Tabitha's Vacation Part 9

Oh, dear, suppose Glory's dream has come true!"

Mechanically she turned back to the house, and her comrade in misery, catching a glimpse of her disturbed face, cried in alarm, "Can't you find any of them?"

"Yes, they have been to the depot."

"The little rascals! Without so much as asking leave! And it is such a long walk for Rosslyn and Janie!"

"I suppose Billiard put them up to it," Tabitha murmured, glad that Glory had not asked about Miss Davis; and she fell to dishing up potatoes with such reckless energy that the hot fat slopped over and blistered her hand.

"Oh!" cried Gloriana pityingly, "you have burned yourself. Let me finish taking them up."

"No, it's nothing. Serves me right for getting so provoked. I do wish I could learn to control my temper."

Gloriana remained discreetly silent, thinking that Tabitha was angry because of the children's latest escapade; and in silence they finished dinner preparations, both waiting anxiously, nervously for the runaways' return.

At length they heard them coming up the steep path from town, and Susie flew through the door with two letters in her hand. "They are both for you, Tabitha," she panted. "One's from mamma. I'd know her writing in the dark. Miss Davis didn't come on to-day's train, but I s'pose likely she'll be here to-morrow, don't you think?"

Tabitha s.n.a.t.c.hed the envelopes from Susie's outstretched hand, and ripped them open with one stroke of the knife she held, muttering feverishly, "The other is from Miss Davis." Her quick eyes swept the page at a single glance, it seemed, and a smothered groan escaped her.

"What is it?" ventured Gloriana timidly, the morning's foreboding gripping her anew.

"She has broken her leg."

"Broken her leg!" repeated the red-haired girl dully.

"Broken her leg!" echoed mystified Susie.

"Who? Mamma?"

"Miss Davis."

"Holy snakes!"

"Why, Susie!"

"I mean--I--I--that just slipped out accidental. I was so s'prised at wondering what we'd do with a broken-legged woman hopping around here."

"But she won't be hopping around here," Tabitha grimly told her. "She must stay flat on her back in bed for three weeks, and then it will be days and days before she can get around without a crutch."

"Then--who--will housekeep--for us?" gasped Susie. "I reckon it is up to you to stay a while longer. Mrs. Goodale's grand-baby's got the fever and she is going to stay in Carson City until he's well. He is the only grandbaby she's got."

"How did you hear that?" demanded Tabitha, her heart sinking within her at Susie's words.

"Don't we know the Goodales well? She has only one girl, and that girl has only one baby."

"Oh, I didn't mean that! Where did you hear that the baby was sick?"

"Mr. Porter told us at the station. He has just got home from Carson City, and he saw Mrs. Goodale there. Why don't you read mamma's letter? You hain't looked at it yet."

Tabitha had completely forgotten the second envelope, and now hurriedly drew out the written page and scanned the blurred, uneven lines. Then without a word of explanation, she slipped the paper back into its envelope, and dropped it into her pocket, saying only, "Let the children have their dinner now. Everything is ready."

But all through the meal she was unusually preoccupied, puzzling, pondering, struggling, longing to be alone with herself, and yet held to her post by her sense of duty. At last, however, the hungry appet.i.tes were satisfied, the chattering children had gone back to their play, the dishes were washed and piled away in the cupboard, and Tabitha slipped away to the little room which she shared with Gloriana and Janie, knowing that no one would molest her here as long as the lame girl stood guard at the door.

Once alone, she spread the two letters out on the bed before her and read and re-read them until she knew both word for word.

Only one course lay open to her, that was plain; but yet her heart rebelled hotly against the circ.u.mstances which made this one course the only right one.

"There never was such a girl for getting into sc.r.a.pes,", she groaned.

"And this time I've not only got myself into one, but Gloriana as well.

It will be six weeks at the very least before Miss Davis can come home, and there is no telling when Mrs. Goodale will be back. It is out of the question for Mrs. McKittrick to leave her husband just when he needs her most, even though she does offer to come. No, it's up to me, as Susie says. And I did want to go to Catalina with Myra so much!

Here's my whole summer spoiled just because of a hasty promise.

"_Tabitha Catt_! Aren't you ashamed of yourself! You know right well that Mrs. McKittrick never could have gone to the city if you hadn't taken charge of her children, and the chances are that Mr. McKittrick would have died without her. He isn't wholly out of danger even yet.

You selfish wretch! What do you think of a person who will talk the way you have been doing? Oh, dear, what a queer world it is! I wouldn't mind so much if Gloriana didn't have to suffer, too; but it is too bad to keep her here on the boiling desert when she might be enjoying life on the Island or at the beach. It wouldn't be so bad if those awful boys weren't here, either; but they are the _limit_. I am on edge every minute of the day, looking for the next outbreak. I don't believe they _can_ be good. And yet--there's no other way--out of it. I can't let Mrs. McKittrick come home just because I am too utterly selfish to stay here myself. She has been so good to me. And it is positively out of the question for her to have the children with her."

Undecided, rebellious, unhappy, Tabitha crossed the room to the window, and stood looking out over the barren mountainside. Should she? Could she? What ought she to do? On the other side of a little gully just opposite the window, sat Irene, rocking to and fro on a teetering stone, and singing in a high, sweet treble to a battered rag-doll, hugged tightly to her breast. The words floated up to the girl in the window, indistinct at first, but growing clearer as the singer forgot her surroundings; and Tabitha suddenly found herself listening to the queer, garbled words of the song that fell from the childish lips.

"What in creation does she think she is singing?" she asked herself in amazement, recognizing with a fresh pang the tune Gloriana had begun the day with.

Irene finished the verse and commenced again:

"Maxwellton breaks her bonnet, And nearly swallows two, An' 'twas their hat and her locket Gave me a pummy stew.

Gave me a pummy stew Which near forgot can be, And for bonnet and a locket I'd lame a downy deed."

Three times she repeated the distorted version of that grand old song, and somehow the frown of perplexity smoothed itself from the listener's brow.

"Dear little girl," she whispered; "it's your father and your mother!

I am a selfish old heathen! Of course I will stay as long as I am needed!"

Quietly returning to the kitchen where Gloriana sat pretending to sew, she laid the mother's letter on the table before the seamstress, and when the gray eyes had read the message and glanced inquiringly up at the dark face beside her, Tabitha nodded her head. "Yes," she half-whispered. "I can't desert them now." Then after a moment of silence, she added, "But you will go with Myra, Glory. Please! I'd feel so much better, knowing that you were having a good time."

The red head shook a vigorous denial. "I shall stay with you,"

Gloriana declared. "I knew you wouldn't leave here as long as you were needed, and you needn't think I'll let you stay alone. I shouldn't have a good time at all if I did such a thing as that, Tabitha."

"But it may mean all summer," Tabitha protested. "And it does get so hot here. Besides, there will be little fun in such a vacation."

"Then it is up to us to _make_ some fun," said Gloriana firmly.

"That's so," Tabitha replied, startled at the thought. "Maybe the boys wouldn't be such trials then. Let's try it!"

"All right," agreed Gloriana.

And straightway the two girls put their heads together to devise some method of breaking the deadly monotony of the desert days, and bringing added enjoyment to their troublesome charges.

CHAPTER VI