones to Father Lacey for the altar, and keeps just the little ones for us?--the little white ones to put before Blessed Mother's statue, the pink ones for the dinner table, and the yellow ones in here to prove to Uncle that I do like yellow."

"I am quite sure that Dan would be pleased with your plan, dear."

"Then I shall pack the large ones in a box," said Mrs. Selwyn, "and Tom may leave them at the rectory when he returns after driving you to the ferry."

"Please thank Mr. Daniel, Aunt Mary, and the girls, too, for their letters; but tell them I am afraid that I can't answer them very soon."

"But the children do not expect you to answer those letters, Mary."

"I know the very thing! I shall ask Uncle to write one letter to all of them, and I shall tell him what to say. We can do the same thing to the girls in my cla.s.s. Every one of them wrote to me, too, and said prayers for me while I was so sick."

CHAPTER XII.

THOSE PRECIOUS LAST HOURS.

Sunday evening found the trunks packed and strapped. Except for a while in the morning and afternoon, when Mary was resting, the whole family spent the day in her room. Perhaps it would have been better for the child if they had not done so; for the more she saw of her little sisters, the harder it became for her to think of parting with them. It seemed to her that the hours fairly flew, and as evening drew near, her poor little heart grew heavier and heavier. But she bore up bravely--so bravely that her mother was more than surprised. Then bedtime came; and Mrs. Selwyn herself, instead of the nurse, tucked the little girl in for the night and sat by the bedside until she thought Mary was asleep.

An hour later, she tiptoed into the room. All was quiet; but as she bent to give the child a last good-night kiss and to smooth her pillow, she found the little face wet with tears and the pillow soaked. Wrapping Mary in a blanket, she took her in her arms, and seating herself, rocked quietly for some time. The child's big wistful eyes never left her face. At last the mother spoke.

"When Father told me, dear, that he must go away for a year and found that you must remain at home, he made a plan to which I would not listen. He said that he would sail now, and that we should follow in June. I could not bear to think of his being alone in a strange country with none of his own near him for six or seven months; but neither can I bear to leave my little girl in such a state. I know that this is a very great trial for you, darling, and I fear that we are asking too much of you in your present weakness. So I think I had better place Father in our dear Lord's hands, and let him carry out his plan. Perhaps something will happen so that he need not be away so long; but if by the first of June he cannot return, we shall go to him. So try to sleep now, my darling. Mother will not leave you."

"But you must, you _must_, Mother!" whispered Mary. "We would just die thinking of Father and how lonely he would be and--and everything. I won't cry any more--truly, I won't. I shall go to sleep just as fast as I can. Is it very late, Mother?"

"No, dear, only half-past nine."